Is Skin Deep, Is Fatal

by H. R. F. Keating

  ‘Then you can look after this man till the ambulance comes,’ Ironside said. ‘It’ll be good practice for you.’

  ‘Yes, sir. All right,’ said the piano-player.

  Although he could have no idea who Ironside was, it did not occur to him to question the order.

  ‘I’ll be back if anybody wants me, Milk,’ said the superintendent pushing himself to his feet.

  ‘Lassington,’ he went on, ‘I shall want you to come with me. I’ll need somebody now Milk has deserted us, and you seem to be keen, alert and well-groomed.’

  Peter Lassington made no reply. Any reply would have been difficult.

  ‘Oh, and bring that suitcase,’ Ironside added. ‘The murder bag, as it’s romantically called.’

  Peter picked up the heavy leather suitcase, not without a feeling of excitement, and once again they went through the pass-door to the back-stage area. This time they were not delayed in finding Inspector Hammersby.

  He met them at the turn of the corridor outside the judges’ room. Peter introduced the superintendent.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said the inspector, a little testily. ‘Well, we had to have the Yard here. It’s murder, you know.’

  ‘So you said when you rang us,’ Ironside answered.

  ‘Yes, quite so. Now you’ll be pleased to hear I’ve taken complete charge. I’ve seen to everything that needs to be done.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ve been more than efficient,’ the superintendent replied gravely. ‘Tell me just what you have done.’

  ‘Well, I’ve kept everybody out, you know,’ said Hammersby. ‘Kept them well back. I’ve put a man on the door. A good man, one of my best. Mercy of God we happened to meet him as we got here. Detective-Constable Spratt.’

  ‘Ah, yes. And you’ve examined the body?’

  ‘The body? Examined the body? Not at all, not at all. I tell you I’ve kept them off it, all of them.’

  Superintendent Ironside raised one shaggy eyebrow.

  ‘Inspector,’ he asked, ‘your body is dead?’

  Peter stepped forward.

  ‘There wasn’t any doubt, sir,’ he said. ‘There’s a six-inch knife in his back up to the hilt. But I did stoop down to make sure.’

  The superintendent turned to look at him.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘the always commendable Constable Lassington.’

  He turned to Inspector Hammersby.

  ‘I think I shall have to borrow this young man, Inspector,’ he said. ‘An unfortunate accident has overtaken my sergeant out in the ballroom there. And I like to have someone about.’

  Peter quietly got himself to the attention position.

  ‘To fetch and carry, you know,’ said Ironside.

  ‘Constable Lassington?’ Inspector Hammersby said. ‘Quite out of the question. Quite out of the question. He’s uniform branch, you know. Uniform branch. Wouldn’t be at all suitable.’

  ‘Oh, come now,’ said Ironside mildly, ‘the possession of police uniform doesn’t necessarily prevent someone having the rudiments of intelligence.’

  The inspector rather obviously did not know what to make of this.

  ‘I dare say, I dare say,’ he answered. ‘But the fact remains that he wouldn’t be suitable. No, no. I’ll be delighted to lend you Constable Spratt there. Detective-Constable Spratt.’

  ‘Well, that’s certainly kind,’ said the superintendent. ‘I wouldn’t ask, only we seem to be in the middle of a manpower crisis in the Murder Squad. A most regrettable circumstance.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said the inspector. ‘Really, they should at least keep the Murder Squad up to strength. I saw the other day they had no one at all to send in answer to a provincial request.’

  ‘Well, I was more concerned at the number of people who have taken it into their heads to kill somebody,’ Ironside replied. ‘But the other matter is serious too. I shall ask for a replacement for the unfortunate Sergeant Milk, but I may have to wait.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Hammersby said. ‘And in the meantime you’re most welcome to Spratt. A most excellent officer. Most excellent.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be more than useful,’ Ironside said.

  ‘Good, good. And if there’s anything else we can do to help, just say the word. Anything else at all.’

  Both Superintendent Ironside’s grey eyebrows rose just a little.

  ‘That’s most kind,’ he said. ‘I think in that case I’ll avail myself of Constable Lassington as well. This way, Constable.’

  6

  Superintendent Ironside led Peter Lassington down the little corridor towards the room where Teddy Pariss had been killed. Outside it Detective-Constable Spratt stood on guard, grinning in half-concealed delight at his sudden loan to the Murder Squad. Behind Ironside’s back Inspector Hammersby stood in silence. His face was getting slowly more and more red.

  The superintendent looked round. He shivered ostentatiously in the keen wind whistling down the corridor from the pair of double doors at the end.

  ‘Constable,’ he said to Peter. ‘Just see to that draught, will you? There’s no need for us to be uncomfortable.’

  Peter grasped the iron bar running across the two doors and banged them sharply closed.

  ‘Ah,’ said Ironside, ‘that’s much better. And now let’s examine the scene of the crime.’

  He looked at Jack and Peter.

  ‘You’ll oblige me by paying close attention to such directions as I may give,’ he said.

  Even Jack looked solemn, all except his dancing, irrepressible eyes.

  ‘Now,’ said Ironside, ‘hands in pockets if you please.’

  Jack, who in any case was always ready to drop into an informal attitude, obeyed without a second thought. Peter looked puzzled but was careful not to fail to do as he was told.

  A slight smile appeared at the corner of the superintendent’s wide mouth.

  ‘It simply keeps you from inadvertently touching anything before the scientific stuff begins,’ he said.

  Peter relaxed.

  Ironside opened the office door and stepped just into the little room. The others came in at his heels. Teddy Pariss did not let their intrusion disturb him.

  ‘Very well,’ Ironside said, ‘now oblige me by standing perfectly still.’

  Peter glanced at Jack. He found that Jack was glancing at him. They froze where they were.

  The superintendent lifted his craggy face into the air and stood apparently gazing into space. In the silence they could hear his deep, slow breathing.

  After a while he turned suddenly to Jack.

  ‘Well, Spratt, anything there?’

  ‘Anything where, sir?’

  Ironside’s two grey shaggy eyebrows rose.

  ‘I suppose,’ he said, ‘you haven’t the least idea what I’ve been doing?’

  ‘Not a notion, sir,’ Jack answered.

  ‘Then let me advise you to remember it. Perhaps one day you’ll be conducting a murder investigation yourself. Then this small procedure may make a lot of difference.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Jack said.

  His eyes gleamed with a distant vision.

  ‘On the other hand,’ said Ironside, ‘you may spend the rest of your service as a detective-constable. But in either case, note that the recent presence of a stranger in a confined space can often be detected by the sense of smell.’

  Illumination patently dawned on Jack’s face.

  Peter quietly sniffed the close air of the little office.

  Ironside wheeled round to him.

  ‘Well?’

  Peter looked embarrassed.

  ‘I didn’t notice anything really, sir,’ he said.

  ‘No? Not a lingering trace of Chanel Number Five?’

  For an instant Peter took the superintendent seriously. Then he realized.

  ‘No, sir,’ he said. ‘Not Chanel Number Five.’

  ‘And what scent would you have smelt if there had been that particular perfume in the air?’

  ‘Don’t kno
w, sir.’

  The superintendent looked at him mildly.

  ‘But an investigating officer should know everything, Constable.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Peter licked his lips.

  ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I don’t think there is any scent in here at all.’

  ‘No? Well, since you wouldn’t be able to deduce anything if there were, perhaps it’s a good thing. What a snub to our good murderess if her comparatively exotic He de Bois – Chanel Number Twenty-One for your information, Constable – were confused with the mass-produced sweetness of Number Five.’

  ‘Murderess, sir?’ Jack said. ‘Then –’

  The superintendent was smiling as if to himself. When Jack’s voice faded comically away he looked up at him.

  ‘Well, what is there to smell since perfume appears to be absent?’ he said.

  Jack sniffed again. Loudly.

  ‘It smells kind of dusty,’ he said. ‘And then there’s something else pretty pongy. Can’t quite place it. Reminds me of some sort of shop.’

  ‘It’s the divan,’ Peter broke in. ‘I don’t know just what its smell is, but you get it in all furniture shops.’

  ‘Splendid,’ said the superintendent. ‘It adds up to an odd combination, the sharp tang of well-neglected dust beside the dressing in new furnishing fabric. But if the room here has been just pressed into service, it’s all perfectly accountable. You know what’s not accountable, though, don’t you?’

  Peter thought very hard.

  ‘No, sir.’

  Jack grinned.

  ‘I haven’t a clue,’ he said.

  Ironside jerked a nod towards the big cinema-organ fire.

  ‘That,’ he said.

  ‘The fire, sir?’ said Jack.

  ‘Yes, Constable. The fire. All the odours in this room should be enhanced by the heat of the fire.’

  ‘But it isn’t on, sir, actually,’ Jack said.

  ‘No, Constable. I had noticed that. I’m not completely insensitive, gone in years though I am. The point of my remark was exactly that the fire is not on.’

  ‘Perhaps Mr Pariss didn’t want it on,’ Jack said.

  The superintendent let his gaze travel slowly round. Jack’s gaze followed. Bit by bit he began to look thoroughly hangdog.

  At last he could keep it back no longer.

  ‘You mean he’s taken such trouble to make himself comfortable he’d be bound to want the fire on,’ Jack said.

  ‘It’s an unpleasant day,’ said Ironside.

  Peter coughed.

  ‘He certainly wanted the fire on when I saw him this morning, sir,’ he said.

  Ironside wheeled round.

  ‘Ah, you saw him this morning? What time was that?’

  ‘I’m not certain to a minute, sir. About half past twelve, maybe a bit later.’

  ‘Well,’ said Ironside, ‘this is most convenient. A good, reliable witness that the victim was alive at a certain hour. Because you know what the question is that I’m asking myself at this moment?’

  ‘Who did it, sir,’ Peter said.

  ‘Oh, good gracious me, no,’ said Ironside. ‘My, how you young people do rush into things. At the present moment, I assure you, I am entirely uninterested in who did it.’

  It would have been difficult to judge whether Jack or Peter looked more at a loss. Possibly they were equally so.

  Ironside smiled.

  ‘We must first ask whether anything has been done at all, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘And then we want to know whom it was done to, and next when it was done and how it was done. When we have dealt with all those important matters we can conveniently come to who did it, and possibly one day we may get to have an idea about why it was done. Always providing it was done at all.’

  ‘But, sir, there’s a knife sticking in his back,’ Jack said with pure indignation.

  ‘Why, so there is. Then perhaps we can make a working hypothesis that someone stuck it there.’

  Jack glowered. The superintendent appeared to be majestically unconcerned.

  ‘At least,’ he said, ‘that brings us to the question “Who was the victim?” There’s no doubt about identity?’

  ‘It’s Mr Pariss, sir,’ said Peter. ‘Teddy Pariss. There really can’t be any doubt. I know him well enough to identify him for whoever you like.’

  ‘Teddy Pariss,’ said the superintendent gently. ‘Well, now, we’ve all read about Teddy Pariss in the newspapers. All those lavish gifts to charities.’

  ‘All those pretty girl competitions, you mean,’ Jack said.

  ‘Yes,’ said the superintendent, ‘that is what I meant. But one mustn’t forget that almost every time our friend here ran a contest to emphasize some aspect of feminine desirability one charity or another did make a considerable gain.’

  ‘I can’t see how that could get him killed,’ Peter said.

  ‘But we’re not discussing why he was killed, Constable. We may never have to discuss that. It may become quite plain who killed him without doing anything so foolhardy as to look into a human mind.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Peter.

  A little smile flickered over Ironside’s mouth.

  ‘Oh, I know you’d like to look into motive’s,’ he said. ‘But when you’re as near retirement as I am you’ll be glad to be able to avoid anything as devious. But, in any case, before we go to dizzier heights I’d like to know a few facts about Mr Pariss, since he’s conveniently incapable of upsetting them now.’

  He turned back and, with his hands still carefully thrust into his pockets, stooped down and peered at the subject of his inquiries.

  Behind his back Jack looked at Peter and made an expressive face. Sometimes a joke, of any sort, is the only way to come to terms with something or somebody of a highly enigmatic cast.

  ‘Yes,’ said Superintendent Ironside, still peering, ‘Teddy Pariss, what do we know about him?’

  ‘He owned this place for a start,’ Peter said. ‘And a string of places like it here in London and up and down the country.’

  ‘Ah, yes, the Star Bowl ballrooms. That’s it, isn’t it? Temples dedicated to the pure rites of feminine beauty.’

  ‘I’d call ‘em pretty posh-looking dance halls,’ Jack said.

  Ironside spoke without looking round from the Star Bowl’s late owner.

  ‘Excellent, Spratt,’ he said. ‘You must bring in a dose of your sharp reality whenever you catch me being too fanciful.’

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ said Jack.

  ‘No, no. No need for apology. Did you know I’m due to retire at the end of the week? Doubtless that will be postponed now. But it does induce reflections of a sweeping generality quite unsuitable to a policeman. So you must bring us a corrective whenever you can.’

  Jack said nothing.

  In a moment Ironside resumed.

  ‘Yes, temples dedicated to the rites of feminine attractiveness. A fanciful way of looking at it. Though of course the more important it becomes to little girls to see themselves as infinitely desirable creatures, the more Mr Pariss benefits from his beauty contests.’

  ‘Suppose so, sir,’ Jack said.

  Behind the superintendent’s back he pointed rapidly to the side of his head with a screw of his forefinger. Peter checked a laugh.

  ‘And Pariss has benefited more than a little,’ Ironside added in the same deliberate tones. ‘When I knew him thirty years ago he was only a small-time ponce.’

  Jack’s attention riveted back to the kneeling figure in front of them.

  ‘You knew him, sir?’ Peter said.

  ‘You’re surprised I mingled with such people? But I was quite human once. I was even a simple constable a very long time ago.’

  ‘And Teddy Pariss,’ Jack asked, ‘he was bent at that time, was he?’

  ‘Oh, yes, indeed. Quite considerably bent. The only thing is: are you right to think he’s no longer bent?’

  ‘We’ve got nothing on him at the station, sir. Not so far as I know.’
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  ‘No, Spratt, I’m sure there’s nothing on him at the station. I’m sure he’s a model citizen now as far as the letter of the law goes. But I find it hard to believe that Teddy Pariss isn’t quite appreciably bent still.’

  Superintendent Ironside fell silent beside the body in the sporty Prince of Wales check suit.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I think it would be fair to call him a confidence trickster. I wonder has his trickery come home to roost?’

  ‘You mean that he’s been killed over something to do with his beauty contest, sir?’ Peter said.

  ‘I detect a note of incredulity, Lassington. But remember by and large Teddy Pariss was his beauty contests. If I’m not mistaken, he spent almost all his time making sure the public knew about him and about them.’

  He got to his feet with a slight grimace as an arthritic pain jabbed at the small of his back.

  ‘I’ve no doubt,’ he added, ‘that the new and excessively bouncy divan, smelling so much of the furniture shop, was there for an obvious purpose.’

  Jack shook his head like someone caught out once again.

  ‘That’s true enough, sir,’ Peter said. ‘He hinted to me this morning that he often had a girl in. He even had a special notice saying “Keep Out”.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said Ironside, ‘I saw it. Even your estimable Inspector Hammersby seemed to have been impressed by it.’

  Ironside looked round the little dusty-smelling room.

  ‘Which brings us to the question “How?”’ he said.

  ‘The knife, sir?’ Peter said tentatively.

  ‘No, Lassington. I’m not suggesting that that knife did not kill the poor fellow. There are some assumptions even I am willing to make. Though the medical evidence may upset even that. But I merely asked just exactly what happened when someone poked the knife into him in that distressingly vigorous way.’

  Peter looked across at the window above the big metallic fire.

  ‘Yes, I had noticed the window was open,’ Ironside said. ‘But as Mr Pariss had been dead for some little while I saw no reason why it shouldn’t wait. However, let us turn our attention to it now. What does it tell you, Lassington?’

  Peter looked at the open window with suspicion.

  ‘Well, sir,’ he said doubtfully, ‘surely it means that whoever killed Mr Pariss came in that way?’