Dance of Death (12 page)

‘From what you’re saying, Allan Redmond stank of it.’

‘Yet it didn’t upset me in the way it usually does,’ said Keedy, perplexed. ‘Everything he told me was true. I spoke to the young woman with whom he dined and the manager of the restaurant told me exactly when they’d left. Redmond was seen returning home by neighbours and stayed out with them to watch the air raid.’

‘That lets him off the hook, then. What about Atterbury?’

‘He was a nasty piece of work. Also, he’s a barefaced liar.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I spoke to the other residents in the house and to the neighbours. A couple of them came out to watch the fireworks as well. They saw the Zeppelin shot down but not a single one of them remembers seeing Tom Atterbury come back home.’

‘Do you think he’s our man?’

‘Possibly – though we’d need a lot more evidence before we arrest him.’

‘Can we eliminate Allan Redmond as a suspect?’

‘He’s already done that himself,’ said Keedy. ‘He wasn’t at all upset
that Miss Thompson had given us his name. Redmond said that she was getting her revenge because he once jilted her – or, at least, that’s what she believed.’

‘There can’t be any doubt about it, can there?’

‘Redmond implied that there was.’ Keedy shrugged. ‘I was disappointed, really. After the way that Miss Thompson talked about him, I was convinced that he was the killer.’

Marmion smiled complacently. ‘I won’t remind you what I said.’

‘You thought I was on a wild goose chase,’ retorted Keedy, ‘and I wasn’t. Atterbury had all the signs of a man who nurses resentments until they turn into something more dangerous. My journey was not in vain. We have a suspect.’

‘I rather think that we have two, Joe.’

‘You can discount Redmond altogether.’

‘I wasn’t thinking about him.’

‘Then who is this other suspect?’

‘Martin Pattinson.’

He kept the room locked because nobody else – not even his wife – was allowed inside it. When he went in, Pattinson locked the door behind him then he surveyed his little museum. Neatly arranged on shelves or tables was a display of militaria. Medals were set out in a glass cabinet. A tattered Union Jack was hanging above the fireplace. The collection of weapons occupied most of the available space. Guns covered the largest of the tables but the weapon that he picked up was a gleaming bayonet. Taking a cloth from a drawer, Pattinson began to clean it with slow deliberation.

Sir Edward Henry had earlier complained that the air raid on London would dominate the newspaper headlines, pushing details of the murder that same night to the inside pages. Yet, in effect, that was exactly what he was doing himself. When Claude Chatfield went to see the commissioner about the investigation, he had to listen instead to information about the pilot who’d shot down the Zeppelin.

‘His name is Lieutenant William Leefe Robinson.’

‘So I understand, Sir Edward.’

‘He’d been in the air for two hours, it seems, and had already attacked another airship. When he went for a second Zeppelin, he shot it to pieces.’

‘It was very commendable,’ said Chatfield, impatiently.

‘People are already talking about awarding him a VC.’

‘That might be going too far.’

‘I disagree, Superintendent. He risked his life to achieve what nobody else has managed to do. That deserves recognition. And there’s more to come, of course.’

‘Yes, he’ll receive public adulation.’

‘He also stands to claim £500 from a shipbuilder who offered the
money to the first British pilot to knock a Zeppelin out of the sky. And don’t I remember reading somewhere that the
Newcastle Daily Chronicle
was offering three or four times that amount for the feat?’

‘Lieutenant Robinson was not motivated by money,’ said Chatfield, piously. ‘He was simply doing his duty. However …’

‘Ah,’ said the other, sensing his irritation, ‘I do apologise. You’ve come to talk about a murder inquiry and my head is still, so to speak, in the clouds. What’s happened?’

Chatfield waved some sheaves of paper.

‘First of all, you should see this, Sir Edward. It’s the post-mortem report.’

He handed over the document then waited a couple of minutes while the commissioner read through it, clicking his tongue in disgust as he did so.

‘This is revolting,’ he said, returning the report to the superintendent. ‘The press must not get to see this and neither, on any account, must the widow.’

‘The salient point is that the victim was first knocked unconscious with a blow to the back of the head by a blunt instrument. He was then dragged into the alley where the butchery took place.’

‘And all the while, people were gazing up at the Zeppelins.’

‘The killer was able to slip away quietly in the darkness with his … trophies.’ Chatfield grimaced. ‘It’s barbarity on a medieval scale.’

‘The Middle Ages are still with us in some places, Superintendent. I found that out during my years in India.’ He stroked his moustache absent-mindedly. ‘Has any progress been made so far?’

‘I spoke on the telephone to Inspector Marmion a short while ago. He and Sergeant Keedy have interviewed a number of people and feel that they may – just may, mark you – have identified two suspects.’

‘That’s cheering news.’

‘It’s too early to call it that, Sir Edward. Marmion has made mistakes before.’

‘Are these suspects being brought in for questioning?’

‘We haven’t reached that stage yet,’ said Chatfield. ‘All we have are two men who’ve aroused our interest. They’ll have to be watched while further evidence is gathered. Naturally, neither of their names must be released because both may turn out to be completely innocent.’

‘More pertinently, if one of them is guilty, we don’t want to forewarn him that we are on his tail.’

‘Exactly – he must not know that he’s under suspicion.’

‘How confident was the inspector that these men were potential killers?’

‘Marmion always errs on the side of caution, Sir Edward. That’s something I’ve drummed into him. Over-hasty arrests can have embarrassing consequences.’

‘I can’t recall that Marmion ever made an over-hasty arrest.’

‘That’s because I’ve kept him on a short leash.’

‘Though we did end up with red faces a few years ago,’ said the commissioner with a wry smile. ‘Someone arrested a gang on a charge of obtaining money by false pretences. It turned out to be a case of mistaken identity. Every one of them had to be released. The press ridiculed us over that.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘I can’t remember who was responsible for the faux pas but we suffered as a result.’

Chatfield gritted his teeth. The commissioner knew only too well who the culprit had been. It was Chatfield who’d ordered the arrests in the first place and who had been pilloried in the newspapers. It was an event in his past that he tried hard to live down. Since then his record had been spotless and it had led to his promotion.

‘Who are these suspects?’ asked Sir Edward.

‘One is a professional dancer and the other is a retired estate agent who was formerly in the army.’

‘What motive could they possibly have to commit such a detestable crime?’

‘Marmion and Keedy are endeavouring to unearth one.’

Marmion had heard more than enough about Tom Atterbury to arouse his curiosity. He therefore decided to visit him that evening in order to make his own appraisal of the dancer. When he called at the Islington house, he was given a very different reception from Keedy. Atterbury made a visible effort to be pleasant to him. Since he had no natural charm, he instead relied on a kind of battered politeness. During introductions, he pumped Marmion’s arm.

‘I had a feeling that you’d come, Inspector,’ he said.

‘Why did you feel that, sir?’

‘Because I could see that your sergeant was an efficient man. After he’d taken my statement, he doubtless went off to check my alibi. He found … discrepancies.’

‘He found that you were not entirely honest with him, Mr Atterbury.’

‘Put that down to the effects of too much alcohol.’ He peered at Marmion. ‘You have the look of a married man.’

‘And what kind of look is that?’

‘It’s the one that Sergeant Keedy did
not
have.’

Marmion smiled. ‘That’s a fair comment. And yes, I am married.’

‘Then you’ll know how lonely you feel returning to an empty house when your wife is away somewhere. The demon drink beckons.’

‘I can’t say that it’s ever beckoned me in those circumstances because my wife never goes away. Even if she did, I’d never get hopelessly drunk
on a regular basis. One reason is that an inspector’s income could never sustain the cost, and there are other reasons.’ He took out a notebook. ‘Why don’t you give me a revised statement, Mr Atterbury?’

‘I’d be happy to do so.’

Marmion could see why Keedy had taken against the man. Beneath the forced affability was a surliness fringed by a lack of respect for the police. Though Atterbury had arranged his features into something resembling a smile, his eyes remained cold. His story introduced a new element. After leaving the friends with whom he’d dined, he now claimed, he was keenly aware that his wife would not be warming the bed for him. He therefore popped into his club for a nightcap that became a long series of drinks. Atterbury could not remember the exact time when he tumbled out of there and made his way home. What he did remember rather hazily was that there was an air raid and that he sought the first shelter he could find.

‘It was an underground station, Inspector,’ he said. ‘We were packed in like sardines. There was the most unwholesome stink, I can tell you. I fell fast asleep. When I finally woke up, the air raid was over and people were going back to their homes. That’s when
I
turned my steps in this direction. In other words,’ he concluded, ‘I didn’t lie to Sergeant Keedy. I simply forgot one element in the chain of events.’

‘I’m glad we’ve cleared that up, sir,’ said Marmion.

‘You’ll want the address of my club, of course, and you’ll need to speak to the steward. I can assure you that he’ll support what I’ve told you.’

‘I never doubted it for a second.’

Marmion wrote down the name and address of the club but did not expect the steward to contradict Atterbury’s revised story. Stewards of gentleman’s clubs were notoriously loyal to members, protecting them
from inquisitive wives, drawing a veil over their peccadilloes and saying what they’d been paid to say. While they would not tell outright lies during a murder investigation, they would be parsimonious with the truth. Closing his notebook, Marmion made ready to leave.

‘You do believe me, don’t you, Inspector?’ said Atterbury.

‘I’ve no reason
not
to believe you, sir.’

‘Obviously, I can’t give you the names of anyone in the underground station that night. We were just one seething mass of humanity, praying that London would still be standing when we went back up into the street.’

‘What you’ve told me is perfectly adequate,’ said Marmion, blandly. ‘We’ll not be disturbing you again, sir.’

‘Thank you for being so understanding. It means a lot to me.’ Atterbury’s face hardened. ‘Your sergeant took a more abrasive tone.’

‘I’ll speak to him about it.’

‘I hold no malice against him. He was only doing his job, I daresay.’

‘We don’t like to upset members of the public, sir. If we do that, they have no incentive to help us, whereas you have been extremely cooperative.’

After another handshake, Marmion took his leave, certain that he’d just been told a pack of lies but careful not to reveal the fact. He could feel Atterbury’s eyes following him all the way to the waiting car.

Ellen Marmion’s anxiety about her son’s long absence was compounded by the fact that she had no idea where he was. Though she knew that he’d gone to meet Mavis Tandy, he made no mention of time and place. He’d now been out of the house for several hours and she began to fear that he might have been involved in an accident of sorts. Equally disturbing was the thought that he’d spent the whole day with his new
friend. Ellen did not want him to wallow once again in the mud of the Somme. He’d done that so many times at home and his maudlin reminiscences always ended in rage and recrimination.

When he did finally return, however, Paul was in an unusually pleasant mood. He even gave his mother a token kiss on the cheek. All he would say was that he’d had an enjoyable day. Refusing the offer of a meal, he went straight off to his bedroom, leaving Ellen to wonder what had happened to transform his manner so completely. A minute later she heard ‘Onward, Christian Soldiers’ being played on the mouth organ.

Colette Orme was delighted when she had a visitor. Her father and her brother were endlessly kind and sympathetic but she really yearned for the company of another woman. When Audrey Pattinson arrived at the house, therefore, Colette was relieved. She not only had a true friend, she had someone who had been very close to Simon Wilder. The two men went off into the kitchen, leaving them alone. After a tearful embrace, the women sat side by side on the sofa, drawn together by their mutual bereavement. Audrey was able to say the things that her friend really wanted to hear.

‘You were always his favourite, Colette.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Pattinson.’

‘Mr Wilder predicted a great future for you.’

‘It’s in tatters now,’ said Colette with a sigh.

‘You may think that at the moment – it’s only natural – but in time you’ll have the urge to go on without him. You have to develop your talent. It’s what Mr Wilder would have wanted.’

‘Do you really believe that?’

‘Yes, I do. Think of all the time and effort you put in.’

‘It didn’t seem like an effort, Mrs Pattinson. I loved it.’

‘You don’t need to tell me that, Colette. I’ve never known such enthusiasm. We’ve had good dancers before – male and female – but somehow they couldn’t stand the pace. You did. Mr Wilder said that that was the sign of a professional.’

Overcome with grief, Colette burst into tears and Audrey enfolded her in her arms. Having to comfort someone else helped her to cope with her own anguish. When the weeping finally stopped, Colette apologised profusely and wiped her eyes with a handkerchief.

‘Thank you so much for coming, Mrs Pattinson.’

‘I knew how you’d be feeling.’

‘I just can’t stop thinking about … what happened to him.’

‘Have the police been to see you?’

‘Yes – an Inspector Marmion called earlier.’

‘We met him as well.’

‘He was very nice to me, though he did ask some odd questions.’

‘What sort of questions?’

‘He wanted to know about Mr Wilder’s rivals. The only one I knew anything about was Mr Redmond but there were others, I expect. The inspector also asked me if I’d ever been with Mr Wilder when he behaved as if he thought someone was following him.’

‘That
is
an odd question,’ said Audrey.

‘The funny thing is that it
did
happen once,’ admitted Colette.

She told Audrey about the incident and how Wilder had dismissed it with a laugh. It was the only occasion when she’d seen even the slightest fear in him. Audrey was disturbed. The fact that neither Colette nor Wilder saw anybody at the time did not mean that a stalker was not there. It could be that he was simply clever enough to remain out of sight. It made Audrey wonder if, on one of the many occasions when
she and Wilder had walked together,
they’d
been under surveillance. It was an unnerving thought.

Colette was contrite. ‘There’s something I have to own up to, Mrs Pattinson.’

‘Is there?’

‘It wasn’t my fault, really. Dennis blurted it out before I could stop him.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He told the inspector that you were kind enough to let me into the studio on my own so that I could practise with you on the piano. It was supposed to be our secret but Dennis let the cat out of the bag.’ She saw Audrey’s dismay. ‘I hope that Mrs Wilder doesn’t find out. She’d want to charge us for every session.’

‘Is Inspector Marmion likely to tell her?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Then – with luck – we may have got away with it.’

‘The only people who know are you, me and Dennis. Oh, I was forgetting,’ she went on, ‘there’s your husband as well.’

Audrey grabbed her wrist. ‘He knew nothing about it, Colette.’

‘But I thought—’

‘Well, he didn’t and he must never know. Do you understand?’