Dance of Death Read online

  ‘I hope they pour contempt on those ghastly souvenir-hunters.’

  ‘We’re dealing with one ourselves,’ said Marmion, grimly.

  Chatfield was checked. ‘Are we?’

  ‘Yes, sir – the killer wanted keepsakes from his victim and I’m not just talking about his wallet, watch and wedding ring.’

  ‘Quite so,’ said the other, face darkening. ‘You were right to give no details of the mutilation in your report. There are times when information is best held back from the press. Apart from anything else, it would distress the widow beyond bearing. Thank heaven that Mrs Wilder doesn’t have to view the body.’

  ‘But she’s eager to do so.’

  Chatfield was startled. ‘I can’t believe that.’

  ‘She more or less insisted, sir.’

  ‘When she heard what had actually happened, I thought she fainted.’

  ‘It’s true,’ replied Marmion, ‘but she recovered very quickly. Mrs Wilder wanted proof that it really was her husband who was murdered. She’s clinging on to a pathetic hope that it might just be someone else.’

  ‘And she really wants to put herself through that ordeal?’

  ‘I advised against it, sir, but to no avail.’

  ‘She’s going to have the most awful shock.’

  ‘A neighbour will be with her to offer support.’

  ‘I saw the corpse, remember. That face of his was like something out of a nightmare. I strongly urge Mrs Wilder to reconsider her decision.’

  ‘It’s too late, Superintendent,’ said Marmion, looking at his watch. ‘My guess is that the lady will be arriving at the morgue with Sergeant Keedy at any moment.’

  Joe Keedy had lost count of the number of times he’d had to catch people who collapsed when they viewed the corpse of a loved one. It was not only women who let out a shriek of horror and lost consciousness. Apparently strong men had also been overcome by emotion. Keedy had once had to catch a vicar whose wife was the victim of a hit-and-run road accident. A person who’d seen many dead bodies in the course of his work fell into Keedy’s arms when confronted with the corpse of the woman he’d married. The sergeant felt that he would need to be alert yet again. Having recovered from the initial shock, Catherine Wilder had revealed an inner steeliness that was quite at variance with her appearance. She had not merely asked to see the body of her husband, she had demanded it as next of kin. The arguments put to her by Marmion and Keedy had been swept aside.

  As they entered the morgue, Keedy had the consolation of knowing that most of the wounds would be kept hidden from her. All that she would see was the eyeless face of her husband. The worst excesses of the attack would remain beneath the shroud. It was a source of relief to him. He was then struck by an idea that might lessen the torment even more. It brought him to an abrupt halt. Catherine Wilder was impatient. Arm in arm with Grace Chambers, she fretted at the slight delay.

  ‘Don’t stop on my account, Sergeant,’ she said.

  ‘I thought you’d like a moment to prepare yourself.’

  ‘I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.’

  ‘Then let me make a suggestion,’ he said, indicating a door to his left. ‘Your husband’s effects are in here. It’s only his clothing, I’m afraid. Anything of value was taken away.’ When she gave a nod, he opened the door. ‘This way, ladies …’

  He let them go into the room before following. When he spoke to the man on duty behind the counter, the latter disappeared for a short while. He returned with a large metal box, placing it on the counter and waiting for an order. Catherine hesitated. Grace had to squeeze her arm to produce a request.

  ‘Please open it,’ said Catherine.

  The man spoke gently. ‘I’d better warn you what to expect.’

  ‘Just open it.’

  ‘Do as Mrs Wilder asks,’ added Keedy.

  The man lifted the lid of the box to expose the blood-soaked suit, shirt, tie and underwear of the deceased. When he lifted the items out, they could see that even the shoes and socks had been dyed red. But it was the coat that upset Catherine the most. It was the stylish jacket of a suit made by an expensive bespoke tailor. Worn by her husband, it had fitted him perfectly and given him a slightly raffish appearance. It was the suit he wore for special occasions but he would never put it on again. There were so many slits and holes in it that it was little more than a pile of rags. As Catherine tottered, Keedy moved in closer to her but she somehow found the strength to remain standing. It was Grace who averted her eyes and began the retch.

  ‘Do you recognise it as your husband’s clothing, Mrs Wilder?’ asked Keedy.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ she croaked.

  ‘I’m so sorry that you had to see it in this condition.’

  ‘My husband was not merely killed, he was … slaughtered.’

  ‘The attack was indeed very severe,’ he said, nodding to the man to put everything back in the box. ‘Shall we continue?’

  ‘No,’ said Catherine, raising a palm.

  ‘But you came to see the body.’

  ‘I’ve seen what was done to it, Sergeant, and that’s more than enough. I can identify my husband by his clothing. I can’t bear to see anything else.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Take me home, please.’

  Keedy was content. His strategy had worked.

  Ellen Marmion walked slowly along the pavement with her son beside her. Paul could see just well enough to be able to go out alone now and to dispense with the white stick with which he’d first been issued. When he learnt that his mother had to visit the shops, however, he took advantage of her company so that he could go to the post office. It meant that he could keep his arm in contact with hers as they strolled along. His confidence was boosted by the fact that he was, in effect, walking normally.

  ‘I never thought that Colin was interested in girlfriends,’ she said.

  ‘He wasn’t until we went abroad,’ he replied. ‘But the rest of us all had someone back home who wrote to us and who sent us her photograph. Colin was the odd man out. He met Mavis on his last leave and, suddenly, he couldn’t stop talking about her. He realised what he’d been missing.’

  ‘I’m glad that he met someone but I do feel sorry for her.’

  ‘Mavis will miss him badly – and so will I.’

  Colin Fryatt had been Paul’s best friend. They’d been inseparable at school and in the years beyond it. They’d played in the same football team, sharing the same excitements and disappointments. Driven by a collective surge of bravado, all eleven of them had enlisted together because it meant that they could serve in the same regiment. Paul had watched the rest of the players dying off one by one. When Colin was killed in action, Paul was not far away from him on the battlefield. Blinded by the explosion, he’d crawled under fire to his friend, relieved him of his beloved mouth organ then blown it with all his might to attract attention. He was eventually rescued by stretcher-bearers. The instrument had saved Paul’s life.

  ‘I’m so glad you were able to reply to the letter,’ said his mother.

  ‘I made myself do it. The only thing I couldn’t manage was her name and address on the envelope. You put that on – thanks, Mum.’

  ‘It was no trouble.’

  ‘I’ll be able to do things like that for myself soon.’

  ‘Yes, Paul, I’m sure you will.’

  It was a fervent hope rather than a statement of belief but Ellen hid her doubts from him. She’d been told how important it was to keep up his spirits. Mavis Tandy had written to ask if she could meet Paul and, in his reply, he’d agreed. Ellen had reservations about the idea. When her son had first gone off to war, he left behind a girlfriend who was devoted to him. She and Paul seemed an ideal couple. On his first leave home, they’d even talked of getting engaged. He then returned to France and saw action at last. It had a searing effect on him. On his second visit home, he was a different person, surly, uncommunicative and prone to drunkenness. He kept picking arguments. All of the tenderness vanished from his
romance and it quickly turned sour. Instead of getting engaged to him, his girlfriend had been frightened away. Ellen had been deeply hurt.

  ‘Do you think you did the right thing, Paul?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You don’t have to see her.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, she’s a complete stranger.’

  ‘She was Colin’s girlfriend. I feel that I already know her.’

  ‘Perhaps you should wait until you’re … properly on the mend.’

  ‘Mavis knows what happened to me,’ he said. ‘She said how sorry she was. All that she wants to do is to talk about Colin. What’s wrong with that?’

  His mother could not find the words to tell him. Her worry was that a visit from Mavis Tandy might bring back all the things that haunted him. She and Marmion had done everything to take his mind off the war and, in particular, off the death of his close friend. It would all be brought vividly back to life now. Ellen was also concerned for the young woman. Paul was so changeable and liable to such explosions of anger that she didn’t want Mavis to see her son in that state.

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ he repeated, voice rising dangerously.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Ellen, ‘nothing at all.’

  ‘Yes, there is. You’re holding something back. What is it?’

  ‘Forget that I spoke.’

  ‘You want to stop her coming, don’t you?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Yes, you do,’ he went on, stopping in his tracks and pointing an accusatory finger. ‘I’m old enough to make my own decisions. I want to see Mavis and nobody’s going to stop me so you can mind your own bloody business!’

  ‘Paul!’

  Pushing his mother away, he lurched off down the street. Fuelled by anger and forgetting how limited his eyesight was, he blundered on until his shoulder collided with a lamp post. Ellen winced as a stream of expletives poured out of him.

  The ride back to Chingford was conducted in silence. Stunned by what they’d seen at the morgue, both women were lost in thought. They were seated in the rear of the car while Keedy occupied the front passenger seat. When they got to the house, however, he had to speak. He waited until all three of them entered the living room.

  ‘I’m sorry to put you through that, Mrs Wilder,’ he said.

  ‘I had to be certain that it was Simon,’ she murmured.

  ‘I’ll look after her now,’ said Grace, dismissively. ‘Thank you, Sergeant.’

  ‘There’s something I need before I go,’ said Keedy with quiet firmness. ‘In due course, we’ll have to talk to Mrs Wilder at length about her husband. This is clearly not the best time. What would be helpful to us is to borrow Mr Wilder’s appointments book.’

  Catherine looked up at him. ‘You won’t find the killer in there, Sergeant. My husband’s pupils worshipped him. Why do you want the book?’

  ‘It will give us some idea of his routine.’

  ‘I can tell you what that was. He gave lessons on a daily basis and, from time to time, organised a dance at the hall. It was always well attended. My husband and I built up a thriving business.’

  ‘They were like Vernon and Irene Castle,’ Grace interjected. ‘That’s what they were called in one of the newspapers.’ Her gesture took in the whole room. ‘Look at any of these photographs. You can see what a wonderful couple they were on the dance floor.’

  ‘Who provided the music?’ asked Keedy.

  ‘We hired a small band for the dances,’ replied Catherine. ‘If it was a case of private lessons, we either used a gramophone or an accompanist.’ She brought both hands up to her cheeks. ‘Dear me!’ she cried, ‘I’d forgotten Mrs Pattinson.’

  ‘She’s their pianist,’ explained Grace.

  ‘Wait until she hears the news. It will be a crushing blow.’

  ‘Why is that?’ asked Keedy.

  ‘Mrs Pattinson has been with us from the start. She idolised my husband. When she learns that he was murdered, it will destroy her.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  The more time she spent with Iris Goodliffe, the more Alice liked her. Proud to be wearing a police uniform – albeit a rather tight one – Iris felt a sense of importance as she strolled along with her new friend. To the casual observer, they presented a stark contrast and, when they saw their reflections in shop windows, they realised what an odd couple they looked. The Women’s Police Service had been founded two years earlier yet there were still people who refused to accept it as a necessary organisation. While they fielded warm smiles of encouragement, therefore, they were also given the occasional hostile glance by those who felt that women had no place whatsoever in law enforcement. Alice took it all in her stride and Iris followed suit.

  ‘What’s the worst thing you’ve had to do?’ asked Iris.

  ‘It was being on night duty in central London.’

  ‘Was it rowdy?’

  ‘The noise was deafening.’

  ‘Did you have to make any arrests?’

  ‘We had a policeman with us to do that. He also gave us welcome protection, of course. I wouldn’t have liked to walk those streets on my own.’

  ‘Neither would I.’

  ‘Drunks were the big problem,’ recalled Alice. ‘They were often soldiers on leave, either spoiling for a fight or looking for women.’

  ‘You mean women who …?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘I’ve never met … one of those.’

  Alice grinned. ‘You probably have without even realising it, Iris. They lead normal lives when they’re “off duty”, so to speak. Some of them are forced into it because they lost their husbands at the front and can’t make ends meet. Gale Force thinks that we should clean up the city by getting rid of all the prostitutes but that’s impossible. There are thousands of them. And there’s always a demand.’

  ‘Is that all soldiers do when they’re on leave – get drunk or …?’

  ‘It’s what some of them do, Iris. They drink to forget the horrors they’ve seen at the front and they snatch at pleasure because they think it may be their last chance. In some cases, I’m afraid, it probably is.’

  ‘I can’t believe your brother is like that.’

  ‘No,’ said Alice, defensively, ‘Paul is … above that sort of thing.’

  And yet, she admitted to herself, her brother had gone off to a pub with friends whenever he was on leave. Until he was invalided out of the army, he’d been a typical soldier. When he’d broken up with his girlfriend, there’d been nobody else waiting for his return. Alice realised that she’d never even considered the possibility that he might have paid for the services of a prostitute. It had seemed so unlikely that she’d pushed it to the back of her mind. Thanks to Iris, she found herself thinking about it for the first time and she was troubled. What if Paul was not the decent, clean-living young man she believed him to be? He would not be the first soldier whose moral standards had crumbled under the pressures of war. The thought was unnerving.

  ‘I always wanted a brother,’ said Iris, brightly. ‘Instead of that, I had an older sister who used to make fun of me and pull my hair.’

  ‘Paul did that to me sometimes but we had so much fun together.’

  ‘I had very little.’

  ‘What does your sister do?’

  ‘She works in one of the other shops. We own three altogether. You’ll find a Goodliffe Pharmacy in Camden Town, East Finchley and Walthamstow. Actually, Evelyn – that’s my sister – has been so much nicer to me since she got married.’

  ‘Is her husband in the army?’

  ‘No, Alice, he’s in a reserved occupation. He’s a doctor.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I doubt if I’ll ever get married,’ said Iris, pulling a face.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Who’d look twice at me? My sister was always the pretty one. You’re a bit like her, really. You must have had offers.’

  Alice smiled. ‘I got the one I really wante
d.’

  As they came round a corner, they saw a news vendor selling copies of the lunchtime edition. On the board propped up against his stand, two headlines had been scrawled in large capitals. The first was ZEPPELIN SHOT DOWN.

  ‘I heard about that,’ said Iris, excitedly.

  ‘We actually saw it.’

  ‘Did you? What was it like?’

  Alice didn’t even hear the question. Her eye had been caught by the second news story – BRUTAL MURDER IN CHINGFORD.

  In all likelihood, she guessed, her father would be involved in the investigation and so would Joe Keedy. She bit her lip in disappointment. The detectives were going to be busier than ever now, putting their social lives aside. Alice feared that she might not see Keedy for some time.

  Though it was early afternoon when he got back to Scotland Yard, Keedy had already been up for well over eight hours. His body was reminding him of the fact. He felt tired and sluggish. He went straight to Marmion’s office and found him poring over a street map of London.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ he asked.

  ‘Inspiration.’

  ‘Well, I can’t help you there. I ran out of it years ago.’

  Marmion stood up. ‘How did you get on at the morgue?’

  ‘I was in luck. I managed to keep Mrs Wilder away from the slab itself.’

  He explained how he’d let her see her husband’s effects and how that had deterred her from wanting to view his corpse. He then described the return to the Wilder house and held up a large leather-bound appointments book.

  ‘I had a real job getting this out of her.’

  ‘It’s vital to the investigation, Joe.’

  ‘I just couldn’t convince her of that. According to Mrs Wilder, every name in here belongs to someone who thought that Simon Wilder was a kind of god. I had a closer look at some of those photographs in their living room,’ said Keedy. ‘He really was a striking figure in tails. It turns out that he and his wife beat all-comers on the dance floor. That was before the accident, of course.’

  ‘What accident?’

  ‘It was something the next-door neighbour told me when she let me out. Simon and Catherine Wilder won every competition they entered until she had a fall and did something to her back. It ruined her career. Mrs Wilder had to give up something she loved dearly. It’s made her very bitter.’