Death of a Dancer

by Anthony Litton

  Chapter 61

  The resulting silence was deathly – and so complete that both officers could hear clearly the hiss of the other man’s indrawn breath as it forced a passage through teeth suddenly clenched tight.

  ‘What an extraordinary leap of imagination, Inspector!’ Edgar managed, after a few charged moments, as he sat back and relaxed his jaw.

  ‘Is it, sir? Let’s look at what lies behind my “extraordinary leap”, shall we?’

  ‘Please do, Inspector, I’m agog, positively agog!’ replied the older man, rallying, his voice again casual, almost mocking, even as he quickly emptied his glass and stood up to refill it.

  ‘Firstly, the discrepancy between your mother and yourself – and we do regard Mrs DeLancy’s memory as accurate, particularly when her recollection is confirmed by other family members; secondly, the actual existence of your fingerprints in the lighting box: your stated interest was an ideal cover should we find any overlooked fingerprints of yours, which we did. Interestingly, it’s the one area of the theatre with a view of the whole of both the stage and the auditorium; thirdly, your cousin Arabelle’s mysterious accident very close to the theatre and at the time of the apparent elopement; fourthly, the fact that it was you who found her and brought her home, thus, self-evidently, being in the area yourself; fifthly, the rapid spread of rumours about the theatre being haunted, the genesis of which, we believe, originated in the visits immediately after the theatre’s closure by visits by your father, yourself and Arabelle,’ Calderwood concluded, carefully making no reference to Victor Andrews.

  ‘Is that all, Inspector? A rather fragile launching pad for your flight of fancy!’ Edgar mocked, sitting back down and ostentatiously crossing his legs, the picture of relaxed confidence.

  ‘I entirely agree, sir, or, rather, I would, except for one thing. Which leads me to my sixth point. There’s only one set of circumstances that makes sense of everything that I’ve just said – and that is, that you and your cousin were involved in the events surrounding the deaths of Ariana Kujenikov and Daniel DeLancy.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Inspector! I’d expected more!’

  ‘Well, sir, let’s add a seventh point, which was the trigger for everything which happened – and that trigger is your personality.’

  ‘My personality?’ Edgar scoffed, with a little laugh.

  ‘Yes, sir, your personality, which has always been unable to settle for being seen as second best, as second rate,’ Calderwood added, with deliberate provocation.

  ‘That’s something I’ve never seen myself as!’ Edgar spat, his normally ruddy face suddenly whitening, becoming pinched and strained.

  ‘No sir, I doubt that you have. I was referring more to how you felt you were seen and, crucially, as others did in fact, see you, relative to Ariana and Daniel.’

  ‘How I felt? I’ve told you already. I was very fond of them, admired them both!’

  ‘Admired? Yet out of everyone who knew them, you’re the only one who referred to them as anything less than extremely talented, saying they had “a certain amount of talent” and Daniel was “still dabbling”, yet to find his career. Yet everyone else rhapsodised about Ariana’s dancing and we ourselves have seen the amazing choreography Daniel created and heard the stunning music he was already composing at the time of his death; music you would have been aware of, being close to him.’

  ‘Yes, close enough to be aware of the reality, unlike many of my family, who were all too self-obsessed to see anything beyond their own narrow affairs!’ flashed Edgar.

  ‘Some were, perhaps, more aware than you give them credit for. More than one commented on your own relationship with Daniel and Ariana, either to us directly, or in letters and diaries we’ve seen from the period,’ Calderwood remarked. Again turning pages in his notebook and, again, apparently reading from it, he continued: ‘“...hovering like a pale moth around their flame” was one of the kinder remarks... “a pleasant enough boy, but one tended to forget he was around when any of his cousins were in the room, Daniel particularly...” was another. There’s more, but you get the drift, I think,’ he concluded, closing his notebook with a snap; the trap baited.

  They’d done all they could to unsettle the older man, even to the extent of bending official procedures, not to mention attributing fictional remarks to members of his family. But Calderwood’s heart sank as he watched the bookseller, who, though clearly shaken, his face chalk-white, his nostrils pinched, just sat completely still, with only his lips moving. He’d withstood all they could throw at him. Quite simply, Calderwood thought, if their strategy had failed, they had nowhere else to go.

  Chapter 62

  The silence in the pretty room was almost total, the only intrusion the ticking of a gilt and marble clock on the mantelpiece. Both police officers sat quietly, watching, waiting. Then, into the long silence, Calderwood spoke quietly. ‘In view of all we’ve said, sir, if you wish to have legal representation from this point on, we will, of course, adjourn to enable you to arrange it’

  It seemed that Edgar hadn’t even heard and the strange, eerie silence grew oppressive as they continued to watch the almost totally immobile man sitting opposite them.

  Then, suddenly, thankfully, the dam broke.

  With the snarl of a man now completely transformed, Edgar suddenly hurled his heavy crystal glass across the room. It shattered on the carved stone of the fireplace; the sound obscenely loud in the confines of the room.

  ‘You want to know what happened? Well, I’ll tell you, and I don’t need some snivelling lawyer pawing at me, telling me what I can and can’t say!’ he spat, lurching to his feet, all pretence of bonhomie irrecoverably wiped from his face. ‘You’re right! I was totally uninterested in the theatre. And yes, my prints were in the lighting box for reasons other than helping the technicians. And yes, you are right again, it does give an excellent view of the stage and auditorium. As you seem to have worked out – though God knows how! – it was from there that I was able to see what my father had done with Ariana. And, even better,’ he went on, almost spitting the words out, ‘what he’d done to dear, dear cousin Daniel!’

  ‘You saw all that?’ On Edgar’s pleased nod, Calderwood continued. ‘How did you get into the theatre? By then it was entirely boarded up, was it not?’

  ‘The same way my father did, through the small door under the stage. It was very useful until he closed it off. A bit tricky, as I was still inside!’

  ‘How did you get out?’

  ‘I just pushed against it and forced it open. I then re-hammered the nails in, turned my back on the place for the last time and got on with the rest of my life; considerably happier than I’d been for quite a while!’

  ‘Happier?’

  ‘Yes, happier! The two people I hated most were gone from my life; one very, very dead, the other very near it – and I’d had to do nothing to achieve either!’

  ‘But why did you hate them? They’d not harmed you, surely?’

  ‘How on earth can you know that, Inspector? You weren’t there, so how can you possibly know!’

  Calderwood nodded. ‘Perhaps, I can’t, sir, not fully, anyway. So tell me.’

  ‘It was sickening, absolutely sickening: “Ariana this! Ariana that!”, “Daniel’s so clever!”, “Daniel’s so amusing!”. Exceptions were made for him that were never made for me, for any of the rest of us!’ He stopped suddenly, got up and, taking a fresh glass from the drinks tray, poured himself a very large measure.

  ‘I’d spent my entire life feeling on the edge of that family and their odd, skewed world. I couldn’t wait to get away and be normal. I was delighted when Gerald ran off with the dancer, even more delighted that The Dolphin went with them; or so it appeared. Then a couple of days later, I was out near the theatre, gloating, if I’m honest, and saw my father moving through the bushes at the back! Curious, I watched him slither under the new boarding. I waited until he’d come out again, then crept in and saw, in the lighting he’d left on
, that he’d produced The Dolphin’s final show. And what a show! I went up to the lighting box via a back corridor and was able to see the whole exquisite tableau spread out below me!’

  ‘You were there when Daniel was still alive?’

  ‘Yes, I was!’ smirked Edgar, obscenely licking the rim of his glass.

  ‘You could have saved him,’ Calderwood said quietly.

  ‘Indeed I could, had I wanted to. But I didn’t – and told him so!’ Edgar added, with a satisfied nod.

  ‘You told him so!’

  ‘Yes, and told him why, too. I leaned into the box and told him exactly why – just before I drew the stage and box curtains, so he couldn’t see his beloved as he died. I wouldn’t give him even that satisfaction! He couldn’t speak, of course, the gag made sure of that, but he understood me, understood me very well. I could tell that by the tears. There weren’t many of course, he was already rather dehydrated, but there were enough to be satisfying, most satisfying!’ he added, the memory bringing a contented smile to his face. ‘I then went to leave – and found my father had come back and closed the door! It would have been curtains for me too, I expect, if he’d come in again!’ he added, his tone weirdly jocular. ‘Then, as I say, I pushed my way out, closed it off again, and went off, whistling and extremely happy.

  ‘And Arabelle? Why kill her?’

  Edgar, now beyond caring, hurtled on, seemly almost proud of what he’d done.

  ‘Besides annoying me by her drinking, her clinging, her drink-sodden, mawkish affection and behaviour, you mean?’ he asked savagely.

  ‘Besides those things, sir,’ Calderwood responded quietly, the calmness of his manner in acute counterpoint to Edgar’s anger. ‘After all, whatever her personality and behaviour were, they’d been little changed for many years, so what happened? What made it important that she be killed?’

  ‘It was her own fault; she’d become a threat,’ he replied, his voice becoming vicious.

  ‘A threat?’

  ‘Yes. I’d found her unconscious at the foot of the steep hill behind the theatre, the day I visited The Dolphin. I’d occasionally wondered over the years, whether her accident had had something to do with what was happening inside, but was never sure; not until two days before I killed her,’ he added, matter of factly. ‘I was talking to Mother on the phone and she told me, in passing, what Arabelle was saying, or rather, what she thought Arabelle was saying. Like yourselves, I realised, what she was saying wasn’t “No...no… never!” but “No...no... Edgar!” She must have followed me inside and been skulking under the stage; seen me mocking Daniel, or drawing the curtains, maybe; got frightened and ran off, maybe to tell someone; had her accident and, fortunately, had no memory of what she’d seen when she came round.’ He sat quietly, his hands clenched round the already empty glass, staring into the past.

  ‘I knew, though, that now, with it all being talked about again, it was only a matter of time before she did recall completely whatever it was. So,’ he continued, shrugging casually, a chilling echo of his father, ‘I had no option.’

  Calderwood nodded, still saying nothing.

  ‘I knew Mother was always out on a Wednesday evening, so it was relatively easy,’ Edgar continued, ‘for me to go to the house, dressed normally, but with one of those full body suits you people wear. Surprising what you can get on the ’net; how quickly too,’ he added, smiling.

  ‘It was risky, if you did begin to suspect me, but I had to,’ he continued. ‘I know how clever you fellows are these days, so I knew I had to be very, very careful indeed,’ he added waggishly and, weirdly, waving a finger at them. ‘Anyway, I arrived at the house, went round the back and broke a window in the cellar and then quickly went to the front door. She was so pathetically, pewkingly glad to see me! I made an excuse, went to the lavatory, put on the kit and went quickly back into the sitting room.

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t quite quick enough and she saw what I was wearing and, despite the booze, seemed to know exactly what I intended. Silly girl,’ he added, pursing his lips, ‘so much suffering and it could have been over so much more quickly and without all that pain. Still, she made her choice,’ he muttered, almost to himself, nodding his head, ‘she made her choice.’

  Calderwood said nothing for a moment and then said, ‘Edgar Turnbull, I’m arresting you on a charge of murder...’

  Epilogue

  ‘You see,’ he said, sipping his brandy, ‘our problem was that we were looking for the right thing in the wrong place. We didn’t recognise Turnbull’s “normality” compared to the theatrics of the rest of his family, for what it really was – an act. Behind that jovial warmth lurked a decidedly nasty individual.’

  It was ten days after the bookseller’s arrest and Calderwood and Bulmer had a rare evening off. As Helen was visiting Mollie, Eleanor was holding a dinner party and, besides Gwilym and Desmond, had invited the team’s two senior policemen and Ellen, Colin’s wife.

  With a wicked smile at Mollie and her son, she had banned any talk of the case until dinner was over. ‘I should imagine Ellen has enough shop talk at home without having it spoil her meal,’ she added firmly, smiling at the other woman’s emphatic nod.

  Eleanor was a consummate hostess and her guests were clever and amusing people, so the evening was full of laughter and interesting conversation. This continued until they moved from the candlelit warmth of the large dining room to the adjoining sitting room. Now, though, as they sat around a log fire burning brightly against the chill of the winter’s evening, its flickering flames dancing across the plaster walls and oak beams of the old room, their conversation, inevitably turned to recent events.

  ‘Everything revolved around those two young people, didn’t it,’ murmured Mollie, ‘and on how they were perceived by those around them. I wonder what they were really like? I suppose we’ll never know now, will we?’ she added, real sadness in her voice.

  ‘Colin’s a much more severe judge of people than I am,’ smiled Calderwood, ‘but I think he’d agree with me in this instance,’ he added, grinning across at his colleague.

  Bulmer’s own grin flashed in response. ‘Yes. I think they were just normal youngsters, very much absorbed in their own world, which pretty much excluded anything but their talent and each other. But,’ he continued, ‘they were also very nice kids and, I think, would’ve matured into two incredibly worthwhile people.’

  Calderwood nodded, his mind going back to the second interview with Alistair DeLancy-Graeme...

  *

  ‘Daniel?’ the elderly man breathed, his face stricken. ‘It was Daniel?’ Then, suddenly, awfully, he began to cry; tears began to run down his cheeks. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, until his face was a liquid blur; his grief and pain all too clear. Bulmer, taking a large handkerchief from his pocket, quietly passed it across to him.

  ‘You obviously cared a lot for Daniel, so why did you deny it, deny him, when we spoke about him previously?’ Calderwood asked gently.

  ‘I wasn’t denying Daniel, not really. I wouldn’t, ever!’ Alistair said quickly, his breath still ragged from his weeping. ‘I adored him. Oh, not for the obvious reasons,’ he added, ‘though, yes, a big part of me did love him, was attracted to him. He was all the things I wasn’t and could never be, but it was more because he was kind when many weren’t,’ he continued. ‘I don’t mean in a patronising way, it was just his nature. He saw that I was unhappy and took time to talk to me, when many didn’t, and,’ he continued, his voice growing darker, ‘he protected me both from my appalling uncle and, in the end, from myself. Twice.’

  ‘Really?’ Calderwood prodded, still gently.

  ‘Yes. That’s why I hid my certificates,’ Alistair went on. ‘When I thought it might be my uncle’s body I panicked, because I actually had tried to attack him twice and would probably have killed him too, had Daniel not stopped me.’

  ‘Why attack your uncle?’

  ‘He used to goad me, make snide remarks about m
e being... being as I am,’ Alistair almost whispered. ‘Then one day, after I’d started to get really good at martial arts, I suddenly lost my temper, really lost it. I can still see Gerald’s face, the shocked fear on it, as I leapt at him! But Daniel stepped in and stopped me.’

  ‘You say there were two incidents?’ Calderwood pressed quietly, as the other man stopped speaking.

  ‘Yes. Dear Uncle Gerald kept clear of me for months after that first time, but a few weeks before he ran off with Ariana, or we thought he had, he started up again, this time in front of Ariana, as well as Daniel. I lost it again and went for him. I do really believe I would have killed him that time,’ he murmured, ‘but, again, Daniel stepped in and stopped me, literally in mid-air. How I wish to God he hadn’t! They might both still alive, mightn’t they? She was kind, too,’ he added, quietly.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us this on our first visit?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Yes I am,’ he corrected himself. ‘I was frightened; frightened like I’ve been most of my life, really. Daniel knew and so did Ariana. Both were lovely, lovely people...’

  *

  ‘And now the nursing home’s been closed,’ Desmond was saying, as he bent down to add another log to the fire. ‘It’s alright, Robert,’ he added, looking over his shoulder, ‘we’ve been speaking to Ricardo and he’s much less discreet than you, thank God!’ he added, to general laughter. ‘Yvette’s undergoing a series of tests in another – safer – home,’ he continued. ‘It appears probable, though not certain, that she may not have MS at all. Which would be absolutely wonderful! A possible genuine mis-diagnosis is the official line, at the moment, though I rather doubt it was, myself,’ he added bluntly.

  Calderwood and Bulmer merely nodded. They already knew that the diagnoses of Yvette Mancini and two others at the Woodlands were now being reviewed by experts. As were the sudden deaths of four previous residents; all wealthy, all in comparatively good health – and all suddenly and unexpectedly dead either from heart attacks, strokes, or, in one case, apparent and uncharacteristic suicide.