Clara was munching on a steak and kidney pie from the bakery and pie shop on the corner as she opened the office door. She had popped her head into Levine’s Costumes to tell them she was there and was told by Juju she’d be up shortly. She came in out of the rain and hung up Uncle Bob’s mackintosh to dry. While waiting for Juju she made some phone calls. The first was to Jennings & Jennings. Apparently, Mr Barnaby Jennings was out of town on business, but Mr Roger Jennings would be happy to see her at eleven o’clock. Next, she called Uncle Bob’s doctor. Dr Malone could speak to her tomorrow, unfortunately not before.
Juju had still not appeared, so Clara turned her attention to the filing cabinet. According to the index book there was a file for Jack Danskin under D. She opened the top drawer, A–F, and riffled through until she found the Ds. But a quick search back and forth found no file for Danskin. She checked the rest of the drawer in case it had been misfiled, but no, there was no Danskin. Clara pursed her lips. This reinforced the nagging suspicion that Jack Danskin was not to be trusted. Had he taken his own file? When had he done it? Was Danskin the man who had broken in here? She already knew that he was at the hotel on the night of the break-in there. She considered the unidentified fingerprints on the cabinet and wondered if they belonged to the investigator. And if those belonged to him, what about the ones on the hotel window, and … and this made her shiver … the ones on the metal trunk from the Paradise?
‘Clara, darling! How lovely to see you!’
Clara jumped, then steadied herself when she saw who it was. ‘Morning, Juju. How are you?’
‘Splendid! Well, not too bad for a Monday anyway. How was your weekend? Pop the kettle on and tell me all about it.’ She brandished a bottle of milk. ‘Your uncle used to pick up half a pint on the way into the office. He’d keep it in a bucket of cold water – and it would last him a couple of days. I think the bucket’s still there …’
Clara went into the back room and spotted the metal pail. She lifted it up and showed Juju. ‘It is.’
‘Good, then keep this here. That is, if you are going to be coming into the office on a regular basis. Have you decided yet?’
‘Not yet,’ said Clara as she lit the little primus stove, filled the kettle and put it on to boil. ‘Uncle Bob has a fancy new electric refrigerator at the house. All the mod cons! But not an indoor lavatory. What was he thinking?’
‘Well, if you’re not emptying your own chamber pot, perhaps it’s not such an issue.’
Clara stood in the doorway to the back room while Juju took a seat at the desk. ‘Eeew, now that’s a thought,’ said Clara. ‘Nothing like an intimate knowledge of a man’s toilet habits to kindle romance. It didn’t seem to put Mrs Hobson off though, did it?’
‘It didn’t put my mother off either,’ observed Juju. Then she laughed. ‘Thank God for progress!’
Clara couldn’t have agreed more. She of course had an indoor lavatory in her flat in Bloomsbury, and her parents’ houses also had indoor ablutions. But she could remember as a child – before her mother had managed to twist her father’s arm to modernise – when chamber pots and commodes were used. However, the chambermaids had dealt with it all, so it hadn’t been such a burden. She remembered the stinking gulley down the middle of the alley outside Mrs Fender’s house in Lemington and reminded herself that not everyone had the luxuries she was accustomed to. But she could afford it. And the last thing she wanted was a housekeeper being too intimate, particularly Mrs Hobson.
The kettle whistled and she lifted it off the stove with a tea towel.
‘I’ve got something to show you.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Something I found when I was developing the photographs of the fingerprints.’ Clara spooned tea leaves into the pot, gave it a stir, then gathered cups and teaspoons. She put it all on a tray and carried it into the office.
‘Did you find Hobson’s fingerprints on the drawer in here? Has she been snooping where she shouldn’t have been?’ asked Juju.
‘No, not that,’ said Clara, taking a seat. ‘I couldn’t find her fingerprints here in the office. I found some others though, but I’ll tell you about that later.’ She reached into her satchel and brought out a folder of photographs. There were all the pictures of the fingerprints she’d taken, but right at the back were the two shots of Bob and the sleeping man. She hadn’t shown Andrew as she didn’t want to besmirch Bob’s reputation. However, Juju already knew he had been homosexual and it didn’t lower him in her estimation.
‘I found these,’ said Clara, and laid them out on the desk for Juju’s appraisal.
Juju leaned forward and examined the prints. ‘My, my, my,’ she said.
‘Do you know who the man is?’
Juju shook her head. ‘Can’t say I do. But it’s hard to tell from the back. He looks youngish – thirties or early forties at the most. His hair looks dark in this black-and-white photograph, but in real life it could be any shade from auburn to brown or black. Not a blond though, I think.’
‘Yes, I agree. And he’s a fit man too. Well-toned.’
Juju giggled. ‘Very nice buttocks.’
‘I suppose they are,’ said Clara. Then, in a matter-of-fact voice: ‘I’m assuming this was Bob’s lover. That he took the photograph of Bob in bed, reading the book and smiling, and that Bob took this one of him when he was sleeping. This reinforces what you and Jonny told me about his romantic interests. But it doesn’t entirely exclude the possibility that he could have had some interest in women too. Although the only evidence we have of that is that letter Hobson showed me. And that was not very specific either.’
‘Is that a tattoo?’ asked Juju. ‘On his shoulder?’
‘It is. Here, have a closer look.’ Clara reached into her satchel and took out her magnifying glass, passing it to Juju.
Juju took it. ‘Hmmm. It looks like a crescent moon set against a sun.’
Clara took the glass from her new friend and examined it herself. ‘You’re right, it does. Not a very high-quality tattoo. Looks amateurish. But you’re right, a crescent moon on a sun. Have you seen this before?’
Juju shook her head. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t. But tell me, why do you want to know who it is? Bob has gone. The relationship will be over.’
Clara shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps it’s because I feel guilty to have inherited everything without having seen him for so many years. While it seems there might have been someone here far closer to him.’
‘Or it could just have been a brief affair.’
‘It could have been,’ said Clara, ‘but Bob looks very happy here, don’t you think? Even if brief, it seemed to mean something to him. Did anyone like this come to Bob’s funeral?’
Juju took a sip of her tea. ‘I can’t say I remember anyone. There weren’t too many people there. Me and Jonny. Mrs Hobson. Bob’s lawyers and accountant. And his doctor. Some old clients, I think. One or two of his agents if I recall – that Danskin fella I remember was there. But no mysterious young man on his own paying his respects.’
The mention of Jack Danskin reminded Clara of the fingerprints. She went on to tell Juju everything that had happened since she had sipped port with the two costume designers on Friday evening. Fingerprinting the window at the hotel, going to the pictures with Andrew Ridpath, the work down in the laboratory that night – omitting the romantic interlude, that was private – then the trip to Whitley Bay with Alice Whittaker on Saturday.
Juju visibly paled when Clara told her about finding Horace Fender’s body hanging in the projection room, her hand reaching subconsciously to her throat.
‘Heavens, Clara, how horrific! For you and Alice. After all that poor woman has been through already.’
Clara agreed, then continued to tell Juju the rest of the saga of their interrogation at the police station, their visit to Fender’s widow on Sunday and then her discovery about the recurring set of fingerprints in the three locations.
Juju’s voice was trembling as she asked: ‘Do-do-do you think that’s the murderer? That the man I saw in here last week is the same one who killed that Fender fella?’
Clara nodded. ‘Very possibly, yes.’
Juju’s hands started to shake. ‘Then he could have killed me! I barely escaped with my life!’
Clara reached out her hands and stilled Juju’s. ‘Calm down. I know it’s all a bit of a shock, but I don’t think you were in any danger then. If he’d wanted to hurt you, he would have.’
‘But he could have!’
‘Yes,’ said Clara soberly, wishing for the umpteenth time that she still had Uncle Bob’s revolver, ‘yes, he could have.’
‘Are you going to go to the police with your information?’
Clara nodded. ‘I am. But first I need to find out from Roger Jennings what my legal standing in all this is. I’m going to see him later this morning. Then after that Alice and I are going to Tynemouth to see if we can find out more about where Fender was living and the work he was doing – and to have a look at the ruins of the Carousel Picture House. Thereafter I might pop into the Whitley Bay police station and speak to the inspector who questioned us on Saturday. What exactly I say to him will depend, I think, on what I find out from the solicitor. I don’t want to get myself into any trouble.’
‘Quite right,’ said Juju. ‘But the sooner this scoundrel is caught the better. Do you have any idea who it might be?’
Clara nodded. ‘I do. But I need some more proof. If I can confirm whose prints are in the three locations, I can give that to the police too.’
Juju leaned across the desk and lowered her voice. ‘Who do you think it is?’
Clara was just about to say then stopped herself. She did not know this woman very well. Yes, she was a good friend of her uncle, but she didn’t know whether Juju Levine might let the cat out of the bag too soon and inadvertently alert Jack Danskin that she was on to him. She had probably told her too much already – but there was no helping that. However, she would be more careful going forward. She smiled, tightly, and poured herself another cup of tea. ‘I can’t say for sure. But I will certainly tell you when I have more proof. And when I’ve spoken to the police.’
Juju looked disappointed. ‘I understand,’ she said, and pushed her cup forward for a refill. ‘But perhaps you can tell me why you think Fender was murdered. If it turns out that he was. What might the motivation have been? And did the killer intend for you and Alice to find the body in the way you did?’
Clara nodded. ‘All very good questions, Juju. I’m new at this detection game, but I’m not new at gathering evidence, coming up with a hypothesis and then testing theories. I’m treating this the same way as I would a scientific project.’
Juju leaned in, her heavily made-up eyes greedy for some juicy information. ‘So, what is your hypothesis?’
Clara picked up her teaspoon and tapped it on the saucer. ‘Well, it seems to me that someone is worried that Alice and I might be getting too close.’
‘Too close to what?’
‘To proving that the Carousel and Paradise fires were arson.’
Juju’s eyes widened. ‘And were they?’
‘I think so, yes.’ Clara paused a moment, contemplating what to tell Juju and what to withhold. She’d already told her about what she’d discovered in the laboratory, and the evidence gathered at the picture house. ‘I think the presence of the kerosene that wasn’t accounted for in the initial fire inspector’s report at least warrants a reinvestigation. But no one knows that I have the ability to test for kerosene.’
‘No one?’ asked Juju.
‘Other than you, Alice and Andrew, no.’
‘How did they – whoever “they” are – know you were even investigating this?’
Clara shrugged. ‘I suppose someone was watching the office. Or someone heard that Bob’s heir was in town and that the files might be reopened. The Carousel was a closed case for the police, the fire department and the insurance company. But it might have been known that Bob was reinvestigating it. When he died, the case might have been closed too. But with me coming here and possibly taking over the agency – or selling it on to another investigator who might reopen the case – then whoever wanted to keep the case shut might have got the collywobbles.’
‘And sent someone to steal the Whittaker file?’
‘Exactly. But it was too late, as I had taken the file with me to the hotel.’
‘Hence the break-in at the hotel. But you say the file wasn’t there.’
‘Well, it was, but in the hotel safe. I became nervous that someone might be trying to find out what I knew about the Whittaker case, so I asked the hotel manager to lock the file away when I wasn’t using it. And then there was the tragic fire at the Carousel. This time someone died. I’m assuming it was mere coincidence that I happened to be there at the time, but it might not have been. And then there was the bag-snatching incident. That time they got my notebook. Anyone who reads that will know what I suspect and how far I have got in my investigation.’
‘Do you have any evidence of this?’ asked Juju.
Clara shook her head. ‘No. As I said before, this is all purely hypothesis. The only hard evidence I have are the kerosene samples and now these fingerprints in the same location. But I need to find out who the prints belong to. And then I might find out why that person killed Fender. Although I do have some theories …’
‘You do? Oh, jolly good! What are they?’
Clara paused again. Then reminded herself that Juju knew much of this already. And that she was friends with Alice Whittaker, who might very easily tell her all about it anyway. And Clara really did want to talk this through … ‘Well, we know that Horace Fender bought kerosene a couple of days before the fire at the Paradise. We know he was in the vicinity of the fire close to the time it happened. That is the Paradise fire; I don’t know yet about the Carousel, although it seems he’d moved to Tynemouth just before the May Day weekend. However, that’s all still a bit murky. Focusing on what we do know at the Paradise – if what Alice says about Will is true – then Horace lied about seeing Will locking the door and pocketing the key. Because remember, the key was not found on Will’s person or anywhere in the picture house. Although this detail never seemed to bother the authorities.
‘So, my theory is that Fender was paid to set the Paradise alight (and probably the Carousel before that) and to frame the Whittakers for not adhering to fire safety standards. Fender seemed to have come into some money, enough to leave the Salvation Army and to get a place of his own. We know that he then got a job with Balshard Insurance. And Balshard are the insurers of the Paradise and the Carousel, and Humphrey Balshard owns the rival Majestic Cinemas.’
Juju’s eyes widened. ‘Are you saying Balshard paid Fender to start the fires?’
Clara paused and considered how to proceed. Eventually she leaned forward and said: ‘This is all speculation at this point, Juju, so I’m not sure I should say any more.’
Juju leaned back with a slight air of offence. ‘Who would I tell? But that’s all right, Clara, if you don’t trust me …’
‘No, no, no, it’s not that. You’ve been nothing but helpful to me and a good friend to Bob. It’s just that, as I said, I’m not sure where I stand with all of this legally. I’m in at the deep end here, and I think I need to find out more about that before I proceed.’
Juju nodded, her face softening. ‘Yes, I see that. But you’ve done marvellously well so far, Clara. You have a real knack for this line of work. Your uncle would have been proud of you.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘I know so,’ said Juju, tears welling in her eyes. ‘He was a lovely man and I miss him terribly.’
‘So do I,’ said Clara. ‘I would have loved to have known about his detection business when he was alive. I would have loved to have talked all of this through with him.’
Juju smiled. ‘Instead, you’ve just got me.’
Clara smiled back. ‘And I’m grateful for it.’
After Juju left Clara made two more phone calls. The first was to the hotel to let them know she would be away for the rest of the day but would like to book a table for dinner. A table for two.
Then she looked up a number in Bob’s telephone list. She called the operator and asked to be connected. After three rings someone answered. ‘Jack Danskin here.’
‘Good morning, Mr Danskin, it’s Clara Vale. I wonder if you would care to join me this evening for dinner?’