Stagestruck (28 page)

‘Even more grouchy, then.’

‘Funnily enough, I quite enjoy your grouchy moments. You can be amusing and curmudgeonly at the same time.’

‘It’s a rare talent.’

‘So what are you going to do about Flakey White?’

Put on the spot, he said, ‘From what the Yard told me, it won’t be easy to trace him after more than forty years.’

‘But you’ll try?’

‘I suppose. I can try Hampshire, where he was convicted, and some of the adjacent police forces. Not sure what good it will do. He may have emigrated, or died. He’d be an old man now.’

‘You need to know. This can’t be shelved. It goes deep. I see it in your eyes each time it’s mentioned.’

‘I’m on the case.’ He released a long breath. ‘But it’s not an after-dinner topic.’

‘If my friend Raelene can be of any help the offer is still open.’

He was about to wriggle out of that one when they were interrupted by an old-fashioned phone bell.

‘Sorry,’ he said, fishing in his pocket. ‘Didn’t know I had it with me.’

Paloma watched in amusement, half expecting him to produce a phone set with receiver, cord and stand. In the event, he took out the mobile she herself had given him over a year ago. Some playful member of his team had programmed a ring tone from the nineteen-sixties.

He switched off and raised an apologetic hand to the people at the next table.

‘Who was it?’ Paloma asked.

‘No idea.’

‘You can find out.’

‘I have better things to do.’

‘Like?’

‘Like asking for the bill and getting them to call a taxi. Did we settle what to do about your wine?’

‘Our wine. All right, let’s take it with us. But I think you should check that call.’

He handed the mobile across.

Paloma pressed two keys. ‘Bath Central.’

He winced. ‘At this hour?’

‘Hadn’t you better call them back?’

A few minutes later, two taxis left the Olive Tree. One took Paloma home to Lyncombe; the other, Diamond to the Theatre Royal.

Saw Close was crowded when he arrived. The theatre crowd had not been out long and many were waiting for transport. His taxi was hired before he stepped out of it.

This time he didn’t pander to his anxieties by using one of the side doors. Taking a grip on his nerves he marched straight into the foyer, braced for the personal challenge of entering the auditorium. But there was no need for heroics.

After making himself known, he was directed down some stairs and along the red-carpeted passageway leading to the front stalls and boxes. Through open doors to his right he couldn’t avoid glimpsing the stage itself, yet he was relieved to see that the house lights were on, the safety curtain down and the cleaning staff at work along the rows. The access to the boxes was up the curved stairs at the end of the passage. This little theatre was an obstacle course of different levels. Grabbing the rail, he climbed upwards, passing the box on the royal circle level and then higher to where a uniformed female constable guarded the door of the upper box. She recognised him and actually gave a cursory salute.

‘No need for that. Who are you?’ he asked.

‘PC Reed, sir.’

‘I expect you have a first name.’

She blinked in surprise. ‘It’s Dawn.’

‘Who’s inside, Dawn?’

‘DI Halliwell and the manager, Mr Shearman. Oh, also the deceased.’

‘Bit of a squeeze, then. Don’t let anyone else in.’

He pushed open the door. The single wall light didn’t give much illumination. Keith Halliwell was bending over the body of a woman, shining a torch on the face. Shearman was in shadow on the far side.

‘Have you checked for a pulse?’

Halliwell looked up. ‘Ah, it’s you, guv.’

‘I wasn’t asking about me.’

‘She’s been confirmed as dead by the paramedics.’

‘Any idea who she is?’

Halliwell sidestepped the question. ‘Mr Shearman identified her.’

But at this minute Shearman was reluctant to repeat the name. He was looking deathly pale himself. ‘It’s a nightmare,’ he said, ‘and just when I thought we were getting over our difficulties.’

Diamond moved in for a closer look. He wasn’t often thrown by surprises. This ranked high in the register and he took several seconds to absorb it. He knew the features at once and the torchlight showed the skin damage. The dead woman was Clarion Calhoun.

‘For the love of God. She’s only just out of hospital.’

‘Discharged this morning,’ Shearman said.

‘What’s she doing here?’

‘She called Mr Melmot with a special request. She wanted to see the play before it closes, but not from the public seats where people would recognise her. She was brought in through the side door wearing one of those hoodie things and given this box for the evening.’

‘Did you know about this?’

Some colour returned to his face. ‘I was in on it, yes. Mr Melmot told me.’

‘Who else knew?

A shrug. ‘Now you’re asking. Word gets round, even when you try and do something in secret.’

‘Who brought her up here?’

‘One of the security people, name of Binns.’

‘I’ve met him. Security so-called.’

‘Fair comment. Anyway, I was waiting in here for them. I welcomed her.’

‘How was she looking?’

‘I couldn’t see much. She was holding the scarf across her face, to hide the damage, I suppose. She seemed calm and said she’d be all right. I offered to send up a drink, but she didn’t want one. It was obvious she wanted to be left alone, so I didn’t linger.’ He shook his head. ‘What the press will make of all this, I dread to think.’

‘Do they know?’

‘I haven’t told anyone except you, but it’s certain to leak out.’

‘I can’t disagree with that,’ Diamond said. ‘Look, this is ridiculous, using a hand torch. Why don’t we get proper lighting? It’s a theatre, for God’s sake. They can point a spotlight straight in here.’

‘I’ll see to it at once,’ Shearman said, eager to be out of there.

‘Careful. Keep close to the wall.’

The little manager’s voice turned even more panicky. ‘You don’t think this was a crime?’

‘We can’t see unless you fix the bloody spot.’

Sounding as if he was hyperventilating, Shearman edged around the wall and hurried out.

‘Give me that torch,’ Diamond said to Halliwell.

No question: this nightmare was true. She was definitely the woman he’d visited at Frenchay Hospital. The scarring was still apparent, even if most of the redness had faded. As to a cause of death, he could see no bleeding at the mouth or nostrils. Although a grey chiffon scarf was around her neck, it wasn’t tight and there were no obvious ligature marks. She appeared to have fallen sideways from a chair that was still upright.

Sudden deaths can and do happen to people in the prime of life, but they are rare. This one had to be suspicious, to say the least.

‘Has anyone else been by?’ he asked Halliwell.

‘The two paramedics.’

‘When?’

‘Before I got here. A pathologist is on his way.’

‘Right. And who discovered her?’

‘The theatre director, I think.’

‘Shearman. Did he say what time?’

‘I got the impression it was when the show ended. I suppose he came up here with the idea of escorting her to a taxi.’

‘“Got the impression”?’

Halliwell looked uncomfortable. ‘I haven’t asked him yet.’

‘Why not?’

‘I haven’t been here long.’

Diamond bit back the impulse to find fault. ‘It’s all very odd, Keith. If she was murdered – and we’d better assume she was – it throws new light on the previous incidents.’

‘The dresser’s fall?’

‘And Clarion’s scarring. Is someone responsible for all three?’

Halliwell didn’t answer. He’d worked with Diamond long enough to know guessing wouldn’t do.

As if cued by Diamond’s remark about new light, the spot came on, dazzling them, and after their eyes adjusted they found the box deprived of its lush look. Cracks in the paint-work, old stains on the carpet. Even a cobweb on the ceiling was exposed in the glare, and tangled in it was a dead butterfly, a tortoiseshell.

Diamond gave it a glance and passed no comment.

The two detectives learned no more about Clarion’s death. There was no obvious injury, no sign of a weapon, not even a glass she’d drunk from. In the powerful light her skin was paper white apart from the scar tissue. There wasn’t the facial congestion you expect in a violent death like strangulation.

Halliwell spotted a black leather handbag on the floor below the front of the box. It was zipped. If theft had been the motive and money or cards taken, it was unlikely that the thief would have bothered to refasten the zip.

‘Leave it,’ Diamond said at once. Proper forensic procedure debarred them from handling anything at this stage. ‘We’re doing everything by the book, right?’

‘Right, guv.’

‘She’s so famous that every action we take is going to be picked over by the media. And what is more, from now on, anyone backstage from the manager down has the chance of making big money by selling exclusives.’

‘Christ, they’ll be round here with their mobiles taking pictures.’

Diamond nodded. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if the lighting guy has already taken a long shot from somewhere up there.’

‘And those paramedics may have spoken to the press. You want to seal the building?’

‘That would be a start. This theatre has more entrances than Victoria station. I’m sure PC Reed is a good copper, but we need twenty of her. Yes, get reinforcements. Get our team in, everyone you can raise, and a scene of crime unit.

Tell them to bring arc lamps and some kind of screen for the open side.’

‘There are curtains.’

He cringed at his own stupidity. Crimson velvet and about ten feet long, they were difficult to miss, but he’d managed it. ‘Where would I be without you? Pull them across. And where does this other door lead to?’

He opened it and got his answer: the dress circle.

He pushed open the door to the stairs and told PC Reed she now had two doors to guard, so she’d better come inside the box with the body. ‘Does that bother you?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Good answer. You’re the speed writer, I believe.’

She nodded.

‘Do you get every word?’

‘I try to.’

‘And is it understandable to anyone else?’

‘If they can read my writing.’

‘May I see?

She took her notebook from her tunic pocket and opened it at an example.

‘What’s this, then?’ he asked.

‘The interview with Denise Pearsall.’

‘On Tuesday morning? You and Sergeant Dawkins?’

‘Yes.’

He frowned at the first few letters –
hv w mt b4
– and then smiled. ‘Neat. I get it. May I tear these pages out? I’d like to read the rest.’

‘Take the notebook, sir.’

‘No, you’re going to need it. We’re expecting the pathologist. If he says anything, be sure to get it down. Over to you, then.’

He and Halliwell stepped through to the dress circle and for no obvious reason he felt less troubled than he’d expected by the sight of the auditorium. He looked across to the far side and spotted a movement in the royal circle, one level down. He shouted through his hands, ‘Where are you going, Mr Shearman?’

‘Backstage, to see if the actors are all right.’

‘Make an announcement over the public address. Nobody leaves the building. Everyone still here is to assemble in the stall seats: actors, crew, cleaners, front of house people, the lot.’

‘It’s getting late.’

‘That’s an order.’

Halliwell, phone in hand, told him CID and uniform were alerted. More officers were already downstairs and security had been told to seal the building. ‘But if she was murdered, whoever did it is most likely out and away.’

‘Which is one good reason to find out who’s still here,’ Diamond said. ‘Get them listed when they’re all together. They’re going to be stroppy. Do your best. I’ll speak to them as a group.’

Dr Sealy, the pathologist, arrived, grumbling that he’d been watching an old
Inspector Morse
on television and now he wouldn’t find out who did it.

‘Give me strength! This is the real bloody thing,’ Diamond said.

‘Without the culture.’

‘Do you want me to hum the
Morse
music?’

‘Frankly, old boy, if you sang the whole of
Die Meistersinger
, it wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference.’ Sealy lightened up at the sight of PC Reed, still on duty. ‘But here’s a Rhine maiden sent to help me into my zip-suit.’

‘She won’t be doing that,’ Diamond said. ‘She’s working for me.’

‘Getting into one of these isn’t simple, you know.’

‘Tough.’

Dawn Reed remained impassive while Sealy struggled into the white suit.

Over the public address, Shearman made his announcement telling everyone where to assemble. There was a definite tremor in the voice.

The crime scene people arrived soon after and set up their lighting. Downstairs, more uniformed police reported for duty. Halliwell went off to supervise them.

From the dress circle, Diamond watched the actors and backstage staff respond to the summons and take seats in the stalls. A hierarchy was observed without any supervision from the police: actors in the front row, stage management behind them, the crew next, then the front-of-house team and finally the cleaners. Among the actors, Diamond spotted Gisella, Preston Barnes and the woman playing Fräulein Schneider. Kate from wardrobe was in the third row. A late arrival from backstage was Titus O’Driscoll and he was uncertain where to position himself until Shearman offered him a second-row seat. There must have been forty to fifty people there already.

Binns, the stand-in doorkeeper, was one of the last to arrive, having reluctantly been replaced by a policeman.

Still upstairs, Diamond opened the door of the box and asked Sealy if he’d found anything of interest.

‘Run away and play, will you? I’ve hardly started.’

Impatient investigating officers don’t cut much ice with pathologists. Diamond exchanged a long-suffering look with PC Dawn Reed. ‘Tell me when he comes out.’ He took the stairs down to the ground floor and was pleased to find most of his CID team already there: Ingeborg was helping Halliwell list the names of all present. Leaman and young Paul Gilbert were in the aisle and the man he thought of as the square peg, Fred Dawkins, was in conversation with one of his recent colleagues in uniform.