Dance of Death (17 page)

Marmion sat back and glanced down at the few notes he’d been making. Most of what Gillian had told him had been unrecorded and he would certainly not pass it on to Claude Chatfield, who’d be scandalised by the irregularities of her marriage to Wilder. Nor would he dare to tell his own wife about the kind of existence that the dancer and his first wife had led. It was so far removed from Ellen’s experience that she wouldn’t believe it.

‘Did he ever take you anywhere?’ he asked.

‘No, Inspector, he always came to me at the flat. Sometimes he just wanted to scrounge a drink. He was often in the area.’

‘So we were told. He liked to hang around theatres.’

‘Simon was a realist. He couldn’t go on dancing that well for ever so he knew he’d have to go back to acting eventually. It’s not only a question of talent,’ she said. ‘Having the right contacts is far more important. That’s why Simon tried to keep in with producers and managers. He’d need them some day.’

‘So he never took you to Chingford?’

‘No, he didn’t.’

‘That’s where he was found, you see. We’d like to know why he was in that specific part of the district. What made him go there in the first place?’

‘Perhaps that’s not what he did, Inspector.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘What if he didn’t go there of his own volition?’ she suggested. ‘Supposing that someone
took
him there – by force, probably?’

Not for the first time, Marmion was glad that Gillian Hogg had been impelled to come to him. The investigation had taken a promising change of direction.

The parish church of St Mary Magdalene was the oldest building in Gillingham and, though it had undergone many changes over the centuries, it was still an impressive sight. Set at the heart of the town, it was known as the Church on the Green because it was surrounded by an expanse of grass. It had taken Paul Marmion some time to get to Gillingham. Getting off the bus too early, he’d had to ask for directions then tramp for the best part of a mile. Mavis Tandy had been relieved to see him at last and had taken him straight to her father’s church. As
they sat together in a pew at the rear of the nave, Paul felt increasingly uncomfortable but Mavis was completely at home.

‘Can you sense it?’ she asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, the church is empty but I can feel a presence.’

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’m here with you.’

‘No, Paul, there’s someone else and he’s looking down on us.’

‘Is he?’

‘A church is never empty, you see. He’s always there.’

Closing her eyes, she went off into a kind of trance. Paul had no idea what she was talking about but he didn’t want to upset Mavis in any way. He closed his own eyes and savoured the gentle touch of her shoulder against his.

‘Can you feel it now?’ she said at length.

‘Yes, I can, Mavis.’

Then he wondered if Colin Fryatt had told her the same barefaced lie.

Joe Keedy would have preferred it if the man had changed out of his tennis kit but Redmond insisted on having the interview as soon as they got back to the house. With the look of a natural athlete, he enjoyed showing off his physique.

‘Most people think that tennis is a summer game,’ he said, flopping into a chair, ‘but I play it all the year round. The only things that would stop me are a violent thunderstorm or three feet of snow. What about you, Sergeant?’

‘I’ve never played tennis, sir.’

‘That’s a pity. You have all the necessary attributes.’

‘I lack the most important one,’ said Keedy. ‘I don’t have a racquet.
Tennis was a sport that I never even considered because it cost money to play. Joining a club and buying all the equipment can be expensive. I preferred football. All you need is a patch of land and a ball.’

‘Why did you go into the police force?’

‘That’s immaterial, Mr Redmond. We’re here to talk about you.’

‘I’m just trying to be sociable.’

‘Well, I’m not,’ said Keedy, warningly. ‘Why did you go to Miss Thompson’s flat yesterday?’

Redmond laughed. ‘I’d call that a redundant question, Sergeant. You’ve seen Odele. Any red-blooded man would want to spend time in private with her.’

‘You went uninvited.’

‘I had a key and couldn’t resist the urge to use it.’

‘You went there to frighten her.’

‘She was the one who frightened
me
. Have you ever been hit on the head with a flower vase? It damn well hurt.’

‘So did the way you grabbed her by the arms.’

‘Odele used to like that in the old days,’ said the other with a nostalgic grin. ‘It was the one sure way to end a lovers’ tiff.’

‘In this case, you meant it as a punishment because she gave us your name.’

‘Well, it was rather naughty of Odele.’

‘The last time we met, you gave me an account of your movements on the night when Mr Wilder was killed.’

‘I had nothing to hide, Inspector. As you found out, what I told you was the plain, unvarnished truth. You checked my alibi and realised that I was innocent of the charge.’

‘Do you still maintain that innocence, sir?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘Then why bother to harass Miss Thompson? You had no need to do that. Being questioned by the police was a nuisance but it hardly justifies what you did.’

‘I just wanted to … express my displeasure.’

‘Oh, you did more than that,’ argued Keedy. ‘You didn’t just go there to register a complaint. Your intention was to bully Miss Thompson so that she wouldn’t tell us anything else about you. Now why would you do that if – as you said a moment ago – you had nothing to hide?’

‘Well,’ said Redmond, easily, ‘perhaps there
are
one or two things I would like to keep secret but that’s true of every man, isn’t it? What about you, Sergeant? I dare swear that you’ve had your share of little adventures that you’d rather not talk about. It’s normal behaviour for a chap.’

‘Murder is never normal, sir.’

‘You’ve established that my alibi is sound. Why not leave me alone?’

‘There are two reasons,’ said Keedy. ‘First, you gave yourself away when you threatened Miss Thompson. An innocent man wouldn’t have needed to do that. But the second reason is the important one.’

‘I can’t wait to hear it,’ said Redmond with a taunting smile.

‘When we returned to Scotland Yard yesterday, we saw the post-mortem report. It’s always difficult to be precise about the time of death. We know the exact moment when the body was discovered but the pathologist believes that Mr Wilder could have been killed as much as four hours earlier.’

‘So? I was right here, watching the air raid.’

‘Yes,’ said Keedy, ‘but what did you do immediately afterwards? I’ve been looking at a map of London, sir. Wimbledon may seem a fair distance away from Chingford but not if you have access to a car, and I couldn’t help noticing on my first visit here that there was one in the garage.’

‘It belongs to my parents.’

‘Oh, I expect you have a key, Mr Redmond. If they let you use their house so freely, your parents would surely give you free use of their car. So it would have been more than possible for you to leave here well after the air raid. You could have driven to Chingford,’ Keedy went on, watching him carefully, ‘stabbed Mr Wilder to death then returned here. That could all have happened quite easily within the time-frame given to us in the post-mortem report. What do you say to that, sir?’

Redmond’s taunting smile had frozen solid.

Paul Marmion had been misled. The fact that Mavis wanted to see him two days in a row gave him the idea that she had become very fond of him but her primary interest was still in someone who was killed at the battle of the Somme. Paul had to repeat the same story time and again, always assuring her that Colin Fryatt had her photograph in his pocket as he fell. Gory details that Paul would never dare to mention to his mother and sister were drawn out of him by Mavis. She was determined to know everything.

‘What do you think of Gillingham?’ she asked.

‘I like it.’

‘Have you been to Kent before?’

‘Only when I sailed to and from France – but Colin always said how nice Kent was.’

‘What did he say about Gillingham?’

‘He told me that he loved it because it was where
you
lived,’ said Paul, putting words into his friend’s mouth that had not actually been spoken.

His lie had the desired effect. Mavis emitted a long sigh of pleasure and grabbed his hand impulsively, thanking him for telling her
something that she would treasure. They were walking beside the river in the morning sunshine. Paul was desperate to put an arm around her or, at the very least, slip a hand into hers but there was no question of that while they were talking about a third person. Even though he’d been dead for some weeks now, Colin Fryatt’s presence was still very much felt.

‘I’ve been practising “Onward, Christian Soldiers”,’ he volunteered.

‘That’s wonderful.’

‘I’m nowhere near as good as Colin yet.’

‘He was a real musician. I could see that. He talked about learning to play the trumpet so that he could join a proper band. Colin would have been good at that. He was good at everything he turned his hand to.’

Once again, Paul choked back a contradiction. While he had his talents, Colin Fryatt also had some glaring weaknesses and, during their short time together, he’d managed to conceal them from Mavis. Most of what she believed had come from letters he’d scribbled to her in the trenches. Before she fell asleep at night, Mavis read each one of them again before putting them under her pillow.

‘Can you play it for me now, Paul?’

‘What?’

‘“Onward Christian Soldiers”.’

‘Oh, I don’t know it well enough to do that.’

‘But you said you’d been practising.’

‘Yes, I have but …’

‘I know it won’t be the same as Colin, so I’ll make allowances.’

Paul was in a quandary. Wanting to please her, he knew that he could play the hymn passably well. Yet he was prevented from doing so, knowing that his version would be a pale imitation of the one she’d heard Colin play. Also, there was something that weighed more heavily
with him – the words of the hymn appalled him. While they spoke of notional soldiers in a spiritual war, he’d fought in a real one and found Christianity totally irrelevant. It had neither inspired nor protected Paul. When shells were landing all round him and when machine gun bullets were zipping through the air, he felt utterly at their mercy.

‘Please,’ she said, almost pleading. ‘I’d love to hear you play.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he replied, ‘but I forgot to bring the mouth organ.’

The instrument suddenly felt like a ton weight in Paul’s pocket.

Alice decided to take Joe Keedy’s advice. Instead of refusing to let Iris Goodliffe into her social life, she should first see how she got on with her colleague when they were off duty. Alice therefore bided her time until they broke off to take some refreshment. Iris was as effervescent as ever, plying her with questions, telling her family anecdotes and breaking into giggles whenever she saw something remotely amusing. As they sat down together, she turned to a more serious subject.

‘It was on the front page at last,’ she said. ‘They mentioned your father’s name and quoted what he said about the murder. All over London, people are reading about Inspector Marmion. You must be very proud of that, Alice.’

‘I’m more proud than Daddy ever will be. He hates publicity like that. He always urges the press to concentrate on the facts of the case rather than on him. But they never listen.’

‘I’d love to see
my
name in a newspaper.’

‘That depends on what it’s in there for,’ said Alice with a laugh. ‘You wouldn’t be so happy if you were accused of soliciting or if you’d been named because you got drunk and ran naked down Tottenham Court Road.’ Iris joined in the laughter. ‘That actually happened, by the way. A middle-aged woman rolled out of a pub on a hot, sticky night, peeled
off her clothes and staggered off down the road as if she was in some kind of race. When we caught up with her, she asked us the way to Euston.’ Iris had a fit of giggles. ‘Imagine how she must have felt when she saw
her
name in the papers.’

‘You’ve met some funny people in this job, Alice.’

‘It’s opened my eyes, I’ll admit that.’

They ate their meal and chatted away. The invitation came out of the blue.

‘What are you doing this evening, Iris?’

‘Nothing at all – what about you?’

‘I thought I might go and see a film.’

‘Which one?’

‘I haven’t decided. Would you like to come with me?’

Iris’s face was a study in joy. It was over as simply as that.

Harvey Marmion was still at the police station when Keedy got back there. Detective Constable Gibbs stepped out of the room so that they had privacy. Each of them was eager to pass on news to the other. Bowing to his seniority, Keedy let the inspector go first and he listened agog at what he was told. Gillian Hogg’s sudden intervention had indeed been illuminating. There was only one drawback for Keedy. Marmion talked about Wilder’s promiscuity in a way that sounded like a sermon on fidelity and his future son-in-law didn’t like the feeling that he was, by implication, being warned. The new evidence, however, was fascinating.

‘A few days ago, we didn’t have a single suspect,’ Keedy pointed out, ‘yet, in the course of one morning, we found two more.’

‘Mrs Wilder deserves to be investigated, Joe, but I don’t think she’d have actually killed him. She’d have found someone else to do that.’

‘Do you have any idea who it might be?’

‘None at all – and Gillian Hogg couldn’t suggest a name either.’

‘But she did tell you enough to throw suspicion on to Mrs Wilder.’

‘Oh, yes – what she told me tallies with a number of things I’d noticed about the lady. Mrs Wilder is cool and calculating. If she
was
indirectly involved in the murder, it won’t come as a rude shock to me. But you tell me about
your
suspect,’ urged Marmion. ‘Did Redmond try to charm you again?’