‘What did you mean, sir?’
‘Merely that I’m surprised that you’d assume I had any interest, financial or otherwise, in that old building,’ he replied calmly.
‘But surely, sir, your family still owns the site? We’ve come across no record of any sale since it closed.’
‘You wouldn’t have... Inspector, isn’t it? All that was done before my father... left,’ Edmund responded coolly.
‘You mean your family sold the theatre? After more than a hundred years? Do you know why?’
‘I don’t. Nor do I know to whom it was sold. All I know is that all the families transferred their shares to my father, who then, apparently, cashed in and sold the lot to... someone or other; and then disappeared with the proceeds, along with other family funds he’d got his hands on.’
‘And you don’t know who it was sold to? Or why?’
‘No to both. We didn’t discover what he’d done, until after he and that... dancer eloped. As it pre-dated his departure by only a day or two, we must assume it was to fund his mid-life adventure,’ he replied, this time unable to quite hide the anger he obviously still felt.
‘I find it hard, sir, to accept that the recovery of a theatre, created and run by your family for so long, is truly a matter of indifference to you,’ probed Calderwood quietly.
‘Do you, indeed? Well, I can’t help you in your difficulty, Inspector, beyond saying that any interest I, or I may add, most of my remaining family, had, in that building died the moment my father and that... that trollop, left.’
Calderwood looked at the increasingly agitated man, saying nothing for a moment.
‘I understand that shortly before the upsetting events involving your father and Miss Kujenikov, the family suffered another shock. Am I correct?’
‘Another...? Oh, you must be referring to Daniel’s little peccadillo,’ replied the elderly man, with an elegant shrug his shoulders.
‘I’d hardly call stealing around £5000 – which is what, in today’s money? Around £90,000, or more? – a mere peccadillo, Mr DeLancy,’ the young DI responded, surprise clear in his voice.
‘Wouldn’t you? Well, perhaps when I tell you that the families together were, even then, worth almost three million pounds, which is probably around fifty million pounds today, will put it into some sort of perspective, will it not? As, of course, does one’s father running off with some strumpet young enough to be his daughter! Anyway, no one was surprised when Daniel stole the money. It wasn’t the first time,’ he added, with a slight sneer.
‘He’d done the same thing previously?’
‘Yes, on at least two other occasions that I can think of,’ Edmund replied dismissively
‘And the family did nothing? Have him prosecuted? Or at least have kept him away from any money, so he couldn’t steal any more, if they didn’t want police involvement?’
‘Both entirely logical courses of action, Inspector. Unfortunately, logic played little part in my family’s dealings with my cousin.’ He stopped suddenly.
‘Would you care to expand, sir?’ probed Calderwood quietly.
‘Not really, but I suppose I must,’ DeLancy replied pettishly. ‘Daniel was the family pet, you see. Besides the dark, good looks prized in our family, he had a sort of surface, shallow charm which misled the unwary.’
‘Misled?’
‘Yes, misled them into thinking that he cared about them at all, or indeed, that there was anything under that cheap gloss of his which could actually enable him to feel anything for anyone but himself.’
‘You obviously weren’t taken in by your cousin’s charm,’ Calderwood remarked, in a neutral voice.
‘No, never!’ the other man responded with unexpected vehemence. ‘There were only a few month’s difference between us, so I got to know him much better than anyone else in any of the families.’
‘Has he been in touch with anyone since he left?’
‘Not as far as I am aware, no.’
‘Strange, wouldn’t you think? I mean, being such a favourite, surely he’d have felt confident enough to re-surface, particularly if – when – the money ran out?’
‘You assume the money would run out, Inspector. Or that Daniel would wish particularly to see any of us again. As I said, he felt little or nothing for anything, or anyone, other than himself. As he was also very good with money and making it work for him, he would have little need to contact any one of us again. To be frank, the surprise would’ve been if he had done so,’ Edmund ended dismissively.
‘Fair enough,’ nodded Calderwood, non-committally. ‘How long had the affair between your father and Miss Kujenikov been going on before they disappeared?’
‘Not long. She’d only been in the company a few months.’
‘Was their eloping together a complete surprise? Or had their growing attachment been obvious beforehand?’
‘Growing attachment? Hardly that! At least on my father’s part. He was smitten from the moment he saw her. He was like a lovesick schoolboy from the off! He even gave her a nickname, which was bad enough, but the way he always almost cooed it made it worse. What was it? Oh yes, “Aria”; as I say, nauseating. What’s that elegant phrase the Frenchies have to put a gloss on that sort of thing? Ah yes, coup de foudre, that’s it. An elegant way of describing something pretty sick-making to those watching, don’t you think?’
‘And Miss Kujenikov?’ Calderwood asked, refusing to be drawn by the older man’s question.
‘Her? Oh she was a sly one. Well, they are, aren’t they?’
‘They?’
‘Foreigners, of course,’ replied Edmund in genuine surprise.
‘Could you explain, sir?’ Calderwood asked quietly.
‘Only that she played her cards very cleverly and very close to her chest,’ the older man replied bluntly.
‘Go on.’
‘If I must,’ Edmund sighed. He paused again and then continued. ‘At first, she let my father make all the running, pretended she didn’t care. She did, of course. Very cleverly, she kept him hooked by just enough eye contact. You know how it goes. Just let your gaze linger that second longer than usual. Make your smile just that little bit warmer. Nothing that anyone could be sure of, not at first, anyway. But when everything was added together, the picture was clear; but things moved so quickly that most of us didn’t realise until it was too late.’
‘Too late? After they’d gone, you mean?’
‘No. Just that by the time everyone realised something serious was going on, it was unstoppable. It was funny,’ he continued. ‘At first, and for a long time, she’d played at being reluctant, disinterested, and so on, but by the end, she was as hot for him as he was for her. After they’d gone, my mother found numerous receipts for gifts he’d given her; quite expensive gifts as well; though sensibly she kept them hidden from everyone until they ran off. The whole thing was utterly disgusting,’ he ended, his lined, naturally ill-natured features distorted even more by his obvious repugnance as he recalled the long ago events
‘I can understand the upset of the whole family when they discovered the elopement. It’s inevitable that it colours perceptions, but can you recall your opinions of Miss Kujenikov before it became known she and your father had eloped?’
‘There wasn’t much difference, Inspector, not much at all! I’d not liked her from the moment she arrived. Had she not taken my father with her, her leaving would have been nothing but a relief!’ he responded with unexpected vehemence, his gaunt cheeks suddenly flooding with colour.
‘What made you dislike her so immediately?’ queried Calderwood, intrigued by the older man’s sudden vehemence.
He shrugged. ‘Nothing concrete. I just thought her a bit flashy and not as innocent as she tried to make out, that’s all.’
‘Were you close to your father?’ the DI asked, moving on.
‘Close? You clearly don’t know my family, Inspector! We do not do close. Not in private, at any event,’ he added ambiguously.<
br />
‘What exactly do you mean, sir?’ asked Calderwood; his neutral manner masking his growing interest in the family.
Another shrug. ‘Merely that, although we did the full gamut of emotions in public, and were good, extremely good, at playing the loving family in front of people, in private things were, shall we say, a tad more austere!’
‘Austere? That’s a curious word to use to describe family relationships,’ murmured the young DI.
‘Nevertheless it is an accurate one. Indeed, had you yourself experienced being raised by my family, you’d have found it something of an understatement!’ flashed back the older man.
‘Could you expand on that, sir?’
‘I could, but I’m at a loss to understand what on earth it’s got to do with the re-appearance of the old Dolphin!’
‘Quite possibly nothing, Mr DeLancy’ conceded Calderwood, before continuing quietly. ‘But, what hasn’t yet become confirmed publicly, sir, is that the rumours are partly correct and we have found a body in the theatre.’
Though his features remained impassive, something flickered in the older man’s eyes. Both police officers saw it, though neither could pinpoint what it was.
‘A body? Whose?’ Edmund asked after a moment. ‘My father’s?’
‘We don’t know at present. It’s currently undergoing tests, and we may have something definite in a day or two,’ Calderwood responded. ‘We have to consider all possibilities, naturally,’ he continued. ‘It would be useful, sir, if you would give a DNA sample to help in any identification. Do you have a problem with that?’ he asked, seeing the other man’s obvious reluctance.
‘Problem? No, of course not,’ Edmund denied quickly. ‘Anything to help, anything at all,’ he added, with a weak smile.
Chapter 11
‘Do you believe him?’ asked Calderwood, after the elderly man had left.
‘About his not caring about the future of the theatre, or where the money went; not to mention what happened to his father and Ariana, you mean? No, I don’t, not to any of it,’ replied his DS firmly.
Calderwood nodded. ‘I agree. It goes beyond human nature, quite apart from the way his face and body twitched at times. Very much more agitated about the whole affair than his words would have us believe. Anyway, we’d better go and beard the lioness in her den,’ he added, smiling. The next interviewee on their list was most definitely not coming to them; that had been made very clear when Cerian had phoned to arrange a meeting
‘Frosty, was she?’ queried Bulmer, smiling.
‘I don’t know, sir, I didn’t even get to Mrs DeLancy! It was some man who was frosty; so uptight he sounded like he had a poker up his bum!’
‘Gerald may have made off with most of the family money, but there was obviously quite a lot left over,’ murmured Calderwood later, as their car pulled into the circular driveway, lined with many large bushes, which fronted the big, imposing house.
You’re not joking! thought Bulmer as his eyes took in the large Victorian villa. Unlike many of the old houses they’d passed along Hillsview Road, this one was clearly not only very much still in single occupancy, but the immaculate black paintwork on its guttering and woodwork, along with the raked neatness of the gravelled driveway, made equally clear that the occupancy was backed by more than sufficient funds to keep it that way.
Ignoring a small sign, obviously still in use, which pointed the way to the tradesmen’s entrance, they walked up the shallow steps to the imposing front door, its brass work gleaming brightly in the weak, early winter sunlight.
They pressed the highly polished antique doorbell and heard its sonorous chimes ringing deep inside the house. Shortly, through the coloured glass of the panels set on each side of the door, they saw the dim outline of someone slowly approaching.
The door swung open soundlessly and a tall figure in a dark, immaculately tailored suit, stood framed in the doorway and looked at them calmly from black eyes startlingly like Edmund DeLancy’s, before standing back and ushering them into the house. With its short, barbered hair and strong shoulders, they at first thought the figure was male. It was only when she greeted them and introduced herself as Arabelle DeLancy, Mrs DeLancy’s niece, that they realised their mistake.
As she made the introduction, both men looked briefly round the large semi-circular entrance hall. Despite its high ceiling, the room was dark and more than a little overpowering. The slightly oppressive feel, caused partly by the old varnish on its half-panelled walls, was not helped by the display cases that were on every shelf and crowded into every nook, and all housing numerous specimens of British wildlife. Yet more cases were mounted directly onto the walls themselves. Long-dead fish, foxes, badgers, stoats, even rats, filled every available surface. All were glassy-eyed victims of the Victorian’s love of slaughter and seemed almost to be looking down on them in silent reproach. They were both glad that Cerian, fervently anti-blood sports, as she was, wasn’t with them. Such was her high level of professionalism, however, her superiors were sure she’d have refrained from comment; fairly sure, anyway.
‘My aunt’s in the small sitting room,’ said Arabelle, as she led them down a short, wide passageway. The clipped vowels and the slight smell of alcohol on her breath told the two detectives that what Cerian had mistaken for hauteur was in fact the overly precise diction of someone who was drunk and was attempting to hide it. She stopped at one of the panelled doors, knocked softly, opened it and stepped aside to let them enter.
Bloody hell! thought Bulmer, quickly surveying the large, overly furnished room. If this is the small one, God knows what the other one’s like. The record of previous sudden death was as much on display here as in the hall, he noticed, though the subject here appeared to be butterflies. Many hundreds of them, their wings still iridescent and glittering ruby red, dusty blue, ethereal yellow-gold and numberless other glorious colours, all blazed out from behind their glass tombstones; their pinned bodies imprisoned in grand cases similar to the ones housing their furred and piscatorial fellow victims.
A tall, elegant woman was sitting in one of the large, winged-backed chairs placed either side of the heavily carved wooden mantelpiece. The feeble morning sunlight framed her head as she turned towards them. Calderwood could feel the force of her personality even from several feet away. She was dressed entirely in black and, with a full-head of pure white hair, piercing black eyes – a family trait, they were beginning to realise – and dark, high cheek-boned features, she looked every inch the imperious grand dame. It was an image in no way lessened by the small hearing aid virtually hidden by her hair.
‘Good Morning, gentlemen,’ she said, in a voice with the richness, but not the depth, of her niece’s. ‘I apologise for not standing to greet you, but these days...’ she smiled and, with a slight, but entirely theatrical, gesture, waved a hand at the two walking sticks placed against her chair.
‘Not at all, Mrs DeLancy,’ replied Calderwood courteously. ‘It was good of you to see us at such short notice.’
‘Good Inspector? Nothing was further from my mind! I seldom get out these days and, unlike what little your young colleague told Arabelle, which was tantalising, but discreet, the gossip already swirling round town is most certainly not! So I was delighted you wanted to see me. I hope I may tempt you into perhaps one or two small indiscretions!’ She smiled the easy, confident smile of a once beautiful woman.
‘I’m not sure we know enough yet, Mrs DeLancy, to be indiscreet, hence our talking to as many of the family as we can,’ Calderwood replied, good-humouredly. He’d taken an instant liking to the old lady, whose sharp black eyes belied her age, which he knew to be well into the high eighties.
‘Well, you must tell me what you can, even if it’s much less than I’d like! In return, I’ll do my best to answer any questions you have and contain my vulgar curiosity until you can tell me more,’ she replied lightly.
‘I appreciate that, Mrs DeLancy. I do understand that the re-opening of old wou
nds must be very painful.’
She smiled with surprisingly little bitterness. ‘Our loss of The Dolphin apart, there’s little or no pain in recalling any of it, Inspector! My husband was a mountebank and, like most mountebanks, never quite saw how foolish he looked to everyone but himself!’
Though slightly taken aback, the young DI kept his face inscrutable as Arabelle came in with a large tray. ‘We weren’t sure whether you were coffee or tea men, so Arabelle prepared both,’ the older woman explained, as her niece deposited the large tray and left the room as quietly as she’d entered it.
‘So,’ the dowager asked, pouring the requested coffee into very small, very expensive cups that had Bulmer, particularly, looking at them with distinct unease, ‘what can you tell me?’
‘As I mentioned, things are, as yet, very unclear, but I can tell you that one body has been found in the old theatre,’ Calderwood replied gently, watching her closely as he took the offered cup.
Beyond the briefest closing of her eyes, her face remained unreadable as she handed a second cup to Bulmer.
‘We don’t as yet know its identity,’ he continued, in response to the query in her now refocused gaze. ‘We have, however, asked your elder son for a DNA sample,’ he concluded quietly.
‘So, you think it’s likely that it is Gerald,’ she said this as a statement, not a question. ‘Besides the location, of course, is there anything else that makes you think it may be?’ she asked, her gaze suddenly very compelling.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs DeLancy, I really can’t add anything else. Please rest assured that the instant a definite identification is made, you will be one of the first to be informed, regardless of the body’s identity,’ he responded politely.
She held his gaze a moment longer, then nodded. ‘I appreciate that, Inspector, thank you.’ She took a sip of her tea, a reflective look on her face. ‘So, what can I tell you?’ she asked after a moment.
‘We’re trying to find out as much as possible about what went on in the time between Ariana joining the company and when the theatre closed and it appeared that she and your husband left together,’ he ended, choosing his words with some care. ‘So anything you could tell us about that period will help us considerably.’
Death of a Dancer Page 5
