Born to Dance

by June Tate

  ‘We’ve got the train and bus stations covered, guv, and the ferries, and his picture has been sent round all police stations. We can’t do more than that.’

  But Mickey O’Halleran had a plan of his own. After leaving the hospital, he made his way to the Four Feathers – Wally Cole’s local in the East End – and walked into the lounge bar. It was quiet, with most of the customers in the public bar, but the landlord recognized him immediately.

  ‘Bloody hell! If it isn’t the champ himself.’ He held out his hand and shook Mickey’s. ‘What can I do for you, Mr O’Halleran?’

  ‘Well, you can pull me half a pint of bitter, but I want some information. Do you know a Harry Jenkins?’

  As the owner pulled at the beer pump he nodded. ‘Yeah, he has been in here on occasion, but not regularly. Usually to have a word with Wally Cole, but he hasn’t been in for some time.’

  Mickey knew that his hunch was right. Cole was behind Bonny’s accident. He felt his anger rise, but he knew he would have to be clever and not let his own animosity towards the villain make him do anything stupid. He would go and talk to Foxy Gordon.

  Foxy listened carefully as Mickey unfolded his story. When the boxer finished, Mickey’s eyes glittered with anger. ‘I want that bastard! He’s ruined Bonny’s life and I want him to pay.’

  ‘Listen to yourself! He might have ruined Bonny’s life, but if you deal with him, he’ll ruin yours as well!’ Foxy put an arm around Mickey’s shoulder. ‘I understand how you feel and I’d probably feel the same in your shoes, but you are the champ! You have a role to play, and the public don’t like their heroes mixed up in scandal … Remember Charlie Black? Remember how the publicity affected your girl? No, my son, this is my fight. I owe Wally Cole for what he did to young Charlie for a start, and now he’s messed with my investment. You go and take care of your girl, I’ll see to Wally Cole.’

  ‘You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you, Foxy?’

  The trainer laughed. ‘How do you think I got my nickname, Mickey?’

  The young man had to be satisfied with that, what else was he to do?

  But when he was alone, Foxy Gordon fumed. ‘Bloody Wally Cole, always interfering, but now he has gone too far.’

  Rob Andrews walked into the hospital and made his way to Bonny’s room. He was relieved to find her alone and pulled up a chair. ‘Hello, Bonny, how are you?’

  She told him what the surgeon had said, her face pale and drawn.

  Rob longed to take her into his arms and comfort her but he knew she wouldn’t welcome such closeness from him. To Bonny, their relationship was purely professional, and after they’d had dinner together that night so long ago, when he had let slip that he felt differently, she’d made her feelings very clear.

  ‘That’s rotten news and tough for you to hear, knowing how you love to dance.’ He thought for a moment. ‘But you know, Bonny, even if after your treatment your dancing is still limited, it isn’t the end of the line for you.’

  ‘I’ll never dance on the stage again! Of course it’s the end.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. Don’t you see? You can help other beginners.’

  She looked puzzled.

  ‘You could always teach dancing. If what you say is true and you’ll have enough use of your leg to dance a little, you could teach others who want to learn, those who love the world of dance as much as you do. Think about it, Bonny. It could be as rewarding as what you were doing, but in a different way.’

  He watched her as she mulled over his words and saw her mood lighten somewhat.

  ‘I’d never thought of that,’ she admitted. She gave a grateful smile. ‘Thanks, Rob. You’ve given me food for thought. How is the understudy doing?’

  He shrugged. ‘She’s all right technically, but she lacks personality.’

  ‘Why don’t you let Shirley do it? She has bags of personality. She knows most of my numbers, so she’d only need a bit of time to perfect the routines. I’m surprised you didn’t think of her before.’

  ‘Well, we haven’t had much time over the past two days. It’s all been a bit of a panic, if I’m honest. I’ll have a word with her after tonight’s performance.’

  ‘She’s a real trouper, you know that, Rob. She won’t let you down, you’ll see. She sent me a card and some flowers. Thank her for me, please.’

  As he left, Bonny leaned back against her pillows. She suddenly felt uplifted. Rob had sown the seed of an idea that she thought might be possible, and she’d given Shirley a leg up the ladder. Not only because she was her best friend, but because Shirley had the talent and always seemed to miss out of the big time. She felt tired, but strangely rested. She closed her eyes and fell into a tranquil sleep.

  Wally Cole took the briefcase containing the money collected from the many shopkeepers who were forced to pay him for protection from his top man, Jimmy Knight, and climbed into his car.

  ‘Do you want me to drive home with you, boss?’ asked Knight.

  ‘No, there’s no need. I’ll see you tomorrow early. There’s some stuff I need you to take care of.’ He drove away.

  Twenty minutes later, he pulled into the driveway of his home, pulled on the handbrake, put the gear into neutral and switched off the engine. He leaned over to pick up the briefcase from the passenger seat with a smile of satisfaction. Today had been more than profitable. As he went to open the car door, he was grabbed from behind and a pad placed over his face. He tried to fight off his attacker, but the chloroform on the pad took effect before he could escape … and he slumped over the wheel.

  Harry Jenkins had made it safely to the Isle of Wight, using the ferry from Southampton before the police were able to put a watch on the passengers. He had booked into a bed and breakfast in Cowes, thinking that with it being such a busy place it would be easier for him to mingle undiscovered with the tourists. He told the landlady that he was looking for a small place for his parents to live in for their retirement, which allayed any further questions.

  At first he’d enjoyed wandering around, eating in cafes, walking around the marinas, looking at the shops, sitting on the front, reading the paper, but after a few days he became bored and started going into one of the local pubs. He liked a game of darts and was a good player, so there was always one of the locals willing to take him on for the price of a pint. And one evening there was a darts match, which he thought he’d go and watch.

  When he entered the pub, the captain of the darts team approached him. ‘One of our lads can’t make it tonight. Would you help me out and take his place?’

  Harry was only too happy to oblige. It wasn’t until he stood at the oche to throw his first dart, aiming for the bullseye – to see if he or his opponent were to throw first – that he overheard a conversation about the visiting team.

  ‘It’s time we took these coppers down a peg or two,’ one of the locals said, amid much laughter. Too late did he realize that he was surrounded by off-duty policemen. He threw the dart and missed the bull by miles.

  He played badly and lost his match, much to the derision of his teammates.

  ‘Blimey, Harry, what happened?’ asked the captain. ‘I was counting on you to win your game.’

  ‘I’ve got a headache,’ he replied. ‘I’m really sorry; I won’t hang around, if you don’t mind. I’m off to bed with a couple of aspirins.’ He bought the winner a pint of beer and hurriedly left the pub.

  The following morning in Cowes police station, the match was the main topic of conversation. Ken Watkins, who had played Harry, was checking some papers and amongst them was a picture of a wanted criminal to post on the bulletin board with the others. When he glanced at the picture next to the one he had placed, he exclaimed, ‘Bloody hell!’

  Within minutes, two policemen called on the bed and breakfast accommodation, to be told by the landlady that the man they were looking for had checked out early that morning. Phone calls were made and the search for Harry Jenkins began.

  Word reached Detec
tive Inspector Phillips that Jenkins was on the Island and there was no way he could leave without the ferry. It would only be a matter of time before he was apprehended. Something that pleased Phillips greatly. But he was shocked to be informed later in the day that the body of Wally Cole had been fished out of the Thames in much the same place as the young boxer Charlie Black had committed suicide.

  When Mickey O’Halleran heard the news about Wally Cole, he rushed round to the gym to find Foxy working in the ring with one of his trainees. ‘Can I have a word?’ Mickey asked.

  Foxy called another lad into the ring to take his place and climbed out. ‘What is it? Is there something wrong with Bonny?’

  ‘No, there isn’t. But Wally Cole was fished out of the Thames this morning.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Did you have anything to do with it?’ Mickey stared hard at the man.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous! Whatever made you think that?’

  ‘You said you’d see to him.’

  Foxy mopped his brow with the towel around his neck. ‘Well, now I won’t have to. Someone else has done it for me. You go and worry about your girl and leave the rest of the world to take care of itself.’ And he climbed back into the ring.

  Twenty-Eight

  True to his word, when Bonny was able to leave the hospital, Mickey took her to Ireland. They booked into a hotel that nestled beneath the Mourne Mountains, which loomed dark and mysterious in the distance. They walked along the beach, threw pebbles into the water, drank Guinness in one of the local pubs, and later, when Bonny was feeling better, they went fishing.

  For Bonny these were halcyon days, where she learned how to sit quietly so as not to disturb the fish, and how to relax and let the autumn sun wash over her. How to be without any pressure at all. It was a time of healing for the body and the mind.

  They made love with much hilarity, due to Bonny’s one leg in plaster, but their closeness and understanding grew as the days passed slowly by, until it was time to return to Southampton and the hospital.

  Homeward-bound on the ferry, Mickey put his arm around her shoulders as they sat looking out over the sea. ‘Well, darlin’, you look well rested and lovely. You’re fit now to face the next step. Are you ready for it?’

  Bonny knew that once the plaster had been removed, the days ahead with the physiotherapist were going to be difficult. She was concerned as to the outcome – her leg would be weak and the going tough – and at the end of her treatment she would know just how much movement she had lost.

  She sighed. ‘Yes, Mickey. I’m ready.’ She leaned forward and kissed him. ‘But without you, I’d never have been able to face the future.’

  ‘Listen, princess, with me backing you up and the luck of the Irish on our side, you’ll be amazed at what you can achieve!’ He chuckled. ‘I’ll certainly be pleased when that bloody plaster has gone. The number of times I’ve caught my shin on it in bed isn’t funny. I’m covered in bruises!’

  In Southampton, the post-mortem results had shown that Wally Cole had chloroform in his system and therefore his death was not from natural causes.

  ‘So we’re looking at a murder case,’ Detective Inspector Phillips remarked as he read the report.

  His sergeant gave a wry smile. ‘Well, someone did us a favour, boss.’

  ‘I’m inclined to agree with you, but nevertheless, someone has to account for it. We can’t ignore the law or we face anarchy.’ But there were no clues to follow at the scene of the crime. And any questions asked by various members of the force in the East End were met with blank expressions. No one knew anything, and if they did, they were keeping it within the realms of the underworld.

  Jimmy Knight was making his own enquiries, but getting nowhere fast. He had suspected that Foxy Gordon might have been behind the demise of his boss, in retribution for the sabotage of the machinery in the production of Broadway Melody, but there was no proof of the matter.

  During the time that Bonny had been in Ireland, her friend Shirley had taken over the lead in the show as Bonny had suggested and had done well. She’d had a good write-up in the theatrical columns, so the ticket office was once again doing business – not nearly as much as when Bonny had been the star, but enough to keep the production open.

  The profits had also dropped, of course, which meant the backers were just about breaking even now. This did not sit well with Foxy Gordon. Until Bonny’s accident, the potential return on his investment had looked good, but now he thought he could put his money to better use. He made an appointment to see Giles Gilmore.

  The two men sat facing each other in Gilmore’s office. The hostility in the air was palpable.

  ‘I want my money back!’ was Foxy’s opening.

  Giles’s face was grim. ‘I can’t do that at this time. You know how the bookings fell after Bonny Burton had her accident.’

  ‘That’s not my problem.’

  ‘I’m very much afraid it is. There is no way I can come up with that kind of money at this time. You wanted to be an angel; now you’ll learn it has its ups and downs, just like any other business.’

  ‘Not good enough, Giles.’ Foxy got to his feet. ‘I’ll give you a month to find the money. After that, things will get rough! I’ll file for bankruptcy and the court will call in all my assets to pay my debts. Then where will you be?’

  Meantime, there was great excitement at Southampton’s police headquarters. Harry Jenkins had been found sleeping rough on the Isle of Wight. Too scared to book in to a bed and breakfast, Jenkins had been kipping down at night in different places in an effort to evade arrest, but due to the vigilance of a member of the public, he had been found early one morning, sleeping on a beach under a bit of tarpaulin. He was now being sent home – under guard – to Southampton for questioning.

  After six weeks in the open, Jenkins was in no mood to play clever. His resistance was low and he very soon gave the police all the details they required about his involvement in the sabotage of the machinery in Broadway Melody, at the behest of Wally Cole.

  ‘Why did Cole ask you to do this?’ asked Detective Inspector Phillips.

  ‘He wanted to get back at Foxy Gordon, who had a financial interest in the show. Wally wanted to buy into it too but couldn’t. Foxy taunted him about it. That’s why.’

  Phillips was furious. ‘How very petty! Do you realize, you could have killed someone? Poor Bonny Burton has had her career ruined by you. She broke a leg and may never be able to dance again! Others in the cast also sustained injuries, though fortunately for you they were not serious.’

  Jenkins looked crestfallen. ‘I never meant for that to happen. She’s a nice woman, always had a word for everyone backstage.’

  ‘Not only that, but someone murdered Wally Cole.’ Phillips’s eyes narrowed. ‘He was found near the same spot that the young boxer Charlie Black was discovered.’

  Jenkins became agitated. ‘I don’t know nothing about that, sir.’

  ‘Oh, I think you do.’ Phillips leaned forward. ‘You are in deep trouble, Jenkins. You are looking to serve some serious jail time. On the other hand, if you help us with our enquiries, it will be to your benefit.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘The judge will take into consideration your helping us when he comes to sentence you. After all, you were lucky that no one was killed in the theatre. You could have been facing a murder charge. As it is …’

  Jenkins turned pale. ‘What do you want to know?’

  Shortly after, Jimmy Knight, Cole’s top man, was picked up for questioning.

  Bonny had had her plaster removed and was now having treatment with the physiotherapist, learning to walk using her greatly weakened leg. It was hard and painful, but Mickey insisted on being there to encourage her. It was a difficult time. Bonny tried her best but there were moments of great depression and frustration. She would try her hardest but would sometimes end up in floods of tears.

  Mickey would comfort her at such times, but gently persuade h
er to try again.

  ‘I can’t do this!’ she cried.

  ‘Of course you can!’ Mickey insisted. ‘Come on, darlin’, show me that fighting spirit! You have to come out of your corner swinging.’

  ‘I’m a dancer, not a bloody boxer!’ She glared at him, sweat beading her forehead.

  He chuckled. ‘I don’t know about that, princess. At this moment, if I got too close, I think you could floor me with a hefty right.’

  She had to smile because that was just what she wanted to do, hit out at him, although she knew he was only trying to help her. ‘Oh dear, Mickey, am I ever going to get through this?’

  He held her close. ‘Of course you are. You just have to be patient. You are expecting too much too soon. Think back to Ireland and how we had to sit for ages waiting for the fish to bite. You have to use that patience now and stop beating yourself up. I think you are a wonder woman, but truth to tell, sweetheart, you’re only human.’

  And so she tried again.

  Jimmy Knight was being difficult. He denied any part in Charlie Black’s demise. ‘The coroner said it was suicide,’ he claimed. ‘The stupid bugger was deeply in debt. He knew he couldn’t pay and he topped himself. So why am I here?’

  ‘Of course he paid his debt!’ snapped Detective Inspector Phillips. ‘He threw the fight and Wally Cole made a packet on the result. You know it and I know it. Cole got rid of him so he couldn’t tell anyone about it. You were the instigator of his death.’

  Knight just looked at the detective and smirked. ‘Prove it!’

  ‘I intend to. Take him back to his cell!’ Phillips told the constable standing by. ‘We’ll get a search warrant for Knight’s place, and Wally Coles’ too,’ he told his sergeant. ‘Perhaps we’ll find something there. Take Knight’s car to pieces too. He must have taken Charlie Black to the Thames in something. And take a look at Cole’s car as well. I don’t like unsolved crimes on my books!’