Read Online Death Comes to the Ballets Russes by David Dickinson - Free Book Online

doctor?’
    ‘I have indeed. The ballet people offered to let me hang on to one until all the formalities were complete. I said no. I didn’t want one of those lethal instruments knocking about on my premises. I sent it straight back.’
    ‘Could you describe it for us?’ Sergeant Jenkins was keeping his eyes well away from the sight of the gaping wound.
    ‘Of course. They told me it is a Cossack knife. It’s very slim and incredibly sharp at the end. They’re cleaned and sharpened regularly, I understand. The murderer knew enough about human anatomy to strike upwards from below rather downwards from above. The boy would have died immediately. It would have been very sudden.’
    ‘Could you hazard a guess as to whether the murderer was a man or a woman, Doctor?’
    Dr Harrison winced. ‘Normally we associate death by knife wound with men. But we don’t know much about the culture of these ballet people. It could have been a man or a woman. That dagger is so sharp, a child of twelve could have done it.’

    Natasha Shaporova had hired a suite in the Fielding Hotel for interviews with the Ballets Russes. The girls wouldn’t have to travel across an unknown city to a police station. They wouldn’t have to change out of their costumes if they were in rehearsal. They would come in groups of three so they wouldn’t feel too frightened or too alone. A samovar and a couple of miserable-looking icons had been imported from Chelsea Square.
    The party for the corps de ballet in the Shaporova house the day before had been a great success. The Ambassador had turned up and made a splendid speech about the importance of proper behaviour and cooperation with the local police. It was, he assured them, rather like being invited to the country house of a rich relation you hadn’t met before. You want to be asked back. This had gone down very well with the girls. The local priest had managed to enlist not one but two metropolitans. Powerscourt felt sure they must have heard about the quality of Mikhail’s wines, which all came from the most prestigious vineyards in Burgundy and the Rhone valley. The holy men had glided about the room, crucifixes swaying by their waists, blessing the girls and reminding them of the church services inthe cathedral. They led the gathering in singing traditional Russian hymns and folk songs at the end. Powerscourt had dressed the set, as he put it to himself, smiling at the corps de ballet like a benevolent uncle. Sergeant Jenkins had been bowled over by the beauty and the sheer numbers of the Ballets Russes dancers.
    Powerscourt and Natasha had worked out a rough pattern for the interviews. She had borrowed a bilingual secretary with excellent shorthand from Mikhail’s bank. Olga Penovsky was going to take notes in Russian and then type them up in English. Sergeant Jenkins was particularly pleased to be relieved of his note-taking duties.
    Where were you when Alexander Taneyev jumped to his death? Did you hear anything unusual? Had you seen any strangers wandering round the backstage and the dressing rooms? When did you hear that there had been a murder? This was what Powerscourt called the first round. But, he had emphasized to Natasha, it was the second round that he was really interested in. For, as Natasha pointed out, it would have been virtually impossible for any of these girls to have carried out the murder. They were on stage at the time.
    Do you have any particular friends in the corps de ballet? Do you like Mr Diaghilev? Do you like Michel Fokine? Do you like Nijinsky? What do you make of Alfred Bolm? Did he have any particular enemies? Did Alexander Taneyev? Why does Michel Fokine shout at you so much? Were there any feuds in the company that you were aware of? Is there anything you think the police ought to know?
    After the first three interviews, Natasha gave Powerscourt a summary of what she had heard so far.The girls had been sent to another room for coffee and chocolate cake and