‘Oh, it was some time. I’m tempted to say a year, but that probably means it’s at least two. The time goes faster the older I get.’
Mariner stood up to go. ‘Thank you, Estelle, you’ve been very helpful.’
‘You will catch the man who did this, won’t you?’ she asked, as she stood on the threshold to see him out.
‘I hope so,’ said Mariner. It was the best he could manage.
Chapter Eight
Driving over to his rendezvous with Tony Knox, Mariner found himself frustrated by the lack of progress. Nina Silvero’s body lying undiscovered for twenty-four hours and the initial suicide theory had lost them valuable time, and now, coming up to three days on from the murder, they seemed to have gained little ground.
The dance school was held in one of the many Quaker meeting houses in the south Birmingham area, set back behind a row of houses within an acre of impressively tended lawns. Mariner had hoped to catch Susan Brady before the class began, and was pleased to find only Knox’s vehicle in the car park when he arrived.
Walking across to the building, Mariner updated his sergeant with what little he had learned from Estelle Waters. ‘How’s it going with the paperwork?’ he asked.
‘I haven’t found a signed confession from the killer yet, if that’s what you mean, boss,’ said Knox. ‘The finances all seem to be in order and the bank has talked me through her statements, which seem pretty straightforward. She’d paid off her mortgage and had a reasonable income from her state pension along with the salary she was drawing from the dancing school. Quite a few investments too. The estate will be worth a tidy sum.’
Mariner’s phone pinged.
‘Your admirer?’ asked Knox. He took Mariner’s lack of response as confirmation. ‘If you don’t want to see her again you should tell her that.’
Mariner looked up in disbelief. ‘Relationship advice? From you?’
They had to ring the bell to be admitted, and were met by Susan Brady; small and slight, in a white T-shirt and black leggings her long hair piled up on her head and held in place with a barrette, a few stray frizzy strands escaping. She brought with her the scent of vanilla. She seemed young to be in such a responsible teaching role, Mariner thought, while recognising that he’d reached the age where some of his younger colleagues seemed just out of kindergarten.
Introductions made, Brady took them through a small entrance lobby and into the main hall, its polished wooden floor flooded with late afternoon sunshine. At the far end of the hall an elderly woman pounding on an upright piano nodded an acknowledgement to them and continued with her playing.
‘Sorry to have kept you,’ Brady apologised. ‘But it’s coming up to audition time and I’m going to have to break it to some of the parents this evening that their daughters aren’t being entered and explain why. I need to be prepared.’ She was softly spoken with a slight lisp.
‘Auditions for what?’ asked Mariner.
‘Some of our girls try out with the Birmingham Ballet or the Royal College in London,’ said Brady. ‘It’s crunch time because what we’re saying is whether or not some of the girls have a future in dancing. It can shatter a few illusions.’
‘Do many of the girls get through?’ Mariner asked.
She shook her head. ‘One or two a year if we’re lucky. Most of them are either not built for the long haul, or don’t have the discipline. They start off well enough while they’re little but then they grow. The reality is that very few girls have the right combination of physique and commitment to be successful ballet dancers.’
‘And who makes that decision, whether or not to audition?’
‘The final call is down to us,’ said Brady. ‘Some of it is about cost — we have to pay to enter each girl, although we do get parents who want to pay themselves. But the main thing we have to consider is the standing of the school. If we enter too many girls who are not up to scratch, simply on the off-chance that they might get in, we’d soon start to develop the wrong kind of reputation. Sometimes that means making harsh choices.’
‘Do you meet with much resistance?’ Mariner asked.
‘Most of the girls usually know themselves if they can do it. What’s most difficult are the pushy parents, who have been convinced all along that their offspring is going to be the next Darcey Bussell, regardless of their ability. They don’t have a realistic view of how high the standards are.’ She flashed a wry smile. ‘It’s one of the many reasons I’m going to miss Nina. She was a great believer in honesty, and never one to mince her words if she felt any of the girls weren’t going to make it.’
‘That must have upset some people,’ Mariner said.
‘Oh, she was always very tactful about it. I’m just a wuss. I hate having to break that kind of news.’ Her face clouded. ‘I’m sorry, wittering on like this. It’s Nina you came to talk about, isn’t it? It’s shocking what happened to her; I’m still finding it hard to believe. Lots of the parents are upset and it’s been really difficult knowing what to tell the girls. They’re so young, some of them. It’s too much for them to take in, but of course a lot of them will have seen it on the news and recognised her name.’
Mariner wondered if Susan Brady was always this forthcoming or whether her nerves were playing a part. ‘How long had you worked with Nina?’ he asked.
‘For the last twelve years; I was a pupil of hers when I was a kid and though I gave up serious dancing when I left school, I never really went away. We’re—’ She broke off. ‘We were a team: Nina, me and Mrs Parker.’
‘Mrs Parker?’
‘Our pianist.’ Brady gestured across the room.
‘She looks as if she could run the class,’ Mariner observed.
‘Oh no, she’s quite a woman, our Miss Parker — plays the piano beautifully — but she’d be the first to admit that Nina was the one with the magic touch.’
‘How old is she?’ Mariner asked, thinking that the old dear looked about to keel over.
‘About a hundred and twenty, I think,’ Brady said, deadpan. ‘She’s been doing this for ever.’
‘And being paid for it?’
‘Of course.’
‘How is the business doing?’ Mariner asked.
‘We get by, though I’d be lying if I said that it’s thriving,’ Brady admitted. ‘Ballet for little girls isn’t as popular as it once was. Far too much competition from other activities.’
‘Was it doing well enough to provide two incomes?’
She smiled wryly. ‘I’ll never be a millionaire, but that’s not what I’m in it for. And I think for Nina, she had her husband’s pension and all that, so she didn’t go short.’
‘But I understand Nina was about to retire anyway,’ said Mariner.
This time Brady laughed out loud. ‘Nina’s been going to retire ever since I’ve been here. I don’t think she ever would have, she loved it too much.’
‘How did you feel about that?’
She was thoughtful for a moment. ‘I’d have to be honest and say it could be frustrating at times. Nina wanted to run things as she always had, teaching only the purist stuff. I’ve always thought it would be good to diversify a little and offer some modern dance. With traditional ballet there’s a lot of hard work before it even starts to look like anything impressive.’
‘What will happen to the business now?’
She shrugged. ‘I really don’t know. We talked hypothetically about me buying Nina out if she ever did give it up, but I haven’t any idea whether she ever did anything about it.’
‘And if Nina has arranged for that, you’d introduce modern dance?’ Mariner queried.
Susan Brady wasn’t stupid, she could see how it looked. ‘Yes, I probably would,’ she said, a touch discomfited.
Throughout their conversation, the room had been steadily filling up, parents arriving with their diminutive offspring in pink leotards and cardigans, some of them impossibly small. It was a paedophile’s wet dream, Mariner’s twisted copper’s mind t
old him. Children and adults regarded Mariner and Knox with equal suspicion, though the adults may at least have been able to guess who they were. As if suddenly noticing all the activity, Brady checked her watch.
‘We won’t keep you much longer,’ Mariner said. He lowered his voice. ‘The girls who don’t get chosen to audition; do any of the parents take it personally?’
‘They’re disappointed naturally,’ Brady replied. ‘We’re always aware of the keen ones, and sometimes they’ve invested a lot . . .’ she broke off and her eyes widened. ‘You mean, enough to harm Nina? Absolutely not. Ballet’s competitive, like anything else, but no one I know would take it to that extreme.’
‘Even so, we’ll need the details of all your pupils and their parents, past and present.’
‘Is that really necessary?’
‘We need to check anyone who might have been in contact with Nina in the last few weeks,’ said Mariner.
‘Oh yes, of course. I haven’t got a full list here, but there’s one at home on my laptop. I’ll send it to you.’
‘That would be helpful,’ Mariner said. ‘Some of the girls must have been coming here for years. Nina will have built up strong relationships.’
Brady nodded.
‘Would she ever have invited any of the parents round to her house?’ Mariner asked.
‘I very much doubt it,’ she pulled a face. ‘Nina was very professional. Though she loved it, the dance school was her job. She was clear on that.’
‘And how about you? Did you and Nina socialise at all?’
‘No; we got on well and we had a laugh, but it was strictly business.’
‘So you wouldn’t know if she had any men friends?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Brady. ‘Nina was quite a private person in that sense, and I’m so much younger than her . . . I mean, than she was. I don’t think she would have told me anything personal like that. Although once, a while back, a man picked her up after the session,’ she confided. ‘I was dying to ask her who he was.’
‘And did you?’
‘No, she hadn’t even mentioned she was getting a lift, but I’d stayed behind to lock up and when I came out they were just driving off. He had quite a big car, a saloon like a Jaguar or something. But after that I never saw him again and she never mentioned him. Could have been anyone I suppose.’ Like a cousin, Mariner added mentally. The crowd at the other end of the room was getting restless and she cast anxious eyes towards them. Mariner brought the conversation to a close.
‘Our Siobhan used to do ballet,’ Knox said, of his now grown-up daughter, as he and Mariner walked back out to their cars. ‘I suppose most girls go through that phase, don’t they?’
‘Do they?’ It was beyond Mariner’s experience. ‘Was she any good?’ He’d never met Siobhan, but if she’d inherited her dad’s powerful, wiry physique, then he could imagine she might have been.
‘I don’t know. She gave it all up when she was about ten; wouldn’t be seen dead in a tutu. Theresa was gutted.’
* * *
Mariner didn’t really know why he’d decided to meet Stephanie Rieger on Wednesday evening. Following Knox’s dubious advice, he’d intended to state his feelings to her over the phone, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to do that. Instead he had agreed to meet her face to face so that he could let her down gently. Did one shag constitute a relationship? He remembered the old joke about one swallow not making the grade, but then that took his thoughts completely in the wrong direction. He’d arranged to meet Stephanie in a city centre bar, off Colmore Row; neutral territory and with public transport for her to get home, thus avoiding any last-minute persuasion or temptation to escort her back there.
Driving into the city, Mariner caught the local news bulletin on BRMB, which included a thirty-second slot for Nina Silvero, during which the announcer said that police were appealing for a key witness to come forward. They’d managed to get that in just in time. The MBE had raised Nina’s profile high enough to attract minimal media coverage, but another twenty-four hours and Nina Silvero would be old news, replaced by the stabbings and shootings that seemed an almost daily occurrence in the city these days. Already the pole position had been taken by a twenty-three-year-old motorist; the victim of an attack by a gang on the Birchfield Road who objected to his overtaking strategy.
Mariner arrived at the agreed rendezvous first, ordered himself a beer and was beginning to think optimistically that Stephanie might not show up, when there she was, tottering in on high heels and planting a heavily perfumed kiss on his cheek. ‘Hi, sorry I’m late, darling.’ Darling? ‘Had to wait ages for a bus and then it took for ever. I hate buses. They’re so smelly and dirty, and some of the people on them . . .’ In a tight dress with a neckline that finished some way down her cleavage, she seemed to Mariner to be somewhat overdressed for a bus ride and a quick drink.
‘What would you like?’ he asked, seeing a temporary escape route at the bar.
‘Oh, my usual please — dry white spritzer.’
Bringing it back to the table, Mariner was keen to get the business over with then and there, but as she’d only just arrived it seemed a little unreasonable. And he didn’t really get the chance.
‘You look tired,’ Stephanie said, proprietarily, as he sat down. ‘Had a hard day?’
‘We’re working on a difficult case, yes,’ Mariner admitted, reluctant to get into a discussion about it.
‘Is it that murder?’ she asked. ‘I heard about it on the radio.’ Her eyes gleamed, making Mariner wonder if she was getting some kind of vicarious thrill from being linked, however tenuously, with the drama. ‘I said to my friend: “I bet Tom’s working on that one.” I was so thrilled to find out that you’re a policeman,’ she went on, confirming his fears. ‘I’ve never been out with a policeman before.’
‘Yes, did I actually tell you that?’ Mariner said, feigning memory loss.
‘You must have done, how else would I have known? Cheers!’ Raising her glass she sipped delicately at it.
‘I don’t remember giving you my phone number, either.’ Mariner pointed out.
‘Oh, I know.’ She was unabashed. ‘That was a bit naughty of me, but when I picked up your jacket to hang it up, your mobile fell out of the pocket, so I thought I may as well make a note of your number, to save you the bother later.’
It was said so smoothly that Mariner was sure she’d convinced herself that that was really how it had happened. He needed to put a stop to this now. ‘The truth is, Steph, this is what we need to talk about,’ he began. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I mean, I like you, but I’m not ready to get into another relationship, I’ve only recently finished—’
‘I know — with Anna,’ she cut in. ‘But that was a year ago, wasn’t it? And she’s moved on, so perhaps you should too. Got to dip your toe back in the water some time, Tom.’
‘I told you all that?’ Mariner was reeling now. He had absolutely no memory of having had any discussion with her about Anna. He never talked to anyone about Anna. But how else could she know?
She leaned over and put her hand over his. ‘It’s all right. I can understand that you’re afraid of committing yourself after you’ve been so badly hurt, but we can take things slowly.’
Was this what she called slowly?
‘Look, you really don’t understand,’ Mariner said, pulling his hand away. ‘The other night was very nice, but it was a one-off, that’s all. We were attracted to each other, we slept together, end of story. I thought we were both grown up enough to understand that.’
Mariner knew instantly that he’d made a mistake. Her eyes, behind spidery mascara, hardened. ‘Oh, I see. I was just a quick shag, was I? While you wait for something better to come along?’ Her voice was just a little too loud and one or two people at the adjacent tables turned in their direction.
Mariner lowered his voice, aware that this was morphing into a drama cliché. ‘I thought it was the same for you,’ he said. ‘You were flirtin
g with me. You made the offer.’
‘I was being nice to you,’ she retorted, more loudly. ‘Do you think I go that far with any man who comes into the restaurant?’
She was at full volume now and Mariner had to resist the urge to crawl under the table to avoid the accusing stares that were coming his way. ‘Of course I don’t—’
‘Bastard!’ And she finished the tirade with a textbook finale, picking up his drink and throwing it in his face, except that he’d been there a while and the glass was practically empty, so instead, a pathetic teaspoonful dribbled out and ran down her hand. It looked so comical that Mariner couldn’t help himself. He laughed. For a split-second he thought the whole glass was coming his way, and prepared to duck, but to his amazement, her expression crumpled and Stephanie joined in. Mariner was itching to turn to the other customers and say ‘show’s over, folks,’ as they do in the cheesiest movies, but instead he passed Stephanie a napkin from the cutlery stand to dry her hand. ‘You realise you’ve ruined my reputation now, don’t you?’ he said lightly, glancing around to check that they were no longer the main attraction.
‘Mine too, probably,’ she said, wryly.
‘I really am sorry,’ Mariner said. ‘I got it wrong. I thought you wanted the same as me. One night, no strings.’
‘Hmm, you got it spectacularly wrong.’ She fixed her gaze on him. ‘I’m not that kind of woman. Yes, I might flirt with the male customers, even the ugly ones, but I’ve never taken anyone back to my place before. It took me all evening to pluck up the courage to ask you, because you seemed nice and I really hoped it could be the start of something.’
Oh fuck, thought Mariner, now she’s going to cry.
Instead she said: ‘And now I’ve made a real fool of myself too.’ She started to gather up her things. ‘I should go. I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time.’
‘You haven’t,’ said Mariner. ‘Honestly, you cheered me up. I haven’t had a laugh like that for weeks.’ When she stood up, he did too. ‘At least let me drive you home.’
* * *
Despite giving her a lift, Mariner had resisted a further offer from Stephanie, but they had parted on reasonable terms — at least, good enough that he was confident that his suits would be safe.
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