Is Skin Deep, Is Fatal

by H. R. F. Keating

  ‘It certainly seems to be warming up,’ he said.

  This was so. In only a few minutes the serried bars of the fire had heated the little room to and beyond stuffiness.

  ‘What do you want to know?’ June asked off-handedly.

  Or with an impression of off-handedness.

  ‘Oh, everything, everything. I find the whole subject quite fascinating. When I’m established miles from anywhere in the Essex countryside with nothing to do but see to the matrimonial affairs of a number of rabbits I shall spend happy hours thinking about all this.’

  June looked at him suspiciously. He did not appear put out. It was a look he must have got accustomed to.

  ‘Tell me, for instance,’ Ironside went on, joining both his large, gnarled hands together in front of him on the royally rich blotter of the late Teddy Pariss, ‘tell me, how does one judge a beauty? I mean, you said just now that Mr Pariss was the judge who counted. Just how does he add it all up?’

  ‘They use the skating system,’ said June defensively.

  ‘The skating system? Now I shall have to be told all about that.’

  The faintest sign of a bored sigh puffed at June’s full lips.

  ‘It’s the way they allocate points in the big skating contests, and the dance contests,’ she said. ‘Don’t ask me exactly how it works: arithmetic was never my strong point.’

  Almost forgetfully, she leant forward in the battered little chair to show what her strong points were.

  ‘It has to do with giving marks for things like figure and deportment and smile, and then adding them up and mucking about with them,’ she went on. ‘It stops the judges rigging the answer. It’s infallible, they say.’

  ‘Yes, it sounds just that,’ Ironside replied. ‘So you felt it advisable to go and see Mr Pariss before the actual contest began?’

  June smiled, taking the point. Though the smile was more luscious than the point would seem to have demanded.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘if you knew Teddy Pariss you’d realize that, skating system or no skating system, if he really wanted a girl to win, she’d be hard to stop.’

  ‘And did he say he really wanted you to win, Miss Curtis?’

  From under her heavy eye make-up June looked shrewdly across at the superintendent.

  ‘No,’ she answered slowly, ‘as a matter of fact I didn’t get any sort of promise.’

  ‘Though you doubtless tried your best?’

  From behind June there came a swift movement, swiftly checked, from the direction of Detective-Constable Spratt.

  ‘I talked to him,’ June said. ‘It means a lot to me, winning tonight.’

  ‘Yes, it must be a proud moment to be adjudged more attractive than any of these earnest strivers after beauty.’

  ‘Proud moment, my fanny.’

  Ironside sat up.

  ‘Listen,’ said June Curtis, ‘I happen to want to live a good life, to get about, to see places, to meet people, not to have to pinch and scrape for a few quid all the time. Well, I’m lucky enough to have what it takes when it comes to beauty competitions. I found that out years ago, when I was a kid of sixteen. Only it took me longer than it should to get into the circus. But I’m there now and –’

  ‘One moment, if you’d be so kind,’ Ironside said with a great show of patiently begging a favour. ‘The circus? Now what circus is that? I’m getting confused.’

  June, her passionate defence of her calling deflated, looked at him sourly.

  ‘The circus is what we call the girls who go round from one contest to another,’ she said. ‘We’re the professionals. Between us we count on clearing up all the big prizes. But we’ve worked for that, mind. There’s a lot to learn in this business.’

  ‘Is there, indeed? I’d never have thought so.’

  Ironside contemplated this new idea.

  ‘Tell me something,’ he said. ‘Tell me just one thing that would be useful to me in a beauty contest. Supposing I entered for one.’

  June looked at him without appreciation.

  ‘No, please,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, well,’ June said cautiously, ‘what is there? Well, take shoes.’

  ‘Shoes?’

  ‘Yes. It’s no use wearing just any old white shoes you happen to like. You’ve got to have really high heels, the highest you can walk in without wobbling. They make your legs look longer. And you’ve got to learn how to walk in them, to roll as you go. I’ve seen more than one little try-on fall flat on her stupid face.’

  ‘Dear me,’ said Superintendent Ironside.

  He looked up.

  ‘Who was the amateur you’re afraid of?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve got nothing to be afraid of.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that,’ Ironside said.

  He dropped his eyes.

  ‘But all the same,’ he went on, ‘you are afraid of someone, aren’t you? Wasn’t that why you wanted to see Mr Pariss?’

  ‘Clever,’ June said. ‘And you’re right – in a way. Only I don’t know whether there was anyone or not. It was just an impression I got. Sometimes the judges in these things go crazy and choose some silly kid just out of school who’s been entered by her Mum or something.’

  ‘That must be very embarrassing.’

  ‘It’s not embarrassing: it’s downright criminal. Just because a lot of randy men decide all of a sudden to go for what they call “freshness and innocence” I stand to lose anything up to a couple of thousand quid straight cash, plus a chance of getting into the Miss Globe rating. And that means twenty thousand.’

  ‘Twenty thousand pounds?’

  Superintendent Ironside sounded incredulous.

  ‘By the time you’ve done all the personal appearances, featured in all the ads and maybe got a part in a film, twenty thousand’s putting it low.’

  ‘Well, well. So there’s a great deal at stake, by and large.’

  June answered with a contemptuous glance.

  ‘But, good gracious me,’ Ironside said, ‘here you are after a hard spell of rehearsing and we’re not even offering you so much as a cup of tea.’

  He looked up at Jack.

  ‘See if you can rustle up some tea, Spratt,’ he said.

  ‘Bert Mullens has got a kettle,’ Peter said.

  ‘Right,’ said Jack, grinning cheerfully at the sudden relaxation in the atmosphere, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  He left with a slap-happy bang of the door.

  Ironside shifted about in the late Teddy Pariss’s ultra-comfortable office chair. Opposite him June Curtis sat on the hard kitchen chair immobile and statuesque.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ironside, ‘I’m learning a lot.’

  He leant forward towards June again.

  ‘Pariss,’ he said, ‘you can tell me about him now: your friend in the detective force needn’t get to know.’

  June turned her head slightly.

  ‘It’s not that I care,’ she said. ‘But men make such a fuss. Look, you’ve probably got a pretty good idea what Teddy Pariss was like. He could’ve thrown this one for me, for a price.’

  ‘And you were paying?’ Ironside asked imperturbably.

  ‘Not yet, I wasn’t. Do you take me for a fool? You don’t have to give in to that sort of bloke every time. Not unless you like it.’

  ‘So you were – er – negotiating?’

  ‘I was asking him to look after me, and I was determined not to let him put his dirty little paws on me if I could help it. But some men have eight pairs of hands, you know.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ironside, ‘I did know that.’

  June looked surprised.

  As far as the careful arrangement of her face permitted.

  ‘You can generally keep them under if you know how,’ she went on. ‘You pick on a weak spot in their vanity and laugh at them when they get too close for comfort.’

  Ironside reached forward and took one of the well-sharpened pencils from the heavy silver tray. He held it between the tips of his fingers.


  ‘You make it sound really quite easy,’ he said.

  June shrugged slightly.

  ‘It’s not difficult,’ she replied.

  ‘Never?’

  She looked at him with sudden calculation.

  ‘What is this?’

  ‘Nothing, my dear young lady. Nothing at all. I’m just learning what I can. I mean, I was wondering what happened when someone wouldn’t be put off by being laughed at.’

  ‘You mean, did I kill Teddy Pariss because he tried to get too fresh? Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve put up with worse than Teddy in my time.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it, glad to hear it. So all that happened in here earlier was that you asked Pariss to do his best for you as a judge, and he made it plain that he would expect proper compensation for so much effort. Is that the picture?’

  ‘Yes, that’s it. Just that.’

  Ironside appeared to be lost in deep contemplation.

  After a while he pushed back the late Teddy’s heavy, well-sprung chair and began pacing up and down the little office. June made no attempt to follow his progress.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said at last, ‘I’m afraid I’ve been thinking and I got rather carried away. It’s this question of time, don’t you know. I was trying to hit on a way of helping you to fix it.’

  He turned to June.

  ‘Between quarter and half past one, only you’re not sure of either time. That was it, wasn’t it?’

  June looked up.

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ she said. ‘You know quite well what time it was I left. Bert Mullens saw me coming out. I suppose you’ve talked to him. And not only that. I saw that little idiot Lindylou. She poked her head out of the judges’ room as I came by and then pulled it in again pretty sharp. As if she didn’t want me to see her. But I saw her and she saw me all right.’

  Ironside took this calmly.

  ‘That’s splendid then,’ he said, prowling up and down the little office again. ‘I always feel much happier when I get at least one time pin-pointed. There’s a great deal to be said for having something certain in an uncertain world. A great –’

  His restless prowling had brought him near the door. With a sudden tigerish leap he jerked it wide open.

  Bert Mullens shot forward into the room, ear foremost.

  10

  As Bert Mullens’s staggering feet crossed the white outline in the carpet that represented the body of Teddy Pariss, deceased, he began to recover himself. Next moment he was standing up by the little desk with its incongruous array of luxury fittings trying to look as if he had entered on purpose.

  ‘This is convenient indeed,’ Superintendent Ironside said. ‘I was just trying to fix the time Miss Curtis left this office, Mullens, and she reminded me that you could probably tell us.’

  Bert Mullens blinked his fishy eyes.

  ‘What’s that?’ he said.

  ‘A question of time,’ Ironside explained patiently. ‘You told me that you saw Miss Curtis coming out of the office here, did you not?’

  ‘You mean before dinner?’

  ‘Yes, that’s when I mean.’

  ‘Yes, I saw her. Just come out she had.’

  ‘Splendid. And what time did you see her?’

  ‘I told you before: twenty-five past one.’

  ‘Ah, yes, twenty-five past. You’re quite sure of that?’

  ‘I have to keep my eye on the clock, like I told you. It’s part of my job, that is.’

  ‘Excellent. Then we’ll call it twenty-five past. Unless – what’s that girl with the extraordinary name? – Ah, yes, unless Miss Lindylou Twelvetrees has other ideas.’

  He swung round from the still blinking Bert to June.

  ‘Well, Miss Curtis,’ he said, ‘you’ve been most helpful. And if we want you again we shall see you at the contest this evening, I suppose?’

  ‘You don’t think I’m going to chuck that up because someone did for Teddy Pariss, do you?’ June said.

  ‘Well, no,’ said Ironside, ‘I don’t suppose that, to tell you the truth.’

  June looked at him from under her long eyelashes and walked out.

  Hardly had the door closed behind her than Superintendent Ironside was standing over Bert Mullens.

  ‘Listening at doors,’ he said. ‘That’s pretty nasty. I’m really surprised.’

  His tone lacked sincerity.

  ‘I wasn’t listening at no door,’ Mullens said truculently.

  ‘Just happened to be passing?’

  ‘Yes, I just happened – Well, why shouldn’t I go past that door?’

  Ironside smiled, with gentleness.

  ‘We’d agreed, I think,’ he said, ‘that you never deserted your post at the stage door. All those girls who might get out. Or was it all those boys who might get in?’

  ‘They’re packing up now,’ Bert said. ‘It’s been let out about Mr Pariss. They’re shutting up shop as a mark of respect.’

  ‘Shutting up shop? You mean there’ll be no Miss Valentine contest?’

  ‘Oh, no. That’s got to go on, ‘course it has. They’ll come back for that. But no more rehearsals.’

  Ironside sighed.

  ‘We’ll just have to hope it goes all right without practice,’ he said.

  Bert looked at him dubiously.

  ‘I’ll be going now, if there’s nothing you want,’ he muttered.

  He began sidling towards the door. Providence, wise as ever, was on his side. The door opened with the utmost convenientness. Jack stood there with June Curtis’s unwanted cup of tea held carefully in his ham fist.

  Bert ducked through the open doorway.

  ‘Wait,’ said Ironside, failing to heed the plain dictates of providence.

  Bert halted in his tracks as if he had been lassoed.

  ‘I thought you wanted something,’ Ironside said to him.

  ‘Me? No, I didn’t want nothing.’

  ‘Not even to know how much we’d found out about you and Mr Pariss?’

  Bert’s mouth, never wholly closed, dropped open even wider. But the superintendent added nothing to his last remark and at last Bert brought himself to slouch round and disappear in the direction of his box with shambling haste.

  Ironside closed the door.

  ‘Well,’ Jack said cheerfully, sliding the unwanted teacup on to the desk, ‘was old Bert listening outside then?’

  ‘Do you think it means he killed Teddy Pariss?’ Peter asked the superintendent.

  Ironside’s eyebrows rose.

  ‘Come, Lassington,’ he said, ‘if everybody who allowed their natural curiosity to get the better of them was accused of murder where should we be?’

  But such a mild view of humanity was too much for Jack.

  ‘Look, sir,’ he said. ‘Pariss has been murdered. You yourself proved the open window was a fake. That points to someone inside. And when you look round it’s pretty easy to see Bert Mullens is as bent as could be.’

  Ironside smiled.

  ‘I grant that Mr Mullens is very unprepossessing,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ Peter broke in, ‘Bert may be ready to listen at doors and a good many other things. But that doesn’t mean he’s a killer.’

  ‘Ah, you think you know what makes a killer, do you?’ Ironside said. ‘Somehow I prefer to concentrate on facts, while I can get them.’

  His voice got even more irritatingly hard to hear.

  ‘Facts such as the time June Curtis went back up that corridor outside there,’ he went on. ‘And what on earth Lindylou Twelve-trees was doing in the manager’s office at just that time.’

  ‘I’ll get that silly little idiot, sir, before she goes off,’ Peter said, taking the point.

  ‘That’s it,’ murmured Ironside.

  And as Peter hurried out of the door he called out something more.

  ‘I think you’d better ask the other young ladies to wait five minutes too.’

  Peter found the whole mass of beauties assembled in the one dressing-room
, finishing getting dressed. He decided that this was no time to be other than businesslike.

  He looked round till he spotted Lindylou, though it was not so easy to recognize her dressed for the street, and as firmly as he could he told her that the superintendent wanted to see her.

  Lindylou became suddenly subdued.

  ‘This way,’ said Peter.

  He marched her swiftly out of the dressing-room, round the corner by the manager’s office and down to the little room where Ironside was waiting.

  ‘Come in, Miss Twelvetrees,’ Ironside said genially. ‘Come in and sit down. There’s a tiny thing you could help us with. We won’t keep you a minute.’

  Lindylou relaxed visibly and sat down.

  ‘Well, now,’ said Ironside, ‘let me get everything quite straight to begin with. Now your name is Twelvetrees, isn’t it? Lindylou Twelvetrees?’

  Lindylou looked a little ruffled.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with that,’ she said.

  ‘No, of course there isn’t.’

  Lindylou glanced up at him. He was looking at her with the calm curiosity of some placid animal in the zoo.

  ‘Now, about your age?’ he asked.

  ‘Sixteen.’

  ‘As young as that?’

  ‘Well, what’s wrong with being sixteen? It’s old enough to be in the contest, and they made me bring my birth certificate and everything. They said too many girls have been going in for it before they should.’

  ‘That’s a very serious thing. And your address?’

  Ironside’s aura of mild kindness was working well now. Lindylou gave him her address without fuss or comment.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘did you happen to notice what the time was when you came out of the judges’ room earlier on?’

  Still swathed in Ironside’s soothing cocoon of gentleness, she answered without much anxiety.

  ‘You mean when I saw this chap?’

  She glanced round at Peter.

  ‘I can explain, sir,’ Peter said. ‘The young lady seems to have been in the judges’ room twice. The first time must have been round about ten to one. She came nipping out and ran straight into me.’

  Lindylou giggled.

  ‘I was it the altogether,’ she said to Ironside.

  ‘Were ycu, indeed? That must have been embarrassing for Constable Lassington.’