Death Waits for No Lady

by James Andrew

  ‘Do you know where we can get in touch with him?’

  ‘I don’t know his address but he’s often at the local dancing hall, the Plaza at St Olaf Square – does a flashy tango, and a slick two-step. Very popular with the ladies. I know because I’ve seen him there when I’ve been out with my girl.’

  ‘A proper lady’s man?’ Blades said.

  ‘You could say so,’ Joe Perkins replied. ‘Young women like the way he throws money about too.’

  Now, what would a man like him want with Evelyn Wright? Blades thought as he decided to visit the Plaza.

  Before going on to do that, they talked with the maid who did the rooms on Miss Wright’s floor, a plump woman with tired hair and an even wearier expression.

  ‘Miss Wright?’ she said. ‘A real lady, but they’re always the ones who surprise you, aren’t they?’

  ‘Are they?’ Blades asked.

  ‘She arrived with all her grand airs and posh luggage. All so proper, but after she’s been here a few days, there’s this new and that new to show off her figure and legs. And then she started wearing lipstick, and the type of scent she used changed. That new Chanel No 5 – and you don’t get more expensive than that.’

  ‘You’re sure that’s Evelyn Wright you’re talking about?’

  ‘That was the name. I suppose she started dressing so young because of that bloke she went around with. I think it’s sad when a woman does that. I expect he was after her money. She had plenty of it by all accounts.’

  ‘And you know all this how?’

  ‘By the clothes hanging on the rails in her room and what she kept on her dressing table, and by seeing her go about. And she had a man in that room a few times. You could tell by the sheets. Not that I saw who it was. But the talk in the hotel was that it was Jack Osgood she was seeing.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Blades said as they took their leave of her.

  Blades was surprised by what he’d learned but Peacock looked as if it was only what could have been expected. As they went back to the car, they exchanged thoughts.

  ‘They could put this in one of your scandal sheets, Sergeant.’

  ‘Indeed, sir. So perhaps it wasn’t Digby Russell – unless we find more evidence leading to him.’

  ‘At least we wouldn’t have to explain why the wrong fingerprints were on the murder weapon – though we’ll have to check Osgood’s prints too.’

  ‘I’m sure a fishy character like Osgood must have done something, sir, even if it wasn’t this.’ There was relish in the way Peacock said this, but Blades felt just curious about what they were finding out, if sad.

  ‘But it does sound as if Evelyn was having fun,’ Blades said, ‘and for the first time in her life, so who can blame her? But perhaps it’s not surprising it turned out badly. Poor Miss Wright. She was an innocent abroad. If she didn’t have Digby Russell sniffing around for opportunities, she was the one making eyes at him, and when she goes away from home, she has this Jack Osgood at her heels.’

  ‘We’re assuming Jack Osgood was a gold digger?’

  Then Blades realised what was upsetting him. Elspeth had been a corpse, but she was coming back to life. He did hope he would find this killer.

  ‘He was a real man for the ladies by the sound of it. He could land a much younger and more attractive woman than the dumpy, middle-aged Miss Wright, and yet he made up to her. He doesn’t sound the sort of man to be attracted by someone’s personality. It had to be her money he was after,’ Blades said.

  ‘He’s supposed to have money himself.’

  ‘We need to substantiate that. We need to know a lot more about this Jack Osgood, and we need his fingerprints. We need to see if we can place him at the scene. If we can get the constables to show a photograph of him around Birtleby, that might help too.’

  ‘Unless he has an alibi.’

  ‘Which is why the fingerprints will be so important, but, first of all, we need to talk to him, so we’d better go down to that dance hall and see what we can find out.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It was afternoon, but the Plaza was already in full swing. Blades was impressed by the ambience of the place. The Plaza boasted a lacquered pavilion with lanterns and a faux Chinese village montage. Looking at the couples happily one-step and two-stepping away, the cedar floor was a joy to dance on. The syncopated rhythm of the dance band created an easy mood, and Blades would have been happy to listen to it. The rag that the piano player was bouncing out was cheerful, and the drums, clarinet, and tuba complemented it.

  Most of the couples seemed ordinary enough but Blades was not sure about what transactions might be taking place between some of the young gentlemen and dancers, as some of these young ladies were obviously professional dancers at least. Blades thought someone like the man he imagined Jack Osgood to be would be in his element here, flitting in and out between these sylphs and taking his pick. But Blades wasn’t here to investigate them, just to find Jack Osgood and question him, or find out some more about him at least.

  The manager was a man in his forties with sleeked-back hair, loud braces over a striped shirt, and particularly well shone black patent leather shoes, but, as he was inclined to weight, the cotton shirt was well filled out at the front. When he smiled, the word that suggested itself to Blades was unctuous. Blades showed him his card and he blanched, which made Blades wish he was investigating the dance hall, but he was there on more important matters.

  ‘So how can I help you?’ Peter Sloane said, for such was the name the manager had given.

  ‘We’re trying to locate a person we are told is a frequent customer of yours.’

  ‘Who are you trying to track down?’

  ‘We have no photograph, but we have a name. We’re looking for a young man called Jack Osgood. He’s in his twenties. Excellent dancer, I’m told.’

  ‘Jack Osgood?’ A serious expression was on Peter Sloane’s face now. ‘I know the name all right. I’m not sure I wish I did, but he keeps turning up.’

  ‘So, what have you got against him, sir?’ Blades asked.

  Sloane pulled on a cigarette. ‘I’ve no reason to have anything against him, except he’s too cocky and I wouldn’t trust him just from looking at him. He’d sell his grandmother. It’s written all over him. And did he do it? He has loads of money, too much for a young guy like him, and you can’t see what he’s doing to earn it.’

  ‘But all you have against him is suspicion.’

  ‘If you like, but if you met him you might agree. He’s so self-opinionated and there’s something cold there.’

  ‘I’d like to talk to him,’ Blades said. ‘So where can we find him?’

  Despite his eagerness to meet up with Jack Osgood, Blades couldn’t help giving the dance hall a lingering look on the way out. Some of these dancers might be up to reprehensible things and, as a policeman, he couldn’t avoid noticing that, and suspecting it when he didn’t, but that rhythm was catching and, after the war years, who wouldn’t be attracted to that mood of gaiety? He could see why Osgood enjoyed spending time there.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  When Blades did find Osgood, he was met with the full force of Jack Osgood’s appealing smile and he could see what that waiter Perkins had meant when he described it. Jack Osgood seemed to smile with his whole being and project a warmth and innocence intended to make you feel special and somehow vindicated, though about what wasn’t clear. It was wasted on Blades. His response to a superfluity of charm was to check if his wallet had gone missing, but the effect Jack Osgood could have on women was obvious.

  As they’d managed to discover Osgood’s address from one of the dancers, they’d gone to it, and then found themselves in Jack Osgood’s front room. The decoration was in geometric forms in the latest fashion, and a bronze lamp whose base was in the shape of a nubile and naked young lady also caught the eye. There was a large painting over the fireplace which appeared to have been assembled out of cubes. Blades knew enough about fashion to be a
ware that these were all the trappings of the young and rich. Jack Osgood was seated on a white, wide-winged armchair. He was about five feet ten and slim, and he sat in an easy pose. His hair was a deep chestnut brown and held a wave that gave lightness and grace to his face. He wore the kind of silk waistcoat the waiter had described, and the thick gold chain belonging to the watch in its front pocket flashed. He leaned back, the ankle of one leg leaning on the thigh of the other, his hand carelessly stretched over it. In this pose, the black-and-white patent leather shoes were particularly prominent. The way he sat seemed to be chosen to show he considered himself in control of any situation that might occur. When Blades showed his card to him, Osgood’s eyes showed no flicker of reaction, the look on his face remaining lazy.

  ‘Is it a donation to the police benevolent fund you’re after? I did make one to the Chief Constable in person only a few weeks ago.’

  About the same time as a pink elephant flew past your drawing-room window, Blades thought but did not say. ‘We’re here on a different matter,’ Blades replied.

  Osgood raised a cultured eyebrow.

  ‘We’ve been told you’re friends with a lady we have an interest in.’

  Osgood allowed a grin. ‘I know a few.’

  Blades did his best not to let Osgood annoy him, but he suspected he would find it hard. ‘Perhaps that’s what’s led to this situation, sir.’

  ‘Really?’ Then Osgood dismissed his surprise and adopted a look of boredom. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘You’re acquainted with a lady by the name of Evelyn Wright?’

  ‘Evelyn?’ His eyes widened slightly.

  Osgood’s jugular looked inviting and Blades did not beat about the bush. ‘She’s been found dead, murdered. As you’re an acquaintance of hers, it’s my duty to ask you for your whereabouts at the time.’

  Osgood’s smile became cold and his eyes hard. ‘And what was the time?’ he said.

  ‘The evening of Thursday, 26 July 1921. Can you tell me your movements on that night?’

  ‘That’s not long ago,’ Osgood said as he considered. ‘But, d’you know, I have to think about it. Let’s see. Yes. I was at the Plaza Ballroom. That’s the dancing club at St Olaf Square.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, and can you tell me what time you arrived and when you left?’

  ‘I would have arrived at, I don’t know, about seven and left at about – oh God, when would it have been – about two in the morning. We had a good evening.’

  ‘Your witness would be?’

  ‘Anyone who happened to be in the hall at the time, though I can give specific names.’ Then, despite his previous air of vagueness, he gave precise contact details so quickly and easily the answers seemed prepared.

  ‘If this checks out, you seem to be off the hook, sir.’

  ‘Don’t sound disappointed, Inspector.’ Then Osgood fixed him with a meaningful stare. ‘I am upset about Evelyn. I’m sorry. I don’t burst into tears. But I did like her.’

  ‘As you say, sir.’

  ‘You will get the bastard who killed her, won’t you? I’d like to sort him out myself.’

  Blades considered this. He supposed the irate reaction Osgood was displaying now might be genuine, but he thought it unlikely. He suspected the man in front of him didn’t have that much depth of feeling. But he just replied to what Osgood had said. ‘You might, but I wouldn’t advise it, sir.’

  ‘That’s a pity.’

  ‘Did you see her a lot when she was staying at The Princess Grand?’

  ‘Now and again. We were friends. I’m in need of a mother. My own’s dead and Evelyn was a sympathetic soul. And I felt sorry for her. She seemed to have missed out on a lot in life. I helped her choose some clothes that were more fun than the dull outfits she arrived in and had her redo her hair. And then, when she’d had it cut, I had a dreadful job to persuade her just to come out of her room. I thought I’d have to get her a wig. She was so used to being the drab, middle-aged spinster no one looked at twice, I think she was half-afraid to look attractive. Mutton dressed as lamb, she used to say. But she was still a fetching woman. I’m devastated to hear about her murder. She seemed to be blossoming for the first time.’

  ‘Did you ever visit her in Birtleby?’

  ‘No. She kept that life separate. It wouldn’t surprise me if she put back on the dowdy clothes she came in when she went back there. Had a thing about respectability. It must be a narrow-minded town. I don’t think I would like to visit it.’

  ‘Did she mention anyone she was afraid of?’

  ‘Not to me. One of her servants terrified her, I think. Someone called Janet. A prim and proper spinster. Evelyn kept going on about how shocked Janet would be if she saw the clothes she’d started wearing, never mind seeing her going about with a young man like me. I think the servants rule some houses.’

  ‘Did she have any other friends here that you know of?’

  ‘No. She did chat with other guests in the hotel, but no one in particular.’

  ‘No other male friends?’

  ‘Modesty isn’t one of my stronger features and I have to admit she was fixated on me when I was around. It was flattering, and she wasn’t with other men then.’

  Very composed, very smooth. Blades supposed Osgood talked his way out of most things, so enjoyed asking him the pointed question, ‘Now, if you could oblige us with fingerprints, sir?’

  Jack muttered, then checked himself. ‘As you wish,’ he said.

  When that was done, a couple of other vital questions hovered in Blades’ brain. ‘A nice place you have here, sir.’ Jack gave him a questioning glance. ‘Are you a man of private means?’

  ‘Yes. My mother left me a considerable sum.’

  ‘And you wouldn’t mind telling me the name of your bank?’

  Blades wondered how quickly Osgood had been spending it.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Blades’ office was a bare room with a desk, chairs, filing cabinets, walls painted grey ‘brightened’ by posters of missing persons and a calendar with a photograph of New Scotland Yard, a clutter of papers and files on available surfaces; but it was morning and at least light flooded into it. Blades was wishing it would shed light on the case. He and Peacock were seated round Blades’ desk as he looked at papers that Peacock had placed in front of him.

  ‘As you can see, sir, the fingerprints on the poker aren’t Jack Osgood’s.’

  ‘Inconvenient.’

  ‘And Leeds police have reported in. His alibi checks out. There’s no way he could have murdered Miss Wright after Digby left her, then turned up at the Plaza at the time he did.’

  ‘Even less useful.’

  ‘And his bank says his finances are sound, and there are no payments from Evelyn Wright.’

  ‘And that’s criminal, though the point of what you’re saying is that he isn’t. Not on this occasion. It’s difficult to just dismiss him though. You’d think a man so much younger – and in her bed – must be after her money at least. And he didn’t do it?’

  ‘Perhaps he hadn’t got around to it yet?’

  ‘Because someone beat him to it? Well, it won’t be some tramp who turned up, killed her, then went away again.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss tramps,’ Peacock said.

  ‘You wouldn’t?’

  ‘There are a lot of displaced ex-soldiers around on the road. And they were all trained to kill.’

  Blades gave this thought, then grunted. ‘It’ll be someone with a connection to her, even if we haven’t established it yet. And I’m reluctant to give up on Jack Osgood.’

  Peacock frowned, then replied, ‘Though his alibi does help him.’

  ‘Unfortunately. I suppose we have to forget about him – for the time being.’

  ‘We’re sure about everyone else we know had connections with her?’

  In reply, Blades started thinking aloud. ‘We wondered about Andrew Wright but the only thing we had against him was suspicion, on
top of which his alibi checked out and his finances are sound. And we agreed Digby looked likely, but when we went to Leeds, we found out he wasn’t the one having the fling with her. The fingerprints on the poker weren’t his either, which we haven’t found a way past. Which leaves us with who?’

  ‘We haven’t got anyone.’

  ‘Unless Osgood found a way of faking that alibi. It’s been done before. And just because he’s got plenty of money doesn’t mean he wouldn’t fancy plenty more. He spends enough of it.’

  ‘But there’s still the fingerprints,’ Peacock said, and his words resounded in the silence that followed.

  Blades didn’t reply, just frowned and leafed through reports, then stopped at one and smiled. ‘But we needn’t dismiss him yet.’ Blades was looking at a constable’s report, which said that a witness had talked to someone asking for Miss Wright on the day of the murder, and the man the witness described sounded much like their own Jack Osgood. This begged the question of why Osgood might have been in Birtleby on the day of the murder. The constable had been asking routine questions of a postman when this had turned up. Blades was glad to have something else on Jack Osgood to check up on. The man was sinister enough and, as his name had cropped up again, it was time, too, that they checked up on whether Osgood had any form. Blades reached for his phone and was soon speaking to London. He put in a request for a search for records, which would be sent up to Birtleby. Then he and Peacock set off to interview the postman.

  The local post office was an old brick building in the centre of town. Blades showed his card and asked to see Albert Cummings, the postman who had given the statement. He was in the middle of sorting letters when he was called to the front of the office.