She had been a remarkable woman, to be sure. Funny, talented, excellent company. Was it regret at what might have been? Had he left it too late? Had happiness been right under his nose all this time? Had she felt the same? Had she just been coolly waiting for him to do something about it? Waiting for him to realize that his philandering wasn’t ever going to get him what he wanted?
He wandered for quite some time until he found himself outside a station, where he decided to hop on the tube to Russell Square to see Skins and Ellie. It hadn’t been a conscious decision, but now he thought about it, that was probably where he’d been heading all along.
Mrs Dalrymple showed him in to the drawing room and said she’d let the Maloneys know he was there. He sat at Ellie’s piano and began to play a few melancholy chords. A melody suggested itself almost at once and he picked out a few phrases before improvising around the new tune.
Ellie had been standing in the doorway listening for a few minutes.
‘That’s pretty,’ she said. ‘You should play more often.’ She walked over and hugged him warmly. ‘Hi, sweetheart. How are you? I’m so sorry about Blanche.’
He stood and hugged her back. ‘I’m all right. How’s our boy?’
‘He’s putting a brave face on it,’ she said. ‘You know what he’s like. If there’s a choice between showing his feelings and making a dumb joke, he’d always rather make the dumb joke. Is that an English thing? Is that your stiff upper lip?’
‘Something like that,’ said Dunn. ‘We just find emotions a bit . . . you know . . . embarrassing.’
‘Well, it gets my nanny, I can tell you. Just say how you feel.’
‘I feel fine.’
She pulled back and hit his chest. ‘You’re as bad as Ivor.’ She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek.
Skins appeared at the door. ‘Who’s as bad as me? Oh, hello, mate. You staying for tea?’
‘Oh, do,’ said Ellie. ‘We could do with the company.’
‘That would be nice,’ said Dunn. ‘But on the way over here I had another idea.’
‘Go on,’ said Skins.
‘Well, no one’s said anything official about Blanche.’
‘No one at all?’ said Ellie. ‘Not even Blanche’s brother? How is he – does anyone know? And what about poor Puddle? She and Blanche were close, weren’t they?’
‘They were. Tight as anything, those two. But as far as I know, no one’s heard a dicky bird. So I was thinking we could ask Superintendent Sunderland.’
‘I sent him a wire on Wednesday to let him know what had happened, but I’ve not heard anything back from him,’ said Skins.
‘What would he know about it?’ said Ellie.
‘Not much, I don’t suppose,’ said Dunn. ‘But he’d know who to ask, wouldn’t he?’
‘He would. Why don’t you call him?’
‘Now?’
‘Why not? It’s obviously been on your mind. You know where the phone is. Go and call him.’
Dunn smiled and went out to the hall.
He returned a few moments later. ‘This tea you offered me – is it anything as would spoil if we went out instead?’
‘Just some sandwiches and cake,’ said Ellie. ‘The staff can eat them. Why? Where are we going?’
‘Nowhere fancy. Sunderland wants to meet us at Lyons Corner House on the Strand in half an hour. His treat, apparently.’
‘We’d better get our skates on, then,’ said Ellie.
The three friends hailed a cab and made it to the large café opposite Charing Cross station with a few minutes to spare. Sunderland was already waiting for them.
He greeted them warmly and, once the introductions were done, made no secret of the fact that he found the presence of a young American woman rather exotic. This entertained Ellie no end, and she managed to throw a few made-up American phrases into the polite chit-chat to help reinforce the impression that she and her home country were, indeed, somewhat exotic and mysterious.
Once the smartly uniformed Nippy (as the waitresses were affectionately known) had taken their order, Sunderland got down to business.
‘Thank you for coming over,’ he began. ‘I’m most grateful for your reports from the Aristippus Club, and I was most terribly sorry to hear the news about your friend, Miss Adams.’
‘Thank you,’ said Dunn. ‘Actually, that’s why we wanted to speak to you. We’ve heard nothing from the police since it happened and we were wondering if you’d heard anything.’
Sunderland frowned. ‘I’m afraid I have,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you that the news isn’t good. Given the location of her passing and its connection to my case, I was able to pull some strings and get the post-mortem carried out urgently. Cases of obvious foul play take priority so there’s usually a delay with other unexplained deaths, you see. Anyway, the results came through this morning and the police surgeon has confirmed that she was murdered.’
‘Murdered?’ they said together, slightly too loudly.
Diners at nearby tables turned to stare.
‘Are you sure?’ asked Dunn, much more quietly.
‘Quite sure,’ said Sunderland.
‘But how?’ said Skins. ‘No one touched her.’
‘Poison,’ said Ellie. ‘It must be poison.’
‘I’m afraid it was,’ said Sunderland. ‘And a nasty one. Massive failure of all her internal organs. Never stood a chance, poor woman.’
‘But how?’ said Skins again. ‘When? Was it at the club? We all ate the same sandwiches, drank beer poured from a jug.’
‘The inspector in charge of the case will want to know all that,’ said Sunderland. ‘No idea who it is yet, but it’ll be one of the C Division lads. Someone from Bow Street, I should think. We’ve only just had it confirmed as suspected murder so someone will be assigned today. He’ll be calling on you all in due course, I’m sure.’
‘Right you are,’ said Skins.
‘Make sure he brings a couple of uniformed coppers with him,’ said Dunn. ‘It’ll give my neighbour a treat.’
Sunderland gave him a puzzled frown but decided not to ask. ‘Given my interest in the club,’ he said instead, ‘I’ve asked if I can oversee the investigation, but you know what the politics of these things is like – everyone’s got one eye on serving the public and the other eye on serving their career. But I’ll definitely be poking my nose in.’
‘Do you think they’re connected?’ said Ellie.
‘The two cases? It’s not obvious at the moment. Our man Grant isn’t likely to want to draw attention to himself by murdering innocent musicians, but I’d be stupid to rule it out. I’d prefer to proceed as though it’s possible and keep an open mind. It could be a coincidence, but I’m not keen on those.’
‘But why Blanche?’ said Skins. ‘She didn’t even know about us helping you out and she’d never done anything to anyone. Who would kill a saxophone player?’
‘Who indeed?’ said Sunderland. ‘Look, are you two sure you want to carry on with all this? I’d quite understand if you didn’t. You can’t possibly be playing at the club any more, after all, not after that.’