The Stratford Murder by Mike Hollow (best thriller novels of all time .TXT) 📗

‘So you were here on your own, Mrs Ballantyne?’

‘Most of the time, yes, but I don’t mind. If you work in the theatrical world you get used to being apart.’

‘Including Sunday evening?’

‘No. I’m not so good on my own after dark nowadays, what with all the air raids, but Audrey came over to stay the night. She’s very good like that.’

‘Thank you. You’ve both been most helpful.’

‘Before you go, Inspector,’ said Ballantyne, struggling to his feet.

‘Yes?’

‘I’ve got something for you.’

Ballantyne crossed the room and opened the door of a Victorian mahogany chiffonier that was a little too large for the room but nevertheless to Jago’s eye a magnificent piece of furniture. He pulled out a cardboard box and began rummaging through it.

‘Ah!’ he said at last. ‘Here it is. After we spoke last time – about your father – I had a look through some of my old mementos and I found this.’ He handed Jago a theatre handbill. ‘I told you I’d appeared with your father in the old days, when we were both touring the halls. I dug this out because I thought you might like to see it – we were both on the programme together at the Hackney Empire all those years ago.’

The sheet was dated 1902, and Jago had already seen Ballantyne’s name listed as the twelfth act on the programme, followed by the name of another man identified as a ‘character comedian’. His eyes skimmed down a few more acts and then he read the words ‘Harry Jago, popular vocalist’.

He heard his own voice soften as he spoke. ‘Thank you, Mr Ballantyne, that’s very kind of you.’

He handed the programme back, but Ballantyne waved it away.

‘No, you keep it,’ he said. ‘It’ll be something for you to remember your dear father by. I’ve got my own memories of him – he was a good chap.’

‘In that case, I should like to very much. Thank you.’

Jago took the handbill and carefully folded it in half. He noticed that Cradock seemed to be studying his face.

‘Come along, Peter,’ he said. ‘It’s time for us to go.’

He slipped the handbill into his pocket, and they left.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

‘And before you ask,’ said Jago, ‘yes, I know it’s past your lunchtime, and yes, I know you’re starving, so yes, we will stop at the first coffee stall we come to and I’ll buy you a sandwich. Cheese and pickle? You seemed to be keen on that yesterday.’

‘Oh, yes, guv’nor, that’d be perfect.’

Eleanor Road was not a likely location for a coffee stall, but they found one as soon as they turned onto Romford Road, and Jago parked the car behind a lorry. To Cradock’s delight, he bought not only cheese and pickle sandwiches but also a currant bun and a coffee for each of them. A man in overalls who might have been the driver of the truck and a couple of young women in the khaki uniform of the Auxiliary Territorial Service were standing in front of the stall, so Jago ushered Cradock away a little to where they could talk without being overheard.

‘Well, what did you make of that?’ he said.

‘Of what, sir?’

‘Of Ballantyne’s story – him and Joan.’

‘Oh, right,’ said Cradock through a mouthful of sandwich. ‘He seems a likeable old buffer, but those singing lessons sounded a bit dodgy. Old man like that alone with a woman like her? I mean, he was the one who reckoned it was all about helping to make young women’s dreams come true. Maybe he wasn’t just teaching her how to practise her scales.’

‘He seemed quite honest when he was talking about his past indiscretions, though, don’t you think?’ said Jago. ‘He gave the impression that he’d learnt his lesson and put that sort of behaviour behind him.’

‘Well, he would say that, I suppose, given that she’s been murdered. He was certainly quick to write himself out of the picture as far as getting up to anything with Joan was concerned – even though he’d as good as admitted his wife thought that’s exactly what he’d been doing. He also made sure to tell us he was just a silly old fool, and maybe that’s right – there’s enough years between him and Joan. But maybe he was really more of a sugar daddy. I mean, from what he was saying about his legacy it doesn’t sound like he’s short of a bit of money to splash around.’

‘And his alibi?’

‘Spent the night with an actor who’d do anything to help a pal? If you ask me, I think we ought to have a word with Mrs Ballantyne on her own as soon as we get the chance.’

‘You’re right. But if you’ve got your strength up now, we need to see those Sullivans again.’ Jago checked his watch. ‘If Ernie’s prediction was right, George at least might be back in half an hour or so.’

‘Yes, sir. Can I make a suggestion, sir?’

‘Of course.’

‘Why don’t we stop off and see if Audrey’s in on the way? She only lives just over the road there, doesn’t she?’

‘Yes. But what’s your thinking?’

‘Well, Beryl said Joan started having her singing lessons because she felt like a prisoner in that house, and possibly in her marriage. We know Joan and Audrey didn’t get on, so maybe we should hear Audrey’s side of it.’

‘True. Good thinking, Peter. We need to find out whether she can confirm what Mrs Ballantyne said about them being together on Sunday evening too – we’ll drop by and see if anyone’s at home.’

The turning to Carnarvon Road was only yards from where they were standing, so they left the car where it was and walked to Audrey’s house. Their knock at the door brought no response, but just as they were about to turn away the door opened to reveal Derek Marwell.

‘Ah, good afternoon, Officers,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’

‘We were just passing, sir,’ Jago replied. ‘But actually it’s your mother-in-law we were hoping to see.’

‘Ah, she’s