by DS Butler
“Victoria?”
Victoria whirled around, her heart hammering, but she couldn’t see anyone. God, calm down. It was okay, she reassured herself. It was the man she’d spoken to on the phone. She recognized his American accent.
“I’m in the entrance hall,” Victoria called out and turned in a slow circle, looking for the source of the voice. “I thought I’d gotten the wrong place.”
“Yes, I suppose it must seem an odd place to meet.” The voice came from directly behind her.
Startled, Victoria turned. She struggled to keep her lips curved in a polite smile.
The man stepped out of the shadows, and she saw him properly for the first time.
“Oh, it’s you … What are you doing here?” Confusion played over Victoria’s face.
The man put on his phony American accent and drawled, “Well, aren’t you pleased to see me?”
Victoria’s eyes widened. “It was you on the phone. Why? What are you playing at?”
She spun around, looking for TV cameras. She half expected people to jump out at her, laughing. Maybe this was a new show like “You’ve been framed.”
But there was no one else here.
She began to nod slowly, the pieces falling into place. She got it now. This was the famous casting couch. He expected to have his way with her, then…
Well, he could think again. She didn’t need to do things like that to be a success. She’d make it without going through any of that crap.
He grinned at her, showing his pointed teeth. He tapped something in his hand. What was that? What was he hiding? Victoria’s heart started to pound. Her eyes shot to the exit.
“I’m leaving,” she said, turning on her heel.
“Not so soon. You’ll hurt my feelings.”
He moved so fast, she didn’t have time to react. She felt a sharp scratch on her neck.
“Ow! What the hell?” She looked up at his face. A face so familiar, but today, it seemed different. It seemed menacing, evil.
She blinked. His face melted away in front of her eyes.
He caught her just as her knees buckled.
“Just relax,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”
15
The Star Academy took up the top three floors of an old, red-brick, Georgian building on Western Lane. In the weak sunlight, the building looked every bit its age. The decorative stonework had crumbled and hadn’t been repaired. Maybe it had been an impressive building once, but its glory days were now long gone.
The ground floor of the building was taken up by a glass-fronted furniture store called Oakland’s. An oak table and chairs took up pride of place in the display window.
Collins rang the bell set next to a small sign with Star Academy embossed in gold letters. No one answered. After waiting for a few moments, Collins jabbed at the bell again.
Mackinnon and Collins stood back as two young girls barrelled out of the door, laughing. Mackinnon caught the door before it swung shut behind them. Mackinnon and Collins entered the tired-looking lobby. A receptionist sat behind a small desk.
They caught the receptionist mid-yawn. She smothered it with one hand and anxiously pushed her nail file out of sight with the other hand.
“How can I help?” She smiled up at them.
“We’d like to speak to the owner of the academy.” Collins held up his ID. “Police.”
The receptionist’s eyes widened.
“Oh, right,” she said and reached for the phone. “Just a moment.”
Mackinnon picked up a glossy brochure from the reception desk. The front cover claimed Star Academy could help you reach for the stars. Mackinnon flicked through pages describing the different dancing, singing and acting classes the academy had to offer, and then read the “about us” page at the back of the brochure. Apparently, the academy was formed by members of the multi-award winning Cleeves family three years ago. A list of testimonials, declaring Madame Cleeves to be a genius, appeared beneath the main body of the text.
The snazzy sales description in bright pink letters told him the Star Academy was open only to females, and classes held a maximum of ten students.
The receptionist pushed back on her black, wheeled, office chair, then walked around the desk. “If you would like to follow me, please, gentlemen, I will take you to Mr. And Mrs. Cleeves. Sorry, I mean Madame Cleeves. She doesn’t like to be called Mrs.”
Mackinnon exchanged a look with Collins.
“I’m babbling, aren’t I? Sorry.”
“Not at all,” Mackinnon said. “What’s your name?”
“Pippa Adams.” The receptionist ducked her head shyly.
“How long have you worked here, Pippa?” Mackinnon asked as the receptionist led them upstairs and along a narrow corridor.
“Two years,” Pippa said and gave them a nervous smile.
They walked on past classes that were underway. All the doors were shut, but Mackinnon could hear one that definitely sounded like a tap class. Another had flashing, coloured lights shining through the gap underneath the door. He didn’t have a clue what that class might be for.
As they neared the end of the corridor, the sound of piano music drifted towards them, a simple, repetitive tune. The receptionist stopped in front of a green-panelled door, rapped against the wood, then opened it and stuck her head in the room.
“I’m very sorry, Madame–” the receptionist said.
Mackinnon couldn’t see inside, but heard the high, thin voice of a woman reply, “For goodness sake! How many times do I have to tell you? Never interrupt a class in progress.”
The tentative smile slipped from the receptionist’s face. “I am sorry, Madame, but–”
“Go away!”
Mackinnon pushed the door open fully and stepped past the receptionist.
“Mrs. Cleeves?”
A tiny woman stood in the middle of the room. Her dark brown hair was scraped back in a bun, and she stood, hands on her hips, glaring at Mackinnon.
She stepped forward. “And who are you?”
“Detective Sergeant Mackinnon.” Mackinnon gestured to Collins. “And Detective Constable Collins of the City of London Police. “We would like a word with you and your husband, please.”
The woman scowled, wrinkles trailing out from her screwed up mouth. Mackinnon guessed she was a long-term smoker.
She wore ballet tights and a leotard and was very slim, not an ounce of body fat to be seen anywhere.
From her face, Mackinnon would have put her age at around sixty, but her body was almost childlike. She reminded him of a sparrow. A really angry sparrow.
Mackinnon towered over her. She couldn’t have been more than five feet, but she held herself with a regal stance. Her perfume was oriental, spicy and too strong. Mackinnon resisted the urge to take a step back.
A man sitting at the piano stood up with a wince. “I’m Roger. Roger Cleeves. This is my wife, Belinda. How can we help?”
“We’d like to ask you a few questions about Anya Blonski,” Mackinnon said. “I understand she is a student here.”
Belinda crossed her arms and tutted. “She was a student here.”
“Not anymore?”
Belinda tapped her foot in irritation and scowled. “No, not anymore. She left.”
“Why did she leave?” Collins asked. “Do you know where she went?”
“Of course, I know where she went. The selfish little opportunist. She had a better offer, didn’t she? Got a job as an entertainer on one of these cruise liners.” She shook her head. “Such a waste. She did have talent, you know. She just needed to work on her classical technique. But she wasn’t interested in work. Like the rest of them, she wanted it handed to her on a plate. They run off to these cruise ships, expecting to become stars overnight.”
“I’m sorry,” Roger Cleeves said. “My wife is a little upset. Anya left, and I think she may have owed us money for tuition.”
“No,” Belinda said. “That’s the ridiculous thing. She ha
d paid up for another term only two days before she left.”
Roger turned to his wife. “I didn’t realise.”
“Doesn’t that strike you as odd?” Mackinnon asked.
“Well, yes,” Roger Cleeves said. “It does seem rather unusual.”
Belinda Cleeves frowned. “I suppose she just changed her mind. These girls can be very flighty.” She tapped a skinny finger against her temple. “Who knows what goes on in their heads?”
“Did you know Anya’s brother?”
“No. Not really.” Belinda shook her head. “He met Anya after she finished class a couple of times, but I never actually spoke to him until after Anya left us. He came to see us on Wednesday. It seems she ran off without even telling her poor brother where she was going.”
“You saw Henryk Blonski on Wednesday?” Mackinnon said, anticipation rising. “What time was this?”
“Oh, now let me see,” Roger Cleeves said. “It would have been mid-morning. Perhaps ten thirty. He wanted to ask us all if we knew which cruise company Anya was working for.”
Collins dropped his pencil on the floor. He was on edge. “And which company is she working for?” he asked, barely hiding the frustration in his voice.
“That’s just it,” Roger Cleeves said. “None of us knew.”
Mackinnon paused for a moment, then said. “Did Anya tell you she was leaving?”
“No, she didn’t,” Belinda said. “Ungrateful wretch. I heard it from one of the other students. Everyone was talking about it on Wednesday.”
“And do you remember which student told you?”
Belinda paused. “No, I don’t.” She turned to her husband. “Do you remember, Roger?”
Roger Cleeves shook his head slowly. “You told me she left, but I can’t recall who mentioned it to you first.”
There was a small crack as the tip of Collins’ pencil broke against his notebook. “Where were you both on Wednesday night?”
“Wednesday night?” Belinda repeated. “I don’t see it’s any business of yours.”
“We are working on a murder inquiry here. I don’t have time to play games,” Collins snapped. “Just answer the question.”
Mackinnon shot him a warning look, which Collins ignored.
“Well?” Collins asked. “What were you doing on Wednesday night?”
“Murder inquiry?” Belinda pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh God. You mean Anya…?”
Roger put an arm around his wife.
“Not Anya,” Collins said. “Henryk.”
Belinda and Roger Cleeves both looked confused.
“Let me see,” Roger Cleeves said. “After our classes, we shut up the academy at eight, and we stayed in all night, apart from my nightly constitutional. We ate dinner with our children at eight thirty. Then I went out for my walk about nine thirty, and I was back within forty-five minutes.”
Collins nodded, then looked around the dance studio. “Quite a big place you have here. How many students?”
“Now, let me see,” Roger Cleeves said. “I’ve forgotten the exact number, but it’s around eighty.”
“And they all attend part time?”
“Mostly, yes.”
“And if you don’t mind me asking, what sort of qualifications do you need to set up a place like this? Or don’t you need any?”
Belinda Cleeves’ face twitched in irritation. “I happen to be a former ballerina, Detective. I toured all over the world. Our son, Nathan, used to be part of a boy band called Vivid.” She paused. “You must have heard of them. They were hugely influential.”
Mackinnon was about to say he hadn’t when Collins nodded. “Yeah. Boy band. Early nineties.”
“Not just a boy band, Detective. They made history with their beautiful songs.” Belinda Cleeves said. “They won six Brit awards, you know?”
“Really?” Collins said, sounding bored.
“Yes, and they were almost signed by Simon Cowell. My husband used to work with Simon, you know. He worked in the industry for years. I assure you, our qualifications are more than adequate.”
Roger Cleeves patted his wife’s hand. “Come now, darling, I’m sure the detectives didn’t come here to discuss Nathan’s career.”
Mackinnon took the lead on the rest of the questions. He could see Collins was close to losing his temper with Mr. and Mrs. Cleeves.
Over the next few minutes, Belinda Cleeves became increasingly distracted and started shouting out remarks to her dancers. Mackinnon decided they had gotten as much help as they were going to get from this pair and asked if they could speak to any other teachers who worked with Anya.
“There are only two other teachers. “My son, Nathan, and my daughter, Rachel.”
“So it’s a family business?” Collins asked.
“It is. I wouldn’t trust anyone else to share my vision,” she said in a cold voice.
16
Nathan Cleeves puffed out his chest and strode towards Mackinnon and Collins. He was attempting to look intimidating, but Mackinnon found it hard to be intimidated by a man wearing skin-coloured tights.
Collins shot Mackinnon a startled glance. “Christ. He’s not shy, is he?”
Mackinnon kept his eyes above Nathan’s chest.
“You’ve interrupted the class,” Nathan Cleeves said, his nostrils flaring. “I hope this is important.”
“I consider murder important, Mr. Cleeves,” Mackinnon said. “Don’t you?”
Nathan Cleeves’ dark eyes darted between Mackinnon and Collins. “Murder? What murder?” His voice was less confrontational, but he kept the sneer.
“A young man, name of Henryk Blonski,” Collins said. “Do you know him?”
“Henryk Blonski.” Nathan Cleeves blinked rapidly. “Anya’s brother?”
Mackinnon nodded.
Nathan looked down at the floor. His shock seemed genuine. “Why would anyone want to kill him?”
“That’s what we want to find out,” Collins said. “Did you know he was looking into Anya’s disappearance?”
“Anya left.” Nathan Cleeves glared at Mackinnon, daring him to contradict. He jutted out his chin. “She’s gone off to work on a cruise ship. Stupid girl. Now, she’ll never amount to anything.”
“Why do you say that?” Collins asked.
“She couldn’t take the pace.” Nathan shrugged. “She wasn’t prepared to put in the work. She’s a quitter. The type of person who is always looking for the easy way out. I mean, a cruise ship, for God’s sake.”
Nathan snorted and shook his head. “Pathetic.”
“Did you have a relationship with Anya Blonski?” Collins asked. “She was a pretty girl. You must have noticed.”
“What?” Nathan jerked his head around to face Collins. “As if.”
“You sound bitter.” Collins said. “Did she turn you down?”
A cold smile stretched across Nathan Cleeves’ face. “I can assure you, Detective, I have no trouble getting attention from women. No trouble, at all.”
Mackinnon was getting tired of this. “Did you have a relationship with Anya Blonski, yes or no?”
“No,” Nathan scowled. “She took a ballet class with me twice a week. I didn’t socialise with her outside the academy.”
“And Henryk Blonski,” Mackinnon said. “How well did you know him?”
Nathan ran a hand through his floppy, black hair. “I’d seen him around, waiting for Anya after class a couple of times. But I’d never spoken to him until after Anya left. He came here asking questions about her. I guess Anya didn’t tell him her plans.”
“Where were you on Wednesday night, Mr. Cleeves?” Collins asked.
Nathan shook his head. “Unbelievable. You’re all the bloody same. If you must know, I was here until about nine pm. I had dinner here, then I went out.”
“And who did you go out with?”
“A woman.” Nathan Cleeves leered at Collins. “From the look of you, I don’t suppose you get a lot of female company, do you?”
Collins took out his notepad. “Is this woman your girlfriend?”
Nathan shrugged. “For now.”
Mackinnon imagined the satisfaction he’d get from slapping the smirk off Nathan Cleeves’ face. He was impressed that Collins managed to keep his cool.
“Name and address of your girlfriend, please, Mr. Cleeves,” Mackinnon said. “We’d like to speak to her.”
Nathan recited the name and address with the smile of a man who knew he had a perfect alibi.
“Are we done here? I do have a class to teach.” Nathan Cleeves gestured to the collection of dancers limbering up at the far end of the studio.
Mackinnon watched them for a moment. How was it possible for the human body to be so flexible?
“Go ahead,” Mackinnon said. “We’ll need to speak to your sister, though; Rachel, isn’t it?”
Nathan gave a disinterested shrug. “All right.”
He waved at his father, who was sitting by the piano. The old man eased himself off the stool with a wince, then hobbled towards them.
“They want to talk to Rachel,” Nathan said to his father. Then he turned to walk away, muttering, “God knows why.”
“Ah, of course,” Roger Cleeves said. “Rachel’s taking a singing class at the moment.” He glanced at his watch. “But I think she may have just finished. If you’d like to follow me, I’ll take you to her classroom.”
17
Roger Cleeves led Mackinnon and Collins out of the dance studio and down a long, narrow corridor.
“Are you okay, sir?” Collins asked, looking down at Roger Cleeves’ legs as the man limped along in front of them.
“Fine,” Roger Cleeves said. “I’m used to it. Just a touch of arthritis. My knee gets a bit stiff after I’ve been sitting down for a while.”
He pushed open a white door leading to the stairwell and gestured for Mackinnon and Collins to go ahead of him. “Rachel’s classroom is on the second floor. I’ll let you go in front. It takes me a while.” He grinned ruefully and began to climb the steps, following Mackinnon and Collins.
They took the stairs slowly, but still had to wait for Roger Cleeves when they reached the landing. He kept his left leg outstretched, which gave him a strange gait as he climbed the stairs.