More Dead Than Alive (David Mallin Detective series Book 15)

by Roger Ormerod

  “I didn’t explain anything.”

  “Why you exchanged ballet for the rather… brash, shall we say… the brash but exciting world of the vaudeville stage.”

  “But ballet was wildly exciting, my dear.”

  “So I was wrong,” I admitted.

  “A different excitement, that was all.” She turned her head and smiled at me. “You see, there was Konrad. And also…” She laughed, but there were tears in it. “… also, I discovered I would never reach the top in ballet.”

  “But how could you be so sure?”

  “Oh, my entrechats were perfect, and my pirouettes en arabesque were a dream. But I couldn’t project. I was only a dancer and not an interpreter.”

  I glanced at her. She had been speaking in angry rejection. I couldn’t help being a little disparaging. “I’ve heard that sort of thing before.”

  “But I knew. I got support parts – a cygnet in Swan Lake, the cossack girl in La Boutique Fantasque. And of course I loved the music. And then – I was in an offshoot company of the Royal Ballet and we were playing the Grand at Wolverhampton – Dasha Bary-shkova was taken ill, and I got to dance the part of Olympia, the mechanical doll, in The Tales of Hoffmann. Oh, that suited me fine, suited my style, because then – now, to some extent – I was supple and skinny… I thought I’d make a splendid doll. You know the story, coming alive when Hoffmann puts on the magic glasses, then collapsing as a doll again when he takes them off. I danced my heart out… and it flopped.”

  “Oh, my dear…”

  “Don’t be sorry, it was the night of my life. Konrad had been in the wings – his show was due on the following week – and he came to the dressing-room to see me. And even… even informal, he was completely overpowering. And being Konrad, quite honest of course. He said…” She attempted his deep, fluent voice, but grotesquely. ‘“A fair performance, young lady, but you’re wasting your talents.’ So I simply stayed behind when the company moved on, and the following week I was sawn in half. And then, we began to develop his famous Coppélia illusion.”

  “Coppélia? But…”

  She stopped, releasing the horse, who at once began to crop the meagre grass. “You haven’t seen it?”

  I shook my head.

  She sat down on an outcrop of rock. “Then I must tell you. It was superb!” I sat beside her. She was animated and alive, her hands fluid, all her body lithe and moving to the memory. “We called it Coppélia, because people know the name, though of course the doll never dances in Coppélia, it’s simply Coppélia pretending to be a doll, and anyway Konrad preferred the music of Delibes. But to that music we did the Olympia pas de deux from Hoffmann.”

  “That’d be sacrilege, surely.”

  “Entertainment. We did it in style, with a recording from Coppélia, Konrad in old-fashioned evening dress as Hoffmann, and some extra from the show as Spalanzani, to hand him the magic spectacles. The curtain would go up on me, center stage, sitting as a floppy doll in a plain chair, then Konrad’d see me, fall in love with me on sight… dear Konrad… he’d take the glasses, and I’d come alive. And I’d dance – God, how I’d dance! – and Konrad would do a few steps with me. Then I’d dance to a climax, all grand jétes and tours en l’air, Konrad’d tear off his spectacles and hold out his arms and begin to walk towards me – and I’d collapse in a crumpled heap when the magic disappeared. Then there’d be a drum roll, he’d slowly walk towards me, bend over me and pick me up in his arms, and I’d be all limp and lifeless. And suddenly… in the ballet he’d have simply walked off, dragging the doll behind him… but suddenly he’d go into a rage that I was only a doll, and he’d tear me apart, limbs tossed everywhere, sawdust flying, and the head… he’d clutch it to his chest, weeping, as the spot faded and the curtain came down.”

  She stopped. I might not have been there. Her eyes were on the grey horizon.

  “Very impressive,” I murmured.

  “Impressive! It was drama, it was superb, it was class! We brought the house down.”

  “And it came to an end?”

  She spread her hands, the fingers spatulate. “You can’t live for ever on the same illusion, and it all hung on one slim thread of deception. Konrad had to think again and find more drama, more impact…”

  She was on her feet, clicking her tongue for the mare. I said: “So he came up with the cabinet?”

  “And he expected me to go inside the bloody thing!” she cried.

  “When it was safe.”

  “Safe! It was never going to be safe.”

  “But surely it was improving.”

  “Ha!” It was a harsh little exclamation of contempt. “The first seven or eight tries, with the dummies – oh, it worked. But the last few times… Elsa, I stood there, four times, at his elbow, when he fired the gun, and I’ll swear I heard the thud of that bullet going into the dummy. And that could’ve been me!”

  We were walking, now more quickly, agitation springingher step. “Four?” I asked. “There were eight failures.”

  “I refused to stay and watch.” She flashed an angry look at me. “It turned my stomach.”

  “I imagine it would. But you were there that night?”

  “Sometimes we simply tested the cabinet – no gun – both of us properly dressed for the part. That I’d do. But he loaded his gun … so I went. Oh, I’m not telling a lie, I was out of there like a shot. And d’you know, when I got back to my room I was shaking, and absolutely sticky with perspiration. I took a bath, and changed – started to – and then I heard the fuss along the Gallery…”

  I knew then why she was telling me all this. She was explaining that Konrad’s career had been failing, his new illusion refused to work, and his assistant was losing her nerve – more, she was deserting him – more even, she was in love with Konrad’s son, and she’d been Konrad’s mistress. She was telling me we were wasting our time, and that he’d clearly had reasons for committing suicide.

  I wondered whom she was protecting.

  But nevertheless, I told it all in detail to David. I found him in the Cleric’s Library, making that phone-call to the police sergeant that I mentioned. He had been using the Library as an interview-room, and had just finished a long conversation with Clarice.

  He listened attentively to my story, nodding, smoking steadily. “There’s a possibility that she even arranged the excuse to walk back with you,” he said at the end.

  “No. I’m sure her fear was real.”

  “But you say she’s in love with Anthony?”

  How can you explain to a man? “Yes.”

  He shrugged. “But did she tell you how the cabinet worked?”

  “No. I tried to get it out of her, but she said it was a secret – Konrad’s secret. David, they’re all completely absorbed in this mystery business. You’d think it was sacred.”

  “To them it is.”

  “But do you think she’s correct – about Konrad?” I asked.

  He considered that. “The atmosphere and the background for suicide were there. But he was quite an expert at creating atmosphere, and from what Clarice says… what’re you smiling at?”

  “David, she’s a determined woman. It’s what she wants – your help to save her insurance money. And she’s got right into your gullible mind. No, I’m not being cynical. I remember… she wanted to be captain of the hockey team. She couldn’t play the game, but nevertheless she wanted to be captain, and by heaven she was.”

  “I thought she was your friend.”

  I laughed. “She is. I love her. But you don’t need to, David.”

  “I don’t know what anybody wants any more,” he complained, rubbing his hand through his hair.

  I laughed at his confusion. “Shall I tell you what I want?”

  “And we’ll work to that? Right.”

  “Just the truth of it all.”

  The trouble was that I was beginning to understand his ridiculous, and until now irritating, drive for the truth, as though it was the most wonde
rful thing in the world. It was convenient in some ways; when he made a promise, it was given in truth, and kept inflexibly. Mind you, it made him a little chary of promises. But not this time.

  “That you shall have, my sweet.”

  Then at once, ridiculously, I began to feel nervous of what I had provoked. I steered away from it. “And what was it Clarice told you?”

  “Oh… that. Well, that Konrad could not, ever, leave anything looking like it really was.”

  “That’s a great help.”

  “But she was sincere.”

  “Yes.”

  “And now, there’s just Anthony to see.”

  “He’s out riding.”

  “Then perhaps you can confirm what Clarice told me, that after you ran downstairs…”

  “Confirm it! But you said she was sincere.”

  “The best liars always are.”

  After I’d finished laughing, and he watching me ruefully because he had been serious, I said:

  “What did she tell you?”

  “Only that she’d been very brave… she’s a splendid woman, Elsa…”

  “What did she say?”

  He grinned. “Her own words, that she’d been brave in the room, kind of stunned with shock, until you ran out to get to a phone, then she went all to pieces. So Anthony took her down after you, and to her room, and at that time she saw you along the Gallery…”

  “Yes. I’d tried the phone in our room, but it wasn’t working. They go off and on with no excuse at all, so I’d come out on the Gallery, intending to try the one in the room that George is in now. I saw Clarice, with Anthony, just leaving the Tower door, and him with his arm around her as though she needed the support. Then the phone in George’s room worked and I made the call, and I went out again, and Amaryllis called to me from her room door along the other end of the Gallery, asking what had happened. She was in pants and bra in her doorway, and by that time Anthony was halfway down the staircase, with Auden Sundry walking up to meet him, and him asking what was all the fuss. And then Martin Fisher came in through the back of the hall, which meant he’d been out in the courtyard, and we were all together in the Pink Lounge when that very nice police sergeant arrived.”

  “Elsa,” he said, “we’re very lucky to have had you on the spot. An uninvolved witness who actually sees things! You can’t imagine how rare that is.” He glanced at his watch. “I wonder when Anthony will be back.”

  “Then you don’t believe me!”

  “Of course I do. All I want to ask him is why he hated his father.”

  “But, David, that must be obvious. Anthony’s a conjuror. He does it all with his hands and his technique. Konrad had the deepest contempt for him. Conjuring, he said, was just a paltry thing compared with the art of illusion, which requires showmanship and personality. And, of course, Anthony hates illusions. He says they depend on the equipment and not the man.”

  “You gathered all this in less than a week?”

  “I’ve never known anything about this sort of thing, so of course it all had to be explained to me. They used to compete for my attention, and my sympathy I suppose.”

  “Yes, I can understand that.” He looked at me solemnly. “And who won?”

  “Nobody won, David. Don’t be ridiculous. But Konrad was inflexibly charming, and Anthony has always… well, frightened me, I suppose.”

  “Then I must have a talk with him. I’ve never managed to frighten you, so there’s obviously a secret to be learned.”

  “You dare!”

  He grinned. “Let’s see who else we can find.”

  The music drew us to the Pink Lounge. It is the most relaxing room in the castle, possibly because the wall hangings of heavy Persian rugs – which in fact were introduced by Anthony for his hi-fi; something to do with resonance or eigentones, I think – did at least serve to hide the bleak stone walls. The furniture, too, was less repressive there, chosen specifically for comfort and intended to be moved around to obtain the best position for television or stereo, or even the old-fashioned pleasure of simply reading a book.

  Anthony was playing Delibes, the ballet music from Coppélia, second act. He was lying on his shoulders in a huge easy chair, indolent, and insolent with his brusque gesture for silence when David attempted to speak to him.

  David shrugged. Casually, he wandered the room. I found a seat, as far away from Anthony as possible. I could feel he was waiting for something.

  It came just before the ending of the act. Amaryllis entered, with Martin at her shoulder. The music caught her, froze her. Anthony looked round, smiling, then he reached forward and switched it off.

  That was all we had of that little scene. Ten seconds, perhaps. But Amaryllis was plainly shaken, and I thought she would turn and leave. Something had been said, and I had not understood what. Then her head came up and she calmly walked forward and examined the record sleeves he had taken out.

  “But I thought you were a Stravinsky addict, Anthony,” she said blithely. “You don’t have to play my music just to please me, you know.”

  The emotion of the moment had gone. I didn’t think David had noticed it, and I was not even sure it had not been imagination. But if it was not… I could see what Anthony was doing, and with a certain sort of woman the technique probably worked, those with a masochistic streak. They’d welcome the rejection and the insults, the implied danger. And, come to think of it, there was a facet of masochism in being an illusionist’s assistant; there might not have been actual physical danger involved, but the possibility lurked behind the deception. I watched his dark eyes on her. He was playing with a deck of cards, fanning them, disappearing them, and when she bent close to him, studiously ignoring his activities as she reached for a cigarette from the box, he plunged his fingers for her corsage and produced a card from it. He displayed it to her, and she recoiled. It was the ace of spades.

  David was saying: “If we could have a few words, Mr Fisher… in the Library, I’d suggest.”

  Martin and David headed for the door. I didn’t want to remain with the stifling atmosphere, though Clarice walked in at that moment and blissfully ignored it, chattering away about where was her recording of The Student Prince. I followed them into the Library.

  David wanted to hear the details of the insurance policy. Martin Fisher, I already knew, had come to the castle as a guest, but really as an observer for his company, to see and assess the new illusion. The cover was on Konrad’s life, and for some years now, since he gave up escapology, Konrad had been in no danger at all from his equipment. But formalities had to be observed. In the old days, the insurance company had had to know the secrets of his famous escapes from tanks full of water while handcuffed and chained, to satisfy themselves that their vaunted double-indemnity clause was not sheer folly on their part. And so Fisher had been at the castle, as had Auden Sundry on behalf of his Magic Circle, to see the new illusion working. It was strange that the financial aspect would reveal the cabinet’s secrets to Fisher, while Sundry would have had to wait for Konrad’s death.

  “This double-indemnity…” said David.

  “His life’s insured for £100,000,” said Fisher. “Ordinary life cover, with the usual provisions. The premiums were huge, of course. Which…” He bounced eagerly, bright eyes darting from one to the other of us. “…which, I don’t mind telling you, he was finding it more and more difficult to pay.”

  “He doesn’t have to pay them any more.”

  “No. Though there’s no proof of death yet.”

  “So you’d hold back payment?”

  “Of course. Of course, dear sir. We haven’t had an inquest yet, anyway. There can’t even be a claim without some legal evidence of death. And as… as things stand – and I’m sure you’re well aware of this – the verdict is surely going to be suicide.”

  David nodded. “Which would suit you, I’ve no doubt. Because then your company would pay nothing.”

  “It’d suit the company, not me. The Kleins ha
ve become personal friends over the years. Theirs has always been my own account. I am particularly fond of Clarice.”

  David leaned back, relaxing. This was just a friendly chat. “Yes, I can see. It makes it a bit awkward for you, doesn’t it! For your company, you’ve got to push for a suicide verdict, or at least hope for one. You’d hate yourself for it.” And David smiled.

  Fisher almost laughed at him. “You’re overdramatizing it, my friend. There comes a point where professional considerations override personal issues. My basic loyalty has to be to my company.”

  “And to the percentage commission you’d get for saving your company £100,000. If, of course, you were in a position to influence the outcome.”

  I hadn’t known that David could be so casually insulting. I was not sure I liked it. But he didn’t meet my eye, and I carefully remained silent.

  And Fisher, too, surprised me. Suddenly his voice was sharp, and his bounce became stilled. “There’d be no commission. There’s been no claim.”

  “But if there is…” David’s voice was gentle.

  “Then I’ll fight it. Damn it all – you do your job and I’ll do mine.”

  “I am doing mine. With the knowledge I have at the moment I don’t think he took his own life.” So casual. Dear David.

  Fisher actually managed a sneer. “That’s your fee talking.”

  “Now there I’m at an advantage, because there isn’t one. It leaves things open. Clarice is simply a friend.” He grinned. “Not as long-standing a friendship as yours, I must admit.”

  “Then I think I hope you’ll succeed,” said Fisher, and at once he was his old self, his eyes alight with mockery. “With whatever it is you’re trying to do. I hope you know.”

  David relaxed. He laughed. “At this stage, I’m not quite sure.”

  Martin Fisher left us. His brief snap of anger had been provoked only by the slight to his integrity. Having established it, he was alive and full of energy again. The door closed behind him.

  “I don’t think he can even trust himself,” said David. Then he turned and smiled at me. “Why is Anthony doing that to Amaryllis?” he asked.