Free Dance of Death by Edward Marston

Catherine Wilder, or distraught like Audrey Pattinson, she thought only of herself.
    ‘That means I’ll miss the British Dance Championships.’
    ‘Mr Wilder will miss them as well,’ Marmion pointed out, ‘and his loss, if I may say so, is a great deal more serious than yours.’
    ‘We’ve worked so hard these past few months.’
    ‘That’s beside the point, Miss Thompson.’
    ‘And we had a good chance of winning. I feel so cheated .’
    ‘How do you think Mr Wilder feels?’ asked Keedy.
    ‘I find that remark in bad taste, Sergeant.’
    Odele Thompson was a thin, animated woman in her late twenties with dark, curly hair, high cheekbones and darting eyes. She rented a flat in a large house in Wood Green. Everything about the room suggested that she lived there alone. On the mantelpiece and on every shelf was a framed photograph, mostly of her dancing on her own. Simon Wilder partnered her in the large photograph that hung on a wall. Also on the walls were framed theatre posters bearing her name. Marmion found her unattractive and self-centred, yet Keedy was struck by her brittle beauty. Neither of them could believe that they were dealing with someone who ought to feel bereaved. Odele seemed more irritated than heartbroken.
    ‘Who killed him?’ she asked.
    ‘We’re hoping that you might help us find the man,’ said Marmion.
    ‘What can I possibly do?’
    ‘Well, for a start, you can tell us about what happened yesterday. You and Mr Wilder had a practice session, I believe.’
    ‘That’s right, Inspector.’
    ‘What sort of a mood was he in?’
    ‘We were both optimistic. For once, everything went right. We danced like the Castles and never put a foot out of place.’
    ‘Have you ever seen the Castles dance?’
    ‘As a matter of fact, I have,’ she said, airily. ‘I was working in Paris when they came there a few years ago. What they did was amazing. They took the Café de Paris by storm – that’s where I saw them doing the famous Castle Walk. As for their foxtrot, it was a revelation.’
    ‘What time did you part company with Mr Wilder yesterday?’ asked Keedy.
    ‘It must have been well after five o’clock. When you have such a strenuous rehearsal, you need to get your breath back.’
    ‘And what happened when you parted?’
    ‘Simon went his way and so did I.’
    ‘Do you have any idea where he went?’
    ‘He said that he was going home first.’
    ‘And after that?’
    ‘You’ll have to ask Catherine.’
    ‘We already have,’ said Marmion. ‘She has no idea where he went.’
    Odele smiled. ‘Simon did rather like to cover his tracks.’
    ‘Why was that, Miss Thompson?’
    ‘Are you married, Inspector?’
    ‘Yes, I am.’
    ‘Then you’ll know why men sometimes prefer to keep their wives in the dark.’
    Marmion was nettled. ‘I’m always very honest with my wife.’
    ‘Honesty can be a dangerous thing, Inspector.’
    ‘Are you telling me that you’re dishonest ?’
    ‘I live in the real world.’
    ‘Miss Thompson,’ he said, close to exasperation, ‘I must say that you surprise me. When most people hear of a friend being murdered, they at least express some kind of sympathy. And they also want to know exactly what happened.’
    ‘Simon is dead. That’s what happened. I have to suffer the consequences.’
    ‘Don’t you feel sorry that he’s dead?’ asked Keedy.
    ‘Yes, I do, naturally. I’m very sorry. He taught me a lot. But you must understand that I have my career to consider.’
    Judging by the size and comfort of the room, her career had brought her an appreciative income. Expensive ornaments stood on every surface. A silk dressing gown was draped over the back of a chair. On a table in the corner was the largest gramophone either of them had ever seen. There was a sizeable collection of records stacked neatly underneath it.
    She looked from one to the other. ‘You don’t understand, do you?’
    ‘I’m afraid that we don’t,’ replied Marmion.
    ‘I