by Clara Benson
‘Robert Kenrick was already on the terrace, was he?’ said the sergeant with interest.
‘Ah, I see that point struck you too,’ said Entwistle.
‘Do we know at what time he went out there?’
‘He’s a bit vague on the subject, but he claims he didn’t speak to Dorothy at all after she made her grand announcement. He says he can’t remember exactly what he did, but he wandered around the room talking to various people, then went outside for some fresh air.’
‘Didn’t he bring a girl with him to the party?’ said Bird.
‘Yes, he did, but it looks as though they didn’t spend much of the evening together.’ Entwistle glanced at the list of names. ‘This is the one: Sarah Rowland.’
‘Some falling-out there, do you think?’ said the sergeant.
‘Could be. I wonder whether Kenrick and Dacres were up to no good. You know what these actors are like—they hop from one to the next as easy as winking. I think we’ll have to have a word with young Kenrick, and see what he has to say for himself.’
‘He looks a likely one, if he was actually out on the terrace at around the time Miss Dacres died,’ said the sergeant. ‘Who else have we got?’
‘Seymour Cosgrove,’ said the inspector thoughtfully.
Bird threw his superior a keen glance.
‘You like this one, do you, sir?’
‘He’s another very convenient suspect,’ said Entwistle. ‘He’s a hot-headed chap, I understand, and by all accounts had a grudge against her, as she’d just lost him his job.’
‘Did he tell you this?’
‘No—Dacres herself told several people about it. Cosgrove was all set to go and work for one of these fashion magazines in America, but she wanted him as her own personal photographer, and so saw to it that he didn’t. He was furious, but she thought it was all a huge joke.’
‘Where was he that evening?’ said the sergeant.
‘He told Johnson he was around and about, talking to various people, but there are times we haven’t been able to account for. There’s one fifteen-minute period in particular, just after eleven o’clock, when nobody seems to have seen him. We’ll have to look into that more closely. It would help if we knew at exactly what time she died.’
‘It would certainly help us eliminate some of them,’ agreed the sergeant. ‘Or even all of them, assuming it wasn’t deliberate at all, but suicide or an accident.’
‘Whichever it was, we’re going to have the devil of a job proving it,’ said Entwistle.
‘Leave it for the inquest to decide,’ said the sergeant comfortably.
‘Augusta Laing,’ went on Entwistle. ‘She’d just lost the part she wanted to Dorothy Dacres.’
‘Did she take it badly?’ said Bird.
‘No—everyone says she took it very well, as a matter of fact. However, she’s meant to be a good actress, so that might mean anything or nothing. She’d be able to hide her disappointment all right. Still, it’s the same with her as with Cora. It would take some strength to chuck a full-grown woman off a balcony. That wall is high so you couldn’t just push her over. I can’t see a woman having done it, but we’ll leave her on the list for now.’
‘Any others?’
‘Just Kenneth Neale, I think. He’d wanted Augusta Laing to play the part of Helen Harper—had only agreed to direct the film on that condition, in fact—so he was furious when the news was announced, and made no secret of it. He admits he followed Penk out onto the terrace and laid into him about it.’
‘Oh, so they were out on the terrace too, were they?’ said the sergeant.
‘Not that terrace,’ said Entwistle. ‘They went onto the smaller one off Dacres’ bedroom.’
‘How long were they there?’
‘It doesn’t say here,’ said the inspector. ‘We’ll have to do some more digging.’
‘I should have thought Neale was furious with Penk, not Dorothy,’ said Bird. ‘He might have thrown Penk over the balcony, but not her.’
‘True enough. But perhaps he talked to her afterwards and she angered him in some way. Anyway, those are the main suspects—if indeed we’re looking for suspects. There’s also Mrs. Neale, Sir Aldridge Featherstone, and these Kibbles, who were apparently singing at the piano all evening. Perhaps they can tell us more about what was going on.’
‘Basil and Birdie,’ said the sergeant reminiscently. ‘I saw them at the Palais during the war. Very funny, they were.’
Entwistle scribbled a note or two.
‘I wonder whether it was murder,’ he said after a pause.
‘It’ll make our job a lot easier if it wasn’t,’ said Bird. ‘I mean to say, if it turns out she’d had a skinful of cocaine then she might have tipped herself over the edge without anyone coming near her. “Temporarily unsound mind,” they’d call it.’
‘Yes. Perhaps you’d better get on to Ingleby, then,’ said Entwistle. ‘The sooner we find out whether she was taking the stuff, the better.’
For the next few days, the newspapers were full of the story of Dorothy Dacres’ mysterious and tragic death, and theories abounded as to whether it had been an accident or something more suspicious. An inquest was opened and swiftly adjourned while the police gathered more evidence. Freddy was still under instructions to stick to the facts and avoid colouring his stories too highly, much to his exasperation.
‘They’re all in each other’s pockets,’ explained Jolliffe, who always seemed to be well informed about what was going on. ‘Sir Aldridge has put up some cash for the production, and they don’t want to scupper the thing now.’
‘So the film is still going ahead, is it?’ said Freddy.
‘Sooner or later. Probably later, once they’ve found out who did the Dacres in and all the fuss has died down. It would look pretty callous to go ahead cheerfully with some other leading lady a week after the first one came a cropper, don’t you think?’
‘But what about Henry Aston? I thought he was getting skittish about the risk.’
‘Penk’s on the telephone to him most days, I hear,’ said Jolliffe. ‘He’s managed to calm him down up to now, although I expect it will be touch and go. I suppose they’re all hoping it’ll turn out that she threw herself over the edge while drunk, or something like that. Then they can tidy it all away nicely and find some other pretty young thing to take the rôle of Helen Harper.’
‘You seem to know a lot about it,’ said Freddy.
‘Oh, I hear it all from my mother. Lady Featherstone is her sister.’
‘Is she, by George?’ said Freddy, staring at Jolliffe in surprise and not a little consternation, remembering some of the disrespectful remarks about Lady Featherstone he had made in the past.
‘Yes, didn’t I mention it? That’s how I got the job here. I keep it quiet as a rule, though, as some of the old boys back there like to mutter about nepotism.’
Freddy, who had got his job at the Clarion purely on the strength of his mother’s influence, had nothing to say about that, and reverted to his original complaint.
‘Well, it’s dashed annoying, having my hands tied in this way,’ he said. ‘The Herald is having a high old time with it, of course. They’re all fired up about this drugs aspect, even though no traces of anything were found in her body. If there’s one thing Corky Beckwith loves more than a blonde dope fiend, it’s a dead blonde dope fiend, and so you can be sure he’s going to push that angle as hard as he can.’
‘Oh, the Herald,’ said Jolliffe dismissively, and went back to his work.
Freddy, however, was feeling distinctly disgruntled that, in spite of his having actually been there on the spot on the evening of Dorothy Dacres’ death, he had been unable to take advantage of his inside knowledge and print any of the lurid rumours he had heard about the case. He was eager for more news, and so he decided to go and visit Gussie, to
see if she had anything new to tell him. He had not got further than about halfway along Fleet Street, however, when he was accosted by Corky Beckwith himself, who was looking even more insufferably smug than usual.
‘Well, isn’t this just the most delightful coincidence,’ said Corky, giving a smile that displayed to the full extent his uncommonly large helping of teeth. ‘Here I was, wondering where you’d got to lately, and now here you are.’
‘What do you want?’ said Freddy grumpily.
‘Why should you suppose I want anything? May we not walk together as allies in our chosen profession, comrades on the path of truth and justice, should our steps happen to be bent in the same direction for a furlong or two as we each plough our lonely furrow through life?’
‘No,’ said Freddy. ‘Go and plough your furrow somewhere else and leave me alone.’
Corky gave a click of the tongue.
‘Freddy, Freddy,’ he said. ‘It’s obvious you’re still smarting from the other day, and the Herald’s undeniably superior reporting on the Dorothy Dacres case. But you really oughtn’t, you know. I mean to say, I’m rather older than you, and have been doing the job for longer, and experience will always show.’ He paused to reflect complacently on his grand and stately age of twenty-seven, and the worldly wisdom it had brought him. ‘Still,’ he went on kindly, ‘that was really a nice little story you put together. I dare say a few people even read it. The Clarion does have one or two readers, I believe.’
‘Do you have a point to make?’ said Freddy. ‘If not, I’d be most obliged if you’d push off. I’m in a hurry.’
‘So I see,’ said Corky, eyeing him speculatively. ‘And where are you off to on this fine day? On the scent of a hot story, perhaps?’
‘If I were I shouldn’t tell you.’
‘And I couldn’t possibly expect it of you. Still, I did wonder whether you were going to visit one of your pals from the Abingdon. Miss Laing, for example?’
‘Oh, it’s Miss Laing now, is it?’ said Freddy, walking faster to try and get rid of him. ‘Have you run out of adjectives?’
‘Not at all, not at all,’ replied Corky, speeding up his own pace. ‘But yes, perhaps I was a little—er—disrespectful earlier.’
‘Look here, I haven’t got time for this, so tell me what you want, then I can say no and be on my way, and you can go back to your office, or the Cheese, or wherever else they haven’t barred you from yet. I expect there’s a pig barn somewhere that will still admit you, if you slip them a couple of quid and promise to sit in the corner.’
‘I shall ignore the ungracious tone of your voice,’ said Corky, ‘as I know perfectly well it conceals a brotherly affection for me that it’s useless to deny, even to yourself. But listen,’ he went on hurriedly at the sight of Freddy’s exasperated expression, ‘if you must know, I was hoping for a little quid pro quo.’
At the change in tone, Freddy looked up.
‘What sort of quid pro quo?’ he said suspiciously.
‘Well, you know the Herald has been pursuing this angle about the cocaine that was found in Dorothy Dacres’ room?’
‘Yes, and to a degree that smacks almost of mania. What of it?’
‘Just that I’ve been doing a little digging on the subject, with the help of my close friends at Scotland Yard. The police know the stuff has been coming in at Tilbury, and have intercepted a number of consignments. But it’s not coming in in any sort of predictable way—I mean to say, one lot might arrive on a fishing-yawl from Rotterdam and another on a liner from Rangoon. Several people have been arrested, although obviously they’re not talking—perhaps out of fear as to what will happen to them if they do. There’s a rumour that the Carelli gang is behind it, since it all started earlier this year after Carelli himself got out of prison. I’ve been buzzing around, but it’s difficult to get criminals to squeal to the papers, even for cash. A Beckwith never gives up, however, so I’ve started to look at it from the top end, as it were. That’s why I’d been working at the Abingdon, you see—I’d heard there was a lot of that sort of thing going on there. But since you so ruthlessly forced me out of my honestly-obtained position at the hotel, I’m a little at a loose end, and so I was hoping we might embark upon a little partnership, you and I.’
‘What exactly are you looking for?’ said Freddy, interested in spite of himself.
Corky showed his teeth again, in what he hoped was an ingratiating smile.
‘I want to find out how the dope is getting from Tilbury and into the hands of these people who ought to know better,’ he said. ‘It’s a terrible problem, as I’m sure you’re aware. Remember the case of Lord Menwith a few months ago? Such a terrible tragedy for a man of his stature, to be reduced to the gibbering simpleton we saw in court, don’t you agree? Now, it’s obvious that the low-lifes at the thick end of it all aren’t being invited to society shindies to hand the white powder around on silver salvers, so it stands to reason that somebody high up must be dishing it out. I should like to find out who it is, and that’s why I’m proposing we work together a little. None of these aristocrats will speak to me, you see.’
‘I can’t think why,’ said Freddy, glancing askance at Corky, whose tailoring spoke of a devotion to frugality coupled with a desire to be visible in the dark.
‘But you have an “in” on that sort of society, and if you can help me with that, then in return I shall help you with information about what’s happening at the other end of the chain, so to speak. Just think of the splash we shall make if we find that the supplier is somebody important!’
‘You’ve no evidence that anything in particular was going on that evening, though,’ said Freddy. ‘All we have is a little whiff of the stuff among Dorothy Dacres’ things—and she might have got that at any time. There’s no reason to think it was given to her that night. I think you’re barking up the wrong tree.’
‘No, no, no,’ said Corky. ‘I have a feeling about this in my bones. I believe the person in question was at the party that night, and once we find out who it was, we’ll know who killed Dorothy Dacres. Shouldn’t you like to catch her murderer?’
‘What makes you think it was murder?’ said Freddy, although privately he was of the same opinion.
‘Oh, but of course it was! It’s too beautiful a story for it not to have been,’ said Corky. ‘And even if it wasn’t, that hardly matters. There’s enough copy to stretch the story out for weeks if we use it wisely. Admit it, it does seem very suspicious, don’t you think?’ he went on hurriedly, seeing Freddy’s face. ‘And it all makes perfect sense. Why, look at what we know: Dorothy Dacres uses coke, and the very night I turn up looking for it, she falls off a balcony.’
‘Isn’t that a coincidence?’
‘No,’ said Corky. ‘I believe somebody recognized me and decided to take action against the only person who could expose him.’
‘Full of yourself, aren’t you?’ said Freddy. ‘You’re not seriously suggesting that your mere presence struck terror into the heart of some person unknown, and drove him to murder? If you didn’t recognize him, then how is it that he recognized you?’
‘Because my name is known and feared among the unrighteous of our great city,’ said Corky. Freddy snorted, and he went on, ‘Well, then, even if it wasn’t I who spurred him into heinous action, perhaps it was Dorothy Dacres herself. Perhaps she threatened to expose him, and he threw her off the terrace as a warning to others.’
They had now reached Aldwych. Freddy had intended to take the Underground, but he suspected that Corky meant to follow him all the way to Gussie’s house, and so he started looking about for a taxi instead.
‘Look here, this is all bunk,’ he said. ‘You’ve taken a piece of evidence that might not have anything to do with her death, and built it up into I don’t know what.’
‘Then you won’t help me?’
Freddy knew Corky of old, and
knew there was an even chance that not a word of his story was true. Still, he did not want Corky to get the scoop either, and so he decided to hedge his bets.
‘Your story is too vague,’ he said. ‘Stuff coming in at Tilbury, indeed! Why, I could have found that out myself if I’d wanted to. Come and see me again when you’ve found out something useful, and then perhaps we can come to an arrangement. Until then there’s nothing doing, I’m afraid.’
‘Hmph,’ said Corky. ‘Think you’re the smart one, don’t you? But I can see what you’re at. You want me to provide you with all the information so you can step in at the last minute and claim the glory. Well, you’d better not try anything funny. This story is mine, and I’m only letting you in on it as a favour.’
‘You’re letting me in on it because you don’t have anything, and you want me to do all the work for you,’ said Freddy, and got into a taxi. As it departed, he saw Corky looking after him with a calculating expression upon his face.
Cora Drucker sat in a peach satin-upholstered armchair, watching Inspector Entwistle as he walked around the living-room of the penthouse suite at the Abingdon, taking everything in. Sergeant Bird was observing quietly from the corner.
‘I beg your pardon for the interruption, Miss Drucker,’ the inspector said after a minute or two, ‘but it’s looking increasingly likely that your sister’s death was not an accident, and so it’s vital we find out exactly who spoke to Miss Dacres and when on the evening in question.’
‘I quite understand,’ said Cora dully, her arms folded in front of her body.
‘I don’t want you upsetting Cora,’ said Eugene Penk, turning round from where he had been gazing out onto the terrace. He, too, seemed subdued, and most unlike his usual ebullient self. It was five days since Dorothy Dacres had died, and he was becoming restless. He hated any period of enforced inactivity, but was unable to continue with business while the cause of his leading lady’s death remained unresolved.
