“Oh Poppy, you’ve got to help me. I don’t know what to do.” Delilah threw herself, sobbing, into Poppy’s arms.
“Whatever’s the matter, Delilah?”
“It’s Adam. I don’t know where he is… or what’s happened to him. You see, there was this man with a sword –”
“A sword?” Poppy – and every journalist in the newsroom – dropped what they were doing and waited for Delilah to tell them more.
To the disappointment of the news hacks, Poppy took her friend’s arm and led her to a private interview room and shut the door. If there was a story to be had it was going to be hers. Besides, she didn’t like the way they were all ogling the young actress.
She sat Delilah down, pulled out her notepad and said: “Right, let’s start at the beginning…”
Twenty minutes later and Poppy had as full a picture as she could possibly get from Delilah, but it still wasn’t clear. Why was Adam sword fencing with a man in an alley? Who was the man? Why had Adam lied when the police arrived? And why had he not turned up at the theatre as he had said he would?
“What could have happened to him, Poppy? Do you think I should go to the police?”
Poppy circled her notes about Adam not giving the Bobby the full story and said: “Adam didn’t want the police involved. Perhaps we should respect that for now. At least until we’ve heard his reasons.”
“But what if he’s hurt? Or worse! The police will know what to do. They’ll help find him.”
Poppy smiled sympathetically. “They will only consider filing a missing person’s report if he’s been missing for longer than forty-eight hours. And it’s only been an hour or two, hasn’t it?”
Delilah nodded through her tears. “Yes. But he said he’d be straight there. As soon as he’d dealt with something.”
“Well, there you go. He’s obviously still busy. Did he say what it was?”
Delilah shook her head, then dropped it onto her forearms and sobbed.
Poppy put down her pencil, walked around the desk and wrapped her arms around her friend. When the sobbing slowed, she stroked her sleek black hair and said: “I’ll tell you what. Let’s go to his apartment. He might be there. Did you check?”
“N-n-no.”
“Then that’s the best place to start. I’ll just have to tell Rollo where I’m going. Here…” She passed a handkerchief to Delilah, who took it with a grateful smile and blew her nose.
“Thanks, Poppy. It’s probably nothing, but you can’t blame me for being worried, can you? I mean there is a murderer on the loose. Selena was killed with a sword and this man had one. And Adam had one. I saw it last night and I saw it this morning. No matter what Adam says, I saw it. I know I did.”
Poppy patted her on the shoulder. “I believe you. It does look as if Adam’s got himself involved in something.”
Delilah’s brown eyes widened. “Oh, I’m sure he’s got nothing to do with it. He’s a victim. Or he might be. They’re trying to kill off the cast of The Cherry Orchard. But why? They haven’t even seen us perform it yet.”
Poppy stifled a smile. “I don’t think anyone’s killing off the cast of The Cherry Orchard, Delilah.”
“But Selena, Monsieur Stanislavski – all right, he’s not dead, but he might have been – and now Adam.” Her hand went to her throat. “Oh my, do you think I might be on the list too?”
This was getting out of hand. Poppy pulled back her shoulders and in her most no-nonsense voice said: “Now let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There’s something going on here, but I don’t think it’s the mass murder of actors. Look, Delilah, I know you’re worried – and you have a right to be – but I really don’t think this is as bad as it seems.”
“No?” asked Delilah, her eyes still fearful but her voice a touch calmer.
“No,” said Poppy, relieved that Delilah appeared to be coming back from the brink. “Now, let me just go and tell Rollo –”
But before she could finish, the door flew open and Rollo burst in, followed by Daniel. “There you are, Poppy! Let’s get going. There’s a story breaking.”
“Sorry, Rollo, I can’t; I promised I’d help –”
Rollo put up his hands. “Whatever it is it can wait. It’s not every day there’s a murder at Oscar’s Jazz Club.”
Whatever Rollo said or was about to say after that was drowned by an ear-splitting scream. And then Delilah fainted.
On the drive over to Chelsea, Poppy filled Rollo and Daniel in on what Delilah had told her. Daniel was driving the company motor and she and Rollo were in the back. They had left Delilah in the care of Vicky Thompson and Mavis Bradshaw, who were to tell her, when she woke up, that Poppy promised to telephone as soon as they got to the club and found out the identity of the victim.
“Great Scot!” declared Rollo. “They were actually sword fighting?” He was so excited that bubbles of spittle sprayed the seat in front of him. Poppy leaned back as far as she could into the corner of the Model T Ford.
“That’s what Delilah says. And she’ll have seen enough of it play-acted in the theatre to know what she was seeing.”
“Maybe that’s all it was,” offered Daniel from the front seat. “Adam might have been staging some theatrical stunt. You know what these actor-types are like: melodramatic to the extreme.”
Poppy thought of her Aunt Dot and Delilah, and knew exactly what he meant. But she didn’t think this was the case here. “He was injured, Daniel; he needed stitches. And last night Delilah said he looked scared when she arrived. Why would he answer the door with a sword – or a rapier?”
“Why would he be carrying one around in the first place?” asked Rollo, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sorry, Poppy.”
Yes, this was puzzling Poppy too. Delilah had mentioned something about a cane that sheathed the rapier. She remembered the cane. Adam carried it everywhere with him. She had thought it was just a dandy fashion statement, but now she was beginning to wonder if Adam was not quite all he seemed. What did she know about him, after all? What did Delilah? They’d only known him a few months. Perhaps Lilian Baylis or Constantin Stanislavski could shed some light on his background. She made a mental note to visit the hospital as soon as she’d finished at the club. She’d been meaning to go and see the director anyway.
Daniel turned right outside Charing Cross station onto the Victoria Embankment. It was a Tuesday lunchtime and office workers were eating their sandwiches overlooking the Thames. A pleasure boat bobbed at its moorings: not too many tourists were around this late in October.
“A rapier, eh?” repeated Rollo. “The same weapon that killed Selena.”
“The same type of weapon,” corrected Poppy. “No one is suggesting Adam killed her.”
“Aren’t they?” asked Rollo with an apologetic shrug. “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. I know this Lane fella is a friend of yours, but from an objective viewpoint, he’s now the prime suspect.”
Poppy opened her mouth to object.
“Let me finish, Miz Denby.”
She closed it.
Rollo cocked his head and grinned. “You might not like it, Poppy, but a journalist has to lay aside personal feelings and follow the scent no matter where it takes them.”
This irked Poppy. Had he forgotten that she had done exactly that only four months earlier, when her investigation into the Dorchester story struck right at the heart of her own family? But Rollo was in mentor mode and would not be detracted from pressing home his point.
“You said he was at the theatre?” he continued. “That he was first on the scene when you called for help?”
Poppy acknowledged that this was true.
“Well, there you have it: motive, means and opportunity.”
“I don’t see a motive, Rollo,” Daniel said. They had just passed New Scotland Yard, Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament, and were turning right onto Victoria Street.
Rollo grinned. “Maybe Miz Denby can work that one out. Where else was
Adam Lane, Poppy?”
Poppy knew exactly what he was getting at, but she was peeved at him and was trying to control her feelings before she answered.
Before she could speak, Rollo chipped in: “We discussed it yesterday afternoon, Miz Denby. Remember? Who do we definitely know was at the theatre on Monday when Selena was killed and also at the exhibition on Saturday night?”
His patronizing tone was annoying, but Poppy knew he was right. These were exactly the types of questions a journalist should be asking. She sighed and bit the bullet. “Me, Selena, Delilah and Adam.”
Rollo didn’t bother trying to hide his smug expression. “Exactly.”
“Well, Selena definitely didn’t do it,” said Daniel. “And I don’t think Delilah or Poppy did either… Or did you, Poppy?” His tone was playful, but Poppy resented him appearing to take sides with Rollo in giving her an object lesson in investigative reporting. She looked out of the window and noticed some Bobbies on the beat. She pulled herself up. Don’t be so childish, Poppy; go with the flow. People’s lives are at stake here. And you know the police are also going to think Adam did it if they find out about this. We – you, Rollo and Daniel – need to get to the truth before they do. It’s the only way to protect Adam, if he’s innocent, or Delilah if he’s not.
She turned to look at Rollo and said: “If Adam’s guilty, we’ll find out. I agree, it looks like he’s the prime suspect, but we still need proof that he did it.”
“Or that he didn’t,” offered Rollo in a gentler tone.
“Indeed, if he didn’t.” Poppy smiled at him. And then at Daniel as he gave her a wink over his shoulder.
“So,” she continued more chirpily, “the exhibition. They’re inextricably linked: the theft of the egg and the murder of Selena. And Adam was at both.”
“Do you remember where he was when the lights went out, Poppy?” asked Daniel.
Poppy thought about this and then remembered Daniel’s photograph of the men at the bar. She had noticed Adam there talking to the bartender from Oscar’s – speaking of which, who had been murdered? Rollo’s source hadn’t said. Could it be Oscar? Poppy shuddered. They’d find out soon enough. But for now, they had a puzzle to work out.
“He went to get drinks for us all.”
“Aha!” said Rollo. “Once again, opportunity.”
“Yes, but it was a woman who pulled the trigger. We’ve proven that,” corrected Poppy.
“Almost proven it,” said Rollo. “I’m still waiting on my source in Scotland Yard to tell me if the forensic boys found any gun residue on Selena or inside her gloves – if they found them in the search last night.”
“But who says the shooter and the thief were the same person?” offered Daniel. “There could have been two of them.”
“True,” said Poppy. “It’s highly likely Selena was trying to steal the egg for herself. But it would have been difficult to shoot the gun and then steal the egg and then dispose of both the gun and the egg in the aftermath. She probably had help.”
“Adam?” asked Daniel. “It’s hard to believe. He’s such a nice bloke.”
“I know. I feel the same. And Delilah will be devastated if it’s true, but he does seem to be caught up in something. That man in the alley…”
“Who also had a rapier,” observed Rollo, “so could also have been Selena’s killer. What’s going on here, Poppy?”
Poppy thought about it for a moment. “What if there were three of them? The shooter, the thief and then the person who took the gun and the egg away. For argument’s sake – and I’m not convinced it’s true yet, but let’s go with it – if Adam was the thief it would follow that a third person had to be involved.”
“Why’s that?” asked Rollo.
“Because both Adam and Selena remained behind and were searched by DCI Martin.”
“Bingo!” said Rollo.
“So what we’re suggesting then,” summed up Daniel as he turned left onto King’s Road, “is that Adam, Selena and this mystery man were in cahoots, and that Selena’s death was a result of a fall-out between thieves. One of them wants the egg for himself. He’s already killed Selena and he’s attempted to kill Adam –”
“Or Adam’s attempted to kill him,” Rollo interjected.
Poppy frowned, but reminded herself that they needed to follow this train of thought to its logical conclusion before they could prove or disprove Adam’s guilt. “Whichever way, we need to find out who this mystery man is.”
“Did Delilah recognize him?” asked Daniel. They were driving past Aunt Dot’s house and approaching Delilah’s apartment block.
“No,” said Poppy. “She said he was dressed all in black with an overcoat and homburg hat. She couldn’t see his face. But she said he was a similar height and build to Adam.”
They passed Delilah’s building and Poppy remembered Andrei Nogovski waiting for her there last night. Hadn’t he been in a black ensemble? And hadn’t he too been carrying a cane? He was about the same height and build as Adam… Poppy felt an icy chill run down her spine. Yes, it would fit with what Marjorie had told her about him at breakfast. She still hadn’t had a chance to fill Rollo in on her meeting with the Home Office minister – she had been busy writing up her notes as Delilah arrived – and now they were pulling up to Oscar’s Jazz Club.
And there was Marjorie Reynolds standing talking to DCI Martin. She looked as pale as a ghost.
CHAPTER 23
A police cordon surrounded the jazz club. King’s Road neighbours and passers-by were hemming in, trying to see what was going on inside, particularly because a mortuary van had just pulled up. Poppy, Daniel and Rollo tried to slip through, but were prevented by a line of Bobbies. Poppy recognized the one with the handlebar moustache from last night. If she were not mistaken, he actually smirked at her.
She called out to Marjorie who was in animated conversation with DCI Martin. “Mrs Reynolds! Marjorie! What’s going on?”
Marjorie turned away from Martin, her face a combination of worry and fury as the Detective Chief Inspector went back into the club. “Poppy, Rollo, thank heavens you’re here.”
“Do you know what happened?” Rollo asked Marjorie.
“Apparently there was an altercation. Oscar had a row with one of the staff.”
“Oh no, it isn’t –” asked Poppy, thinking of their conversation that morning.
Marjorie looked close to tears. “No, it isn’t. It’s the barman. But – but – they think Oscar did it.”
Poppy gasped. “But why?”
“Because a delivery man heard them arguing and then saw Oscar running out of the cellar with blood all over his shirt and hands. When the delivery man went in he saw Watts – the barman – dead.”
“How?” asked Rollo as he nodded to Daniel to start taking photographs of the scene outside the club.
“Stabbed, I think. But Martin didn’t say what with.” Marjorie bit her lip. “Oscar’s still being questioned.”
“Inside?” asked Rollo.
Marjorie nodded in confirmation. “All rightee,” said Rollo with an exaggerated drawl. “Let’s go and find out what the neighbours saw, Poppy. Danny Boy, you stay here and get a pic of the body when they bring it out. Miz Reynolds, we’ll see you later.” He raised his hat and took hold of Poppy’s arm and led her up the street, away from the club.
“Shouldn’t we be staying to see what happens?” asked Poppy. “The neighbours are all there anyway.”
“Very observant of you, Miz Denby,” said Rollo, under his breath. “But it’s not the neighbours we’re going to see. It’s Oscar.”
“And how do you propose to do that?” whispered Poppy. “The coppers have got the place locked down tighter than the Tower of London.”
Rollo smiled up at her with his best Cheshire Cat grin. “Watch and learn, Miz Denby; watch and learn.”
When they were about a block away from the club, Rollo pulled Poppy into a side street behind a newsagent. A Daily Globe delivery van was
just pulling out. Poppy recognized the driver. He smiled and waved to Rollo and Poppy as he drove off. When the van had turned onto King’s Road, Rollo flicked his head left and right to see if the coast was clear, then took Poppy’s hand and pulled her behind a line of dustbins and skips. He squatted over a manhole cover, inserted his stubby fingers into the holes and began to pull.
“What on earth are you doing? You’ll never lift it; you need one of those crowbar thingies,” observed Poppy.
But Rollo just grinned and pulled the cover up with ease. Instead of coming out in its entirety, the metal disc hinged back like a trapdoor. Underneath Poppy could see that it was made of wood with a thin layer of metal on top to make it look like a manhole cover.
“What on earth…”
“I’ll explain on the way,” said Rollo, motioning for her to get in. “Quick, down the ladder. I’ll close the door after us.”
As the afternoon sun was blocked by the closing hatch, Rollo called for Poppy to wait for him at the bottom of the ladder. With no clue as to where she was going, she had no intention of heading off without him anyway. She stood in what she had briefly glimpsed as a tunnel, girded with wooden supports and a compacted earthen floor. Poppy was five feet five inches tall and the ceiling only cleared her head by an inch – if that. She instinctively stooped, and wondered how someone like Daniel would have fared. Rollo, being a good foot shorter than Poppy, had no such problems. He struck a match and squeezed passed the young reporter, gesturing for her to follow him.
The match cast giant shadows on the walls, and the periodic crunch of discarded matches underfoot – no doubt dropped by previous tunnellers – amplified Poppy’s fear. She did not like enclosed spaces. The Tube lines of London’s Underground were already too much to bear – this was nearly intolerable. Add to that the squeak and scuttle of the tunnel’s regular occupants, and it was approaching nightmare proportions.
Rollo, oblivious to Poppy’s phobia, led the way, chattering over his shoulder as he went.
“The Globe owns half a dozen paper shops around London. I started buying them to improve our distribution outlets. I acquired the one up there just over a year ago. When I was given a copy of the blueprints I noticed something strange. There appeared to be a cellar on the prints, but there was no cellar under the actual shop. I thought it was just an error in the plans, but when I queried the previous owner about it he tapped his nose and said I should speak to Oscar Reynolds. So I did.”
The Kill Fee Page 17