“We have to be in London to get to the bottom of this, Frank.”
“I know,” said Layton, staring into his teacup. They were in the parlor of Cissie’s home in Nottingham. “But how can that be?”
“Simple,” said Cissie. “They’ve been after me for years to come back to the head office. Once I’m there, I can get you a new position at the Queen’s Palace or any other circuit theatre you want.”
“But your mum and sister? I thought you had to stay in Nottingham for them.”
“They’ll get used to a nice house in South Kensington or Pimlico just fine. But for now, you and me will be in theatre digs in London. I know a Mrs. Cooper who used to be part of a unicycle act, runs a first-class place in Bayswater for only top of the bill artistes. No riffraff. I’ll ring up this afternoon and book us two nice rooms.” Cissie came around to the back of Layton’s armchair, put her arms around him, and kissed his cheek. “Don’t look so down, luv,” she said gently.
“Cissie, you said you’d kept a box of newspaper clippings about the trial. Is there a chance I might see them?”
• • •
Layton stared at the list of the dead in the Daily Mail. Fourteen names, in alphabetical order, with their ages in damning black ink beside.
All the newspapers had focused on those terrible deaths. And they’d run story after story on the maimed and injured too, spreading the horror throughout the empire. Men and women who would never walk again or hold a job because they’d lost a hand or leg. Each detail made Layton more hated and reviled.
In those days, he’d seen the list but couldn’t bear to read about the victims of the disaster. What was the use? He couldn’t bring them back to life.
Now, he ran his finger down the list on the brittle, yellowed pages. He thought of the daughter of the woman waiting outside the prison. They would be the younger victims, all the nascent promise of their lives extinguished in an instant.
He stopped for a fraction of a second at John Mapes, 41, then continued on, not daring to look up at Cissie.
Denys Blair, 78
Ronald Cass, 52
James Croyden, 37
Robert Davidson, 12
Shirley Finney, 19
Daphne Foster, 46
Ted Hardy, 44
John Mapes, 41
Isabel Massey, 14
Hugh Rice, 53
Sir John Richardson, 54
Jocelyn Shipway, 31
Trevor Stanton, 42
Sibyl Treadwell, 36
“Why would Clifton or Glenn want to kill one of these people?” Cissie asked.
“No one would go to all this trouble for just one person,” Layton said, more to himself than her.
“You’re saying that they wanted to kill a few people—all at once?” Cissie blinked, shocked at what Layton had just suggested.
“If you wanted a group of people dead, what better way to murder than to kill all of them in what seems like an accident?” Layton replied, his face drawn and tense. “It’s quite ingenious, really. Instead of killing four or five people individually and then having to dispose of their bodies, you murder them all in one shot in broad daylight.”
“The bastards!” Cissie took the paper from Layton and gazed at the list. “Poor Johnnie,” she sighed. “He never did anything to Clifton or Glenn.”
“Did he ever meet with the partners?”
“Only at the annual weekend parties. Clifton and Glenn kept their distance from the artistes. It was all right to make money off them but not to socialize. Clifton had been knighted, so he’s only around the hoity-toity.”
“Johnnie never talked about them?” Layton pressed.
“Just that they were cheap shits,” Cissie said with a laugh.
“Can you fetch me some writing paper and a pen?”
On the tea table, Layton made a copy of the list in neat, careful cursive.
“These people are in some way connected to Clifton and Glenn, and we have to find out how. It’s the only way we might discern a motive. If we find some connection, we’ll write it next to their name.”
Layton saw the confusion in Cissie’s eyes and leaned forward, spoke more passionately. “Cissie, we’re beginning a thousand-piece jigsaw. It’s just a jumble now, and it doesn’t make any sense, but when the pieces start to fall into place, only then will we see the full picture.”
Cissie nodded, and he saw the determination dawning in her eyes.
“I have an idea of where to start,” Layton added. “With an old friend.”