Stalked By Shadows

by Chris Collett

  Mariner looked up in disbelief. ‘Relationship advice? From you?’

  They had to ring the bell to be admitted, and were met by Susan Brady; small and slight, in a white T-shirt and black leggings, her hair piled up on her head and held in place with a clip, a few stray frizzy strands escaping. She brought with her the scent of vanilla. She seemed young to have such responsibility, Mariner thought, though recognised that he’d reached the age where it wasn’t just the coppers who seemed just out of kindergarten.

  Introductions made, she took them through a small entrance lobby and into the main hall, with high windows that flooded the room with late-afternoon sunshine. At the far end of the hall an elderly woman pounding on an upright piano nodded an acknowledgement to them and continued with her playing.

  ‘Sorry to have kept you,’ Susan apologised. ‘But it’s coming up to audition time and I’m going to have to break it to some of the parents this evening that their daughters aren’t being entered, and explain why. I need to be prepared.’ She was softly spoken with a slight lisp.

  ‘Auditions for what?’ Mariner wanted to know.

  ‘Some of the girls try out with the Birmingham Ballet or the Royal College in London. It’s crunch time because what we’re saying is whether or not some of the girls have a future in dancing. It can shatter a few illusions.’

  ‘Do many of the girls go through?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘To be honest, they’re in the minority. Most girls are just not built for the long haul, or don’t have the discipline. They start off well while they’re little but then they grow, and in reality very few girls have, or can maintain, the right physique to be successful ballet dancers.’

  ‘And who makes that decision, whether or not to audition?’

  ‘The final call is down to us,’ said Susan. ‘Some of it is about cost - we have to pay to enter girls - and we do get parents who want to pay themselves, but the main thing we have to consider is the standing of the school. If we enter too many girls who are really not up to scratch, simply on the off-chance that they might get in, we’d soon start to develop the wrong kind of reputation. Sometimes that means making harsh choices.’

  ‘Do you meet much resistance?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘Most of the girls usually know themselves. It’s most difficult with the pushy parents, who have been convinced all along that their offspring is going to be the next Darcy Bussell, regardless of ability. They don’t have a realistic view of what the standards are like.’ She flashed a wry smile. ‘It’s one of the many times I’m going to miss Nina. She was a great believer in honesty, and never one to mince her words if she felt any of the girls weren’t going to make it.’

  ‘That must have upset some people,’ Mariner said.

  ‘Oh no, she was always tactful about it. I’m just a wuss. I hate having to break that kind of news.’ Her face clouded. ‘I’m sorry, wittering on. It’s Nina you came to talk about, isn’t it? It’s terrible what happened to her; I can’t believe it. The parents are upset and it’s been really difficult knowing what to tell the girls. They’re so young, some of them. It’s too much for them to take in, but of course a lot of them have seen it on the news and recognised her name.’

  Mariner wondered if she was always this garrulous or whether nerves were playing a part. ‘How long had you worked with Nina?’ he asked.

  ‘For the last fifteen years; I was a pupil of hers when I was a kid and, though I gave up when I left school, I never really went away. We’re - we were a team; Nina, me and Mrs Parker.’

  ‘Mrs Parker?’

  ‘Our pianist.’ Susan gestured across the room.

  ‘She looks as if she could run the class,’ Mariner observed.

  ‘Oh no, she’s a formidable woman, Mrs Parker, and she plays the piano beautifully, but she’d be the first to admit that Nina was the one with the magic touch.’

  ‘How old is she?’ Mariner asked, thinking that the old dear looked about to keel over.

  ‘About a hundred and twenty I think.’ Susan smiled. ‘She’s been doing this for ever.’

  ‘And being paid for it?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘How is the business doing?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘We get by, though I’d be lying if I said that it’s thriving,’ Susan admitted. ‘Ballet for little girls isn’t as popular as it once was. Far too much competition from other activities.’

  ‘Was it doing well enough to provide two incomes?’

  She smiled wryly. ‘Well, I’ll never be a millionaire, but that’s not what I’m in it for. And I think, for Nina, she had her husband’s pension and all that, so she didn’t go short.’

  ‘But I understand Nina was about to retire anyway.’

  This time Susan laughed out loud. ‘Nina has been going to retire ever since I’ve been here. I don’t think she ever would have, she loved it too much.’

  ‘How did you feel about that?’

  She was thoughtful for a moment. ‘I’d have to be honest and say it could be frustrating at times. Nina wanted to run things as she always had, teaching only the purist stuff. I think it would have been good to diversify a little and offer some modern dance. With traditional ballet there’s a lot of hard work before it even starts to look like anything impressive.’

  ‘What will happen to the business now?’

  She shrugged. ‘I really don’t know. We talked hypothetically about me buying Nina out if she ever did give it up, but I haven’t any idea whether she ever did anything about it.’

  ‘And, if she did, you’d introduce modern dance?’ Mariner queried.

  Susan wasn’t stupid, she could see how it looked. But she was honest. ‘Yes, I probably would,’ she said, a touch discomfited.

  As they were talking, the room had been steadily filling up, parents arriving with their diminutive offspring in pink leotards and cardigans, some of them impossibly small. It was a paedophile’s wet dream, Mariner’s twisted copper’s mind told him. Both children and adults regarded Mariner and Knox with suspicion, though the adults at least may have been able to guess who they were. As if suddenly noticing all the activity, Susan checked her watch.

  ‘We won’t keep you much longer,’ Mariner said. He lowered his voice. ‘The girls who don’t get chosen to audition - do any of the parents take it personally?’

  ‘They’re disappointed naturally,’ Susan replied. ‘We’re always aware of the keen ones, and sometimes they’ve invested a lot -’ She broke off. ‘You mean enough to harm Nina? Absolutely not. Ballet’s competitive, like anything else, but no one I know would take it to that extreme.’

  ‘Even so, we’ll need the details of all your pupils and their parents, past and present.’

  ‘Is that really necessary?’

  ‘We need to check anyone who might have been in contact with Nina in the last few weeks.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course. I haven’t got a full list here, but there’s one at home on my computer. I’ll send it to you.’

  ‘That would be helpful,’ Mariner said. ‘Some of the girls must have been coming here for years. Nina will have built up strong relationships.’

  Susan nodded. ‘Some better than others, yes.’

  ‘Would she ever have invited any of the parents round to her house?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘I doubt it.’ She pulled a face. ‘Nina was very professional. Though she loved it, the dance school was her job.’

  ‘And how about you? Did you and Nina socialise at all?’

  ‘No, we got on well and we had a laugh, but it was strictly business.’

  ‘So you wouldn’t know if she had any men friends.’

  ‘Nina was quite a private person in that sense, and I’m so much younger than her. I don’t think she would have told me about things like that. Although once, ages ago, a man picked her up after the session,’ she confided. ‘When I came out they were just driving off. He had quite a big car, a saloon like a Jaguar or something. But after that I never saw him again and she
never mentioned him. Could have been anyone I suppose.’ Like a cousin. The crowd at the other end of the room was getting restless and she cast anxious eyes towards them. Mariner terminated the conversation.

  ‘Our Siobhan used to do ballet,’ Knox said of his now grown-up daughter, as he and Mariner walked back out to their cars. ‘I suppose most girls go through that phase, don’t they?’

  ‘Do they?’ It was beyond Mariner’s experience. ‘Was she any good?’ He’d never met Siobhan, but, if she’d inherited her dad’s powerful, wiry physique, then she might have been.

  ‘I don’t know. She gave it all up when she was about ten; wouldn’t be seen dead in a tutu. Theresa was gutted.’

  Mariner didn’t know why he’d agreed to meet Stephanie Rieger on Wednesday evening. Following Knox’s dubious advice, he’d intended to finish it over the phone, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to do that. Instead he had committed to meeting her face to face so that he could let her down gently. Not that ‘it’ had ever started; only in her head. Did one shag constitute a relationship? He remembered the old joke about one swallow not making the grade, but then that took his thoughts off in completely the wrong direction. He’d arranged to meet Stephanie in a city-centre bar, off Colmore Row; neutral territory and with public transport for her to get home, so avoiding any last-minute temptation.

  Driving into the city, Mariner caught the local news bulletin on BRMB, which included a thirty-second slot for Nina Silvero, during which the announcer said that police were appealing for a key witness to come forward. They’d got in just in time. The MBE had raised the profile enough for some media coverage, but another twenty-four hours and Nina Silvero would be old news, replaced by the regular stabbings and shootings that seemed an almost daily occurrence in the city these days. Already the top slot had been taken by a twenty-three-year-old attacked by a gang on the Birchfield Road, who weren’t keen on his overtaking strategy.

  Mariner arrived at the agreed rendezvous first, ordered himself a beer and was beginning to think optimistically that Stephanie might not show up, when there she was, tottering in on incredibly high heels and planting a heavily perfumed kiss on his cheek. ‘Hi, sorry I’m late, darling.’ Did she just call him darling? ‘Had to wait ages for a bus and then it took for ever. I hate buses - they’re such nasty, smelly things.’

  She seemed to Mariner to be way overdressed for a bus ride and a quick drink, in a tight dress with a neckline that finished some way down her cleavage, magnetically drawing his gaze.

  ‘What would you like to drink?’ he asked, seeing a temporary escape route at the bar.

  ‘Oh, my usual please, dry white spritzer.’

  Bringing it back to the table, Mariner was keen to get the business over with then and there, but as she’d only just arrived it seemed a little unreasonable. And he didn’t really get the chance.

  ‘You look tired,’ Stephanie said proprietorially, as he sat down. ‘Had a hard day?’

  ‘We’re working on a difficult case, yes,’ Mariner admitted, reluctant to get into a discussion about it.

  ‘I heard about it, it’s that murder, isn’t it?’ Her eyes gleamed and Mariner wondered if she was getting some kind of thrill from being linked, however tenuously, with the drama. ‘I said to my friend, “I bet Tom’s working on that one.” I was so excited to find out that you’re a policeman,’ she went on, confirming his fears. ‘I’ve never been out with a policeman before.’

  ‘Yes, did I actually tell you that?’ Mariner said, feigning memory loss.

  ‘You must have done, how else would I have known? Cheers!’ Raising her glass, she sipped delicately at it.

  ‘I didn’t give you my phone number,’ Mariner pointed out.

  ‘Oh, I know, that was a bit naughty of me, but, when I picked up your jacket to hang it up, your mobile fell out of the pocket, so I thought I may as well make a note of your number then, and save you the bother later.’

  It was said so smoothly that Mariner was sure she’d convinced herself that it was really what happened. He needed to put a stop to this now. ‘The truth is, Steph, this is what we need to talk about,’ he began. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I mean, I like you, but I’m not ready to get into another relationship. I’ve only recently finished -’

  ‘I know, with Anna,’ she cut in. ‘But that was over a year ago, wasn’t it? And she’s moved on. Got to dip your toe back in the water sometime, Tom.’

  ‘I told you that?’ Mariner was reeling now. He had absolutely no memory of having any discussion with her about Anna. He never talked to anyone about Anna. But how else could she know?

  She leaned over and put her hand over his. ‘It’s all right. I can understand that you’re afraid of committing yourself after you’ve been so badly hurt, but we can take things slowly.’

  Christ, was this what she called slowly?

  ‘Look, you really don’t understand,’ Mariner said, pulling his hand away. ‘The other night was very nice, but it was a one-off, that’s all. We were attracted to each other, we slept together, end of story. I thought we were both grown up enough to understand that.’

  Mariner knew instantly that he’d made a mistake. Her eyes, behind spidery mascara, hardened. ‘Oh, I see. I was just a quick screw, was I, while you wait for something better to come along?’ Her voice was just a little too loud and one or two people at the adjacent tables turned in their direction.

  Mariner lowered his voice, aware that this was morphing into a drama cliché. ‘I thought it was the same for you,’ he said. ‘You were flirting with me. You made the offer.’

  ‘I was being nice to you,’ she retorted. ‘Do you think I go that far with any man who comes into the restaurant?’

  She was practically yelling now and Mariner had to resist an urge to crawl under the table to avoid the accusing stares that were coming his way. ‘Of course I don’t -’

  ‘Bastard!’ And she finished the tirade with a textbook finale, picking up his drink and throwing it in his face, except that he’d been there a while and the glass was practically empty, so, instead, a single, pathetic drop dribbled out and ran down her hand. It looked so comical that Mariner couldn’t help himself. He laughed, a deep belly laugh. For a split second he thought the whole glass was coming his way, and prepared to duck, but, to his amazement, her expression crumbled and Stephanie laughed too. Mariner was itching to turn to the other customers and say ‘show’s over folks,’ as they do in all the best movies, but instead he passed Stephanie a napkin to dry her hand. ‘You realise you’ve ruined my reputation now, don’t you?’ he said lightly, glancing around to check that they were no longer the main attraction.

  ‘Mine too, probably,’ she said wryly.

  ‘I really am sorry,’ Mariner said. ‘I got it wrong. I thought you wanted the same as me. One night, no strings.’

  ‘You got it spectacularly wrong.’ She fixed her gaze on him. ‘I don’t do that kind of thing. Yes, I flirt with the male customers, even the ugly ones, but I’ve never taken anyone back to my place before. It took me all evening to pluck up the courage to ask you, because you seemed nice and I really hoped it could be the start of something.’

  Oh fuck, thought Mariner, now she’s going to cry.

  Instead, she said, ‘And now I’ve made a real idiot of myself too.’ She started to gather up her things. ‘I should go. I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time.’

  ‘You haven’t,’ said Mariner. ‘Honestly, you cheered me up.’ He stood up with her. ‘I haven’t had a laugh like that all day; all week. At least let me drive you home.’

  Despite giving her a lift, Mariner had resisted a further offer from Stephanie, but they had parted on reasonable terms, at least good enough that he was confident that his suits would be safe.

  When he got up on Thursday morning, Kat was in the kitchen. No cooked breakfast today, but she’d made fresh coffee, which was a welcome wake-up.

  ‘I like to go out tonight,’ she announced.

  Mariner curbed mo
mentary disappointment. ‘Who with?’

  ‘Is with whom,’ she corrected him cheekily. ‘I go with my friends from the English centre.’

  ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘We go to Angelo’s on Broad Street.’

  Mariner’s disappointment was displaced by anxiety. ‘Angelo’s?’

  ‘Is a club,’ she told him.

  ‘Yes, I know.’ It frequently featured on the Intranet bulletins at work as the regular venue for late-night disturbances. Mariner didn’t like the sound of it. ‘I’m not sure that it’s a good idea,’ he said moderately, and watched her face fall. ‘Some people get very drunk,’ he followed up lamely. ‘They might pester you.’

  ‘Pester?’

  ‘Come after you; bother you.’

  ‘Is OK, Giles is take me,’ Kat said brightly.

  ‘Giles?’ Mariner’s ears pricked up. She hadn’t mentioned that name before.

  ‘He’s my friend.’

  ‘Oh. Where did you meet him?’

  ‘At the centre.’ She was being vague.

  ‘What does he do?’

  She looked blank.

  ‘His job?’

  ‘He’s a businessman.’

  ‘What kind of business?’ Mariner knew she didn’t deserve the interrogation, but at the back of his mind he was thinking that the two men who had lured Kat into prostitution would doubtless have described themselves as businessmen.

  She shrugged. ‘I think he tell me, but I don’t remember.’

  ‘When is he picking you up?’ Mariner asked, thinking that he’d be sure to be around then. But again he was foiled.

  ‘He meet me from work,’ said Kat.

  So it was a fait accompli. Mariner wanted to say no, it’s not safe for you to go out in the evening, that she belonged at home with him where he could keep an eye on her, but deep down he knew that it was not his place. ‘Just be careful then,’ he said.

  Kat stopped chewing her toast and went distant.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Is what my dad say,’ she told him. She turned to Mariner.