Dance of Death (14 page)

‘I do believe you, Odele,’ he said, glancing at the bruises on her arms. ‘You have my sympathy.’

She stepped forward and put both hands on his shoulders.

‘I want more than that.’

‘Do you?’

‘I need police protection. Allan could come back. I need police protection,’ she repeated with emphasis, ‘and I want
you
to provide it, Joe. I want you to stay overnight in my flat to look after me.’

Before he could stop her, Odele kissed him full on the mouth.

Ellen Marmion felt completely isolated. Though her son was upstairs, it was as if she were the only person in the house. Her husband was still at work and her daughter was either with a friend or on her way back to her flat. Ellen did have the option of inviting one of her neighbours in but, when she’d done that before, Paul had been so unpleasant to the visitor that it had become a positive embarrassment. It was rather like having an uncontrollable dog that kept barking at anyone who crossed the threshold. At least for the moment, the dog was quiet and that afforded Ellen some relief. Adjourning to the living room, she tried to escape into the latest romantic novel she’d borrowed from the library but it failed to hold her interest for more than a few minutes. All she could do was to sit there in a daze.

Sounds from above eventually told her that Paul was on the move and she soon heard him coming downstairs and going into the kitchen. Unsure whether to join him or leave him alone, Ellen dithered. In the end, her son made the decision for her.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ he called.

‘Yes, please,’ she answered, getting up. ‘I’d love one.’

She got to the kitchen in time to see him lighting the gas under the kettle.

‘You still haven’t eaten anything, Paul,’ she said.

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘At least, let me make you a sandwich.’

‘I had a big meal earlier on. I’m fine.’

‘What about a biscuit?’

‘I’m
fine
, Mum.’

He spoke with enough force to bring the conversation to an end for a couple of minutes. Ellen put the crockery on the table then reached for the milk and sugar. She eventually plucked up enough courage to ask him how he’d spent his day.

‘Did you see Mavis?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where did you meet?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he mumbled.

‘What was she like?’

‘Mavis was just as Colin said she’d be.’

‘Did she talk about him at all?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did she ask you about …?’

‘That’s private.’

‘I just didn’t want you to dwell too much on …’

Paul fell silent and she was afraid to say anything else. She watched while he made the tea then poured two cups before adding milk and sugar to one of them and stirring it. Without a word, he headed for the door. Ellen found her voice again.

‘Paul …’

‘Yes?’

‘Bring your tea into the living room.’

‘Why?’

‘We could have a proper talk.’

‘What about?’

He looked at her as if she’d just made the most ridiculous suggestion. Ellen felt utterly rejected. She made one last attempt to engage him in conversation.

‘I heard you playing the mouth organ earlier on.’

‘So?’

‘It was “Onward, Christian Soldiers”.’

‘What about it?’

‘Your Uncle Raymond would love to hear you play that.’

‘It wasn’t for
him
,’ he said, disdainfully. ‘It was for her.’

Turning his back on his mother, Paul went quickly upstairs.

It was uncanny. As soon as they got back to Scotland Yard and entered the building, Claude Chatfield knew they were there. When they reached Marmion’s office, the superintendent was waiting for them. After an exchange of niceties with the two detectives, Chatfield demanded the latest intelligence. Marmion went first, describing his visit to Tom Atterbury and his subsequent discovery that the man was a member of the same club as Martin Pattinson.

‘So we can put the two suspects under the same roof,’ said Chatfield.

‘It could just be a coincidence, sir.’

‘I think you’ve stumbled on an important link, Inspector.’

‘The club has a large membership,’ argued Marmion. ‘Atterbury and Pattinson may not even know each other. Having met both men, I can’t see that they’d have much in common.’

‘I’d endorse that,’ said Keedy. ‘They’re unlikely friends.’

‘You’re both missing the obvious,’ scolded Chatfield.

‘Are we?’

‘Yes, Sergeant, you are. They may have different personalities but
what unites them is a mutual hatred of Mr Wilder. Since they have a common enemy, they might have come together to get rid of him.’

‘I can see that Atterbury is a likely suspect,’ said Keedy, ‘because he was so shifty when I interviewed him, and the inspector had the same feeling about him. But I’m still not persuaded that Pattinson is in any way involved.’

‘He has a motive,’ Marmion pointed out. ‘Although he appeared to approve of his wife’s slavish devotion to Wilder, I fancy that he was seething with envy. You must remember those photographs of Wilder we saw at his house. Compare him to Pattinson. He’s younger, more handsome and more attractive in every way. He could bring an excitement into Mrs Pattinson’s life that her husband could never do.’

‘Then why didn’t he just stop her playing the piano for Wilder?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I fancy that that he rules the roost at home. If he hated Wilder that much, he could have forbidden his wife to have anything to do with him.’

‘Separating them was not enough,’ said Marmion, thinking it through. ‘His hatred went deeper than that. Pattinson wanted revenge.’

‘Yet on the night
of
the murder, he didn’t go to his club,’ said Chatfield, shrewdly. ‘That was in one of your reports, Inspector. It wasn’t his regular night there. How could he kill someone when he was lying beside his wife in bed?’

‘He couldn’t, sir. He needed someone else to stab Wilder to death. That brings us back to the curious fact that he and Atterbury belong to the same club and share the same loathing of Wilder.’

‘In short, they’re in this together. It was a conspiracy.’

‘That’s possible, Superintendent.’

‘It’s beginning to seem probable to me,’ said Chatfield, imagination
roaming. ‘Atterbury did the deed but Pattinson helped to plan it.
That’s
why he let his wife continue to work with Wilder. She would be aware of his movements. When he wanted to know where Wilder was likely to be on any given day, Pattinson simply had to ask his wife. Unbeknownst to her, she helped to set up a heinous crime.’

‘With respect, sir,’ said Marmion, ‘you’re confusing facts with guesswork.
Nobody
knew where Wilder was on the night of his murder, Mrs Pattinson least of all. Her only contact with him was at the studio.’

‘He might have let slip where he’d be going that night.’

‘Then why didn’t she mention it to us?’

‘The poor woman was grief-stricken. She couldn’t think properly.’

‘No,’ said Marmion, firmly, ‘if she’d had the slightest clue where he went, Mrs Pattinson would have told us by now. She’s had time to get over the initial horror of what happened. Nobody is keener to see the killer found and arrested than her. She’s desperate to help us without quite knowing how.’

Chatfield was adamant. ‘I rely on instinct. Pattinson is implicated somehow.’

‘There’s something I’d question, sir.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Earlier on, you said that on the night of the murder he was lying in bed beside his wife. You’re assuming that they actually sleep together.’

‘It’s what married couples do, Inspector.’

‘That’s not true,’ Keedy interjected. ‘I have an uncle and aunt who don’t sleep together even though they’ve been married for thirty years. Uncle Ben snores so much that Auntie Frances refuses to share the same bed.’

‘And – as was pointed out once before – there are lots of other reasons why people sleep apart,’ said Marmion.

‘I agree with the inspector, sir. The Pattinsons did not strike me as
a couple who were particularly close in any way. They could well have separate bedrooms.’

‘That being the case,’ said Chatfield, seizing on the suggestion, ‘he
could
have committed the murder, after all. Pattinson could have waited until his wife dozed off then slipped quietly out of the house.’

Marmion was unconvinced but he held his tongue. After further speculation, Chatfield turned his attention to Keedy. It was a moment the sergeant had been dreading because he would have to describe his second meeting with Odele Thompson, an event that still caused him unease. He licked his lips before speaking. As Keedy recounted the incident, Marmion noted how nervous he seemed and wondered if they were hearing a full and unedited version of what had actually happened. When Keedy had first told him about Odele’s visit, his account had been unusually concise. Marmion was now hearing additional details. Among them was the fact that Odele had demanded police protection.

‘There’s no question of that,’ snapped Chatfield. ‘We don’t have the manpower to assign a bodyguard to her. Besides, I find it hard to have sympathy for the woman.’

‘She was definitely attacked, sir,’ said Keedy. ‘I saw the bruises.’

‘Redmond was retaliating after her assault.’

‘He obviously terrified her.’

‘To some extent, she asked for it. We’re not talking about a vestal virgin here, Sergeant. Miss Thompson admitted that she and Redmond had been lovers – she even gave him a key to her flat. Intercourse outside marriage is a sin,’ insisted Chatfield, ‘and she paid the penalty for it.’

‘That’s a very harsh judgement, sir,’ said Marmion.

‘She struck the fellow with a flower vase and he hit her back. To my mind, that comes under the heading of a domestic incident. There’s no need for police involvement. They both got what they deserved.’

‘You’re missing the point, sir,’ ventured Keedy.

Chatfield glared. ‘I
never
miss the point, Sergeant.’

‘Redmond came to see her because she’d named him as a potential suspect. In doing so, he behaved in a way that I’d never have thought possible.’

‘Nor me,’ added Marmion. ‘He was, by report, such a personable character. I couldn’t envisage him threatening a woman, still less actually striking one.’

‘We have another suspect, Superintendent,’ said Keedy. ‘Miss Thompson may have been right all along. Redmond was her first choice as the killer.’

‘She was acting out of malice when she named him,’ argued Chatfield. ‘It’s often the way with discarded lovers. They’re driven by spite.’

‘But Odele – Miss Thompson, I should say – was not discarded. She led me to believe that she got rid of
him
. She demanded the key back then threw him out of the flat. If anyone nursed resentment, it was Redmond.’

‘It looks as if we now have three possible killers,’ said Marmion, thoughtfully. ‘To the names of Atterbury and Pattinson, we have to add that of Allan Redmond.’

‘I favour the first two,’ asserted Chatfield, ‘acting together.’

Keedy shook his head. ‘My preference would be for Redmond.’

‘What’s your opinion, Inspector?’

‘So far,’ said Marmion, ‘we have three persons of interest. My opinion is that – before long – we may well have one or two more. Let me introduce a possibility that we haven’t yet considered. The killer may not be a man, after all. Simon Wilder might have been murdered by a woman.’

Catherine Wilder was so full of anger that she wielded the knife with real venom. She was simply slicing a cucumber yet she might have been hacking away at her worst enemy. Not having been able to eat anything for several hours, she felt hungry but the only thing that tempted her palate was a cucumber and tomato sandwich. When she’d finished making it, she put it on the kitchen table and sank down into a chair. The doorbell then rang. Catherine’s first impulse was to ignore it but she had second thoughts. Although it was quite late, she decided that it might be the police or even her brother, Nathan, returning for something he forgot to take with him. Reluctantly, she got up and went to the door. An unlikely caller awaited her.

‘Colette!’ she said in surprise.

‘Hello, Mrs Wilder.’

‘What are
you
doing here?’

‘I was hoping for a few words with you,’ said Colette, tentatively. ‘If it’s a bad time, I can always come back in the morning.’

‘No, no – you might as well come in.’

Catherine let her visitor in and took her into the living room. Pointedly, she didn’t offer Colette a seat. When she studied her, Catherine could see that she’d been crying. Like her husband, she’d been quick to identify her talent as a dancer but had grown tired of Wilder’s endless praise of the girl. Whenever they’d met, there’d been a slight tension between them. Catherine resented the amount of time her husband lavished on the young dancer while Colette felt that she was being judged and found wanting by the older woman. The tension was now stronger than ever.

‘I’m so sorry about what happened,’ said Colette, trying to break it.

‘We all are.’

‘Yes, but it must be so much worse for you, Mrs Wilder. I only saw your husband for lessons. You shared your whole life with him.’

‘I did have outside interests as well,’ said Catherine, defensively.

‘It was such a shame that you had to give up dancing. You were marvellous.’

‘Thank you, Colette.’

‘I’ll always remember the two of you at the Dance Championships. You were wonderful to watch.’

Catherine was bitter. ‘My career was cut short by a bad accident,’ she said. ‘Bear that in mind and be very careful at all times. You have to be in perfect health to dance well.’

‘Mr Wilder kept telling me that.’

There was a lengthy pause. Colette shifted her feet uneasily while Catherine tossed a glance in the direction of the sandwich. Envious of her visitor’s youth and lithe body, she just wanted her to go. Dispensing with politeness, she indicated the door.

‘It was good of you to pass on your condolences,’ she said, curtly, ‘but I’m very tired and would like to be left alone.’

‘Yes, yes, of course, Mrs Wilder. It’s just that …’

‘Well?’

‘It’s just that …’

‘Go on, Colette – don’t keep me waiting.’

‘The thing is …’ said the other, chewing her lip, ‘the thing is …’ Losing her nerve, she blurted out something she hadn’t even intended to say. ‘I was wondering what was going to happen to the dance studio.’

‘It’s closed down.’

‘Are you going to sell it?’

‘I haven’t made any decision yet. The one thing I won’t be doing is to reopen it. When we started, it was an exciting new project. Now … well, to be honest, it’s just a burden, so it may well have to go.’