Murder by Magic

by Paul Tomlinson

  Walter looked up at him.

  “She’s your mother,” Malloy insisted.

  Walter nodded.

  “You’re very quiet,” Vickery said, as they drove back.

  “I was trying to think how Walter must have felt when he discovered that the man who had been his father all his life, was suddenly someone else,” Malloy said.

  “Being a father is about more than sharing blood with someone,” Vickery said. “Charlie McNair was a good man.”

  “What sort of person would send an anonymous letter like that and ruin someone’s life?”

  “Walter’s natural father, perhaps,” Vickery said.

  “But why would he do something like that?”

  “If it was him, we can ask him.”

  “We don’t know who Walter’s natural father is,” Malloy said. “Do we?”

  Vickery looked at him and smiled.

  “You know, don’t you?” Malloy said.

  “I’m fairly certain I know who it is,” Vickery said. “And you can work it out too – the clues are all there.”

  Malloy slowed the Alvis as they came up behind a dray carrying barrels from a brewery. He tried to recall what he’d heard during their conversations with the theatre manager, Toby Grange, and with Marlene and Walter McNair. There had been no hint, as far as he could remember, of a relationship between Marlene and Toby, and there was only one other possible candidate.

  “Skelhorn the Spectacular,” he said.

  “Raymond Skelhorn, to give him his true name,” Vickery said.

  “He is Walter’s father?”

  “I think the probability is very high.”

  “Marlene never told you?” Malloy asked.

  “Marlene didn’t tell anyone, but I think we can safely assume Charlie knew the truth.”

  “Is Raymond Skelhorn the sort of person who could send a letter like the one Walter received?”

  “That is a judgment you should make for yourself, after you meet him,” Vickery said.

  “He’s in town?”

  “Skelhorn the Spectacular is currently top of the bill at the Prince Leopold Theatre,” Vickery said.

   “Sounds very grand.”

  “It’s a step up from the Hawksgrove Palais, but only a small one,” Vickery said.

  “Do you want to go over there and see him this evening?” Malloy asked.

  “I’d really rather not,” Vickery said, “it would spoil my appetite.”

  “I think you just told me what sort of person Mr. Skelhorn is,” Malloy said, smiling.

  The dray pulled over so they could pass, and Vickery waved thanks out of the window.

  “Do you want to risk Betty cooking dinner for you tonight?” Vickery asked.

  “I would love to join you – unfortunately I have to meet up with the delightful Inspector Grives after I drop you off, and tell him everything we’ve learned so far.”

  “You don’t intend telling him everything do you?”

  “I shan’t tell him about you trying to pick up tradesmen,” Malloy said.

  “There was only the one,” Vickery said. “I think you should also leave out the fact Charlie McNair wasn’t Walter’s father. The police don’t need to know about that – not yet.”

  “I could make some things up to tell him,” Malloy said.

  “You could – but I couldn’t possibly encourage that.”

  “It would be terrible if Grives went off on a wild goose chase, wouldn’t it?”

  “Indeed – especially if he ended up somewhere truly unpleasant.”

  “Somewhere cold and wet that smells really bad?” Malloy said.

  “That would be ideal.” Vickery smiled. “Can you think of anywhere that fits the bill?”

  “Liverpool,” Malloy said, “but I’ll try for somewhere a bit closer.”

   

   

  Chapter Nine

  Malloy parked the Alvis in the crescent and sounded the horn.

  “I told you he was common,” Betty said, as she opened the door to let Vickery out.

  “Jamie will be joining me for dinner this evening,” he said, “will you cook us something nice? Or shall I send out for something?” Vickery knew she’d be horrified by this suggestion, and hid his smile.

  “You can’t bring hotel food in,” she said, “I’ll roast a chicken.”

  “That would be lovely. See if there’s any of that Italian white wine left, from the case the ambassador sent.”

  “Very good, sir. I’ll expect you at eight o’clock, will I?”

  “Hopefully we’ll be back before then, but we’ll eat at eight.”

  “And I’m to treat him respectfully?”

  “Just try not to be rude – I don’t expect miracles,” Vickery said.

  “You’re smiling,” Malloy said, suspicious, as Vickery climbed into the car.

  “Betty is going to cook dinner tonight.”

  “Saints preserve us!” Malloy said, casting his eyes heavenward.

  “She promises to be on her best behaviour.”

  “It might be fun to see her try,” Malloy said.

  “I’d rather you didn’t antagonise her – if you can help it.”

  “I shall be on my best behaviour, guvnor.”

  Vickery shook his head. “I’m beginning to regret the idea already. How did your meeting with Inspector Grives turn out?”

  “He made me pay for my own dinner, can you believe it? But I got me own back on him.”

  “Do I want to know?”

  “Probably not.” Malloy drove out of the crescent and onto the main road.

  “Where did you send him?” Vickery asked.

  “The fish market.”

  “And?”

  “And I might have told him I’d heard that the missing revolver could possibly have been stashed in the bottom of a big barrel of fish-guts that had been left behind a certain building. And I may have suggested he go there without any constables, so he could claim all the credit for its discovery.”

  “Did you happen to be passing that way while he was up to his shoulder in fish offal?” Vickery asked.

  “Do you think I’m the sort of person who would get enjoyment from seeing something like that?” Malloy asked. “You should have seen the look on his face! I didn’t get close, but I don’t think the contents of the barrel were fresh.”

  “How much did that little prank cost us?” Vickery asked.

  “Fishy Frank wanted half a crown to set it up, but when I told him who the target was, he agreed to do it for a pint.”

  “I owe you fourpence then.”

  “Well, I couldn’t let him drink alone.”

  “Eightpence is still a bargain.”

  “We did have more than the one.”

  “Here’s two bob,” Vickery said, digging the silver coin out of his pocket.

  “You’re a real toff, you are sir.” Malloy tugged his forelock. “Are we going over to talk to Ray Skelhorn this morning?”

  “I’d prefer to put that encounter off for as long as possible,” Vickery said. “I got the address for Charlie’s assistant, I thought we’d go over there first.”

  “The lovely Danny,” Malloy said. “Which way?”

  “Turn left at the end and then head north. He’s in digs not far from the Palais.”

  It was three storeys of blackened Victorian brick in a terrace of similar houses. With few exceptions, these were places where rooms could be rented by single people who worked locally and by those passing through. Bargemen and navvies might make a permanent home here, but mostly the rooms were taken by itinerants: those who arrived to seek their fortune, and who had gradually been reduced to this final refuge, before packing up their meagre things and heading home or overseas.

  The door was thrown open before they had the chance to ring the bell, and a tiny bent-over woman stood ready to greet them. The landlady could have been any age between eighty and a hundred.

  “Milly, how are you?” Vicke
ry said, embracing the little woman.

  “Benjamin, love, how nice to see you again!” Her back was badly rounded and she had to turn her head sideways to look up at them. The dusty wig looked too large for her head, and her yellowish top denture moved up and down when she spoke. “And you’ve brought someone with you...”

  She showed them through to the parlour.

  “This Jamie Malloy. Jamie, say hello to Little Milly,” Vickery said.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Malloy said.

  The old woman looked up at Jamie, evaluating him, her eyes bright and alive. And then nodded as if to say ‘he’ll do.’ “You’re prob’ly wondering why they call me Little Milly,” she said.

  Malloy looked down at her. “I was, but I didn’t like to ask,” he said, gallantly.

  “Milly started singing on stage when she was six years old,” Vickery said.

  “I looked like Little Bo Peep, if you can believe it,” she said, her voice deep and roughened by cigarettes, “all blonde curls and frilly bloomers. Ever-so innocent, I was.”

  “Don’t you believe it,” Vickery cautioned, “she was a naughty girl then, and she’s a naughty girl now.”

  Milly slapped him playfully on the arm.

  “Terry and I lodged with Milly many times,” Vickery said.

  “Always paid for two rooms, they did – very proper. I wasn’t here then, a course,” Milly said, “I had a lovely place near the park – back when Arthur was still alive. Now it’s just me. Here.” She looked sadly around the dingy little parlour, then looked at Vickery and smiled. “I’m glad you’re not on your own anymore.”

  “I had to do something to stop all the matchmaking,” Vickery said.

  “You can’t blame us for trying,” Milly said, “we only wanted you to be happy. We weren’t to know what that young rogue was like, now were we?”

  “No real harm done,” Vickery said, obviously uncomfortable.

  “Do you still sing, Milly?” Malloy asked.

  “Only when the drink’s taken.” Her laugh turned into a rattling cough, and it was a few moments before she recovered. “I should offer to put the kettle on, but you’re not here to see Milly – you want the nice young man upstairs.”

  “How is he doing?” Vickery asked.

  Milly shook her head sadly. “Not so good. He isn’t eating. Locks himself in his room and doesn’t come down. I took your telegram up, and he only opened the door a crack. Not shaved in a week, it looks like, and the smoke filling the room behind him, it was like a proper pea-souper. He’s taken poor Charlie’s death hard. He’s no father of his own, you know. I was surprised when he said he’d see you. That’s a good sign, I think.”

  “We’ll see ourselves up,” Vickery said.

  “You’ll pop your head in before you leave?” Milly asked.

  “Wouldn’t leave without a goodbye kiss,” Malloy said, grinning.

  Milly gave a throaty chuckle and waved a gnarled hand towards the stairs. “Be off, the pair of you.”

  “You never mentioned a young rogue,” Malloy said, smiling, as they ascended the stairs.

  “That’s right, I didn’t,” Vickery said firmly. He knocked on the door of the top floor room.

  Danny Holcroft’s face was pale, but freshly shaved – there was a fresh razor nick in the hollow of one cheek. A thin nose and large blue eyes made his face youthful, with only a slight crinkling at the corners of his eyes giving a hint of his real age. His eyes were badly bloodshot.

  When introductions had been made, he showed them into a small, sparsely furnished sitting room. The bed was in a curtained alcove on the opposite side of the room to the fireplace. The only window had been pushed all the way up, and greyish lace curtains billowed inwards. The smell of cigarette smoke was still heavy in the air. He invited them to sit and perched nervously on a wooden chair himself.

  “I was surprised to receive your telegram, Mr. Vickery,” he said.

  “Charlie was an old friend,” Vickery said, “we went to pass on our condolences to his wife. She said she was concerned about you, and I said I’d stop by.”

  “You can tell her I’m all right,” Danny said.

  “You could let her know yourself,” Vickery said. “She’d like that, I think.”

  Danny shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I’m not sure I can see her. Not yet. Did she say when the funeral will be?” He was rubbing his hands together and they made a dry sound.

  “That will depend on when the police release Charlie’s body,” Vickery said.

  Danny looked up. “Why won’t they let her bury him?”

  “They still don’t know how Charlie McNair died,” Malloy said.

  Danny looked from Malloy to Vickery. “They’ve asked you to tell them how he did it?” Danny asked.

  “How who did what?” Vickery said.

  “How Charlie killed himself and made the gun disappear,” Danny said.

  “They have asked if I can tell them how a dead man came to be found in a locked box,” Vickery said.

  “And can you?” Danny asked, staring intently at Vickery.

  “What do you think happened that night?” Vickery asked.

  “I think he killed himself in a way that will make people remember him. Years from now, people will talk about ‘the mystery of Charlie McNair’s death,’ won’t they?”

  “But why would he kill himself?” Malloy asked.

  Danny stared down at his hands and gave a slight shrug. “People kill themselves when they’re unhappy, don’t they? I suppose Charlie was unhappy.”

  “Did he have a reason to be unhappy?” Vickery asked.

  “You’d have to ask Marlene – Mrs. McNair that question,” Danny said.

  “Things between her and Charlie have not been good?” Malloy asked.

  Danny looked towards Vickery. “If Charlie was your friend, I don’t want to say anything that...”

  Vickery held up his hand. “We were acquaintances. We used to work the same theatres sometimes.”

  “Tell us what he was really like,” Malloy said.

  Danny rubbed his hands together some more, staring down at them. “Charlie was a lovely man. Very talented. He could hold an audience in the palm of his hand, making them see and feel exactly what he wanted them to. But...”

  “But?” Malloy asked.

  “You saw where we were performing. Charlie never really appreciated how good he was. He didn’t know what he had. It was such a waste. I kept trying to persuade him, said he should be more ambitious, only he couldn’t see it.”

  “We were talking about Marlene,” Vickery said gently.

  “Charlie didn’t appreciate her either,” Danny said. “I don’t think he ever saw what was right in front of him.”

  “But he did see that his wife was drifting away from him,” Malloy suggested.

  Danny shook his head. “Charlie didn’t see it. Someone told him. Said they had seen Marlene out with another man – somewhere she shouldn’t have been.”

  “Did you ever see this other man?” Vickery asked.

  Danny stared at him, and then shook his head again, but less firmly. “It was just gossip – I don’t think she would have... you know...”

  “Why not?” Malloy asked. “She’s a beautiful woman – you must see that yourself.”

  The old chair under him creaked as Danny shifted uncomfortably again. “I’ve always seen her more as a...” He caught himself and looked up at Malloy. “More like a big sister. I don’t look at her like some men do.”

  Malloy stared at him, not saying anything, and Danny looked away.

  Vickery broke the tension. “What will you do now?”

  Danny shrugged, and his eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know.”

  “Has Raymond Skelhorn contacted you?” Vickery asked.

  Danny seemed surprised by the question. “No, why would he?”

  “I think he might ask to meet with you,” Vickery said.

  Danny thought about this possibility,
then shook his head. “I don’t think I could ever work for him.”

  “It was Charlie’s rivalry, not yours,” Vickery said. “You must think of your own future.”

  “Have you ever met Skelhorn?” Danny asked.

  “Our paths have crossed,” Vickery said.

  “Then you know what he’s like.”

  Vickery nodded. “Perhaps you will take over Charlie’s act?”

  Danny shook his head firmly. “I could never do that!”

  “No?”

  “I tried – before I met Charlie. I had some good tricks, mechanicals, you know? But I wasn’t any good in front of an audience. That thing where you draw them in, leaning forward in their seats, willing you to fool them – that’s the real magic isn’t it?” Danny said.

  Vickery nodded. “It is.”

  “I never felt that when I was on my own. The closest I’ve ever come was when I stood there in Charlie’s make-up and people thought I was him. That’s the only time I’ve really felt the magic.”

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Malloy said. When they had returned to the car, Vickery had climbed behind the wheel without a word, and Malloy had found himself in the passenger seat.

  Vickery looked at him. “I’m sorry, Jamie. I was thinking.”

  “About Danny Holcroft?”

  “About Terry.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry...”

  “No, no. I was just wondering... We never really put ourselves in another man’s shoes, and wonder what it’s like for them, do we? In our act, I was the one at the front of the stage – The Great Vicari. I never considered that he might have wanted the spotlight himself.”

  “Some of us hate the limelight,” Malloy said. “If every lion wanted to be King of the Beasts, the world would be in a sorry state.”

  “Danny Holcroft secretly wants to be the King,” Vickery said.

  “Danny Holcroft wanted to be Charlie McNair,” Malloy said. “Do you think he’ll become the Marvelous Mandarin?”

  Vickery shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that. You can’t put on someone’s mantle and expect to replicate their success. You’re either a performer or you’re not. You have to be slightly larger-than-life. Unfortunately for Danny Holcroft, a good performer with a bad trick will score over a bad performer with a great trick – every time. You win people over by having the confidence to be yourself, not by pretending to be someone else.”