Stagestruck

by Peter Lovesey

  ‘That was very bizarre. They don’t have a clue what’s going on. The sergeant was all mouth and trousers, quoting Keats and strutting around my office like Olivier doing Henry V. The theatre has that effect on some people. It’s a good thing some of us have our feet on the ground.’

  ‘What did they want? It’s no business of the police.’

  ‘Apparently they follow up anything unusual that shows up in Accident and Emergency. It was a routine visit, as far as I could make out.’

  ‘They won’t be back?’

  ‘I hope not.’

  Melmot made an effort to sound calm again. ‘We can get through this if we act responsibly. Tomorrow’s headlines will be about something else. Performances continue, don’t they?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Business as usual. That’s the way forward.’

  When Peter Diamond walked into the Garrick’s Head with Titus O’Driscoll hanging onto his arm for support, there was a collective intake of breath not unlike the scene in Lawrence of Arabia when Lawrence enters the officers’ mess in Cairo accompanied by a native tribesman. The barmaid called out, ‘Ooh, look at these two. Are we an item already?’

  ‘A glass of water and a cup of weak tea,’ Diamond said through clenched teeth.

  ‘On a bender, are we?’ she said, and then, after a closer look, ‘What’s up, Titus?’ She added with a giggle, ‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ Diamond said, after helping Titus into a chair. ‘He passed out. Plenty of sugar in the tea.’

  ‘Sorry, love. I had no idea,’ she said as she dropped a teabag into a pot and filled it with water from the urn. ‘What could have caused that?’

  ‘It was all those stairs backstage,’ Diamond said. ‘The blood runs from your head, makes you giddy. How are you doing, Titus?’

  The voice was little more than a whisper. ‘Coming round, I think.’

  ‘Hurry up with the tea,’ Diamond said.

  She brought it to the table and set it in front of Titus. ‘Did you see something?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’ He turned to face Diamond. ‘Where were we when this happened?’

  ‘In the number one dressing room.’

  ‘It’s all a blur.’

  ‘We’d just about finished the tour,’ Diamond said.

  ‘I thought it was supposed to be a ghost hunt,’ the barmaid said.

  ‘Yes, we toured the places where the grey lady is said to appear. Titus was in good form, telling me everything. Then out of nowhere he rolled his eyes and his knees went. Luckily I managed to catch him before he fell.’

  Titus said with a flicker of animation, ‘Did you? How gallant.’

  ‘I didn’t have much choice. You fell into my arms.’

  ‘Oh my word. And I don’t remember any of this. Is that how I recovered – in your arms?’

  ‘No, I let you sink to the floor. When anyone faints, they re cover quickly in the horizontal position. You soon came round.’

  Titus remained grateful. ‘Peter, I can’t thank you enough. I was in good hands, literally. Let me buy you a drink.’

  ‘Not just now.’ He looked at the clock. ‘Is it as late as that? I must get back to work.’

  ‘Do you have a card, or something? We must meet again.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  Titus fished in his pocket. ‘Have one of mine, and do give me a call. There’s a lot more I could show you – of the theatre, I mean.’

  Diamond glanced at the card. There was an icon of two theatrical masks. As well as a dramaturge, Titus was an MA (Oxon) and a freelance lecturer. Below his name were the words ‘The Paragon’ – which only a Bathonian would recognise as a street name. ‘Thanks for showing me round.’

  ‘Next time, we’ll arrange for the grey lady to materialise.’

  ‘I doubt if she’ll do it for the likes of me.’

  After Diamond had left, the barmaid said, ‘Seems a nice fellow. I wonder what he does for a living.’

  ‘That much I do remember,’ Titus said. ‘He’s some sort of policeman, unfortunately.’

  ‘What, without a uniform?’

  ‘A detective, I expect.’

  ‘What’s unfortunate about it?’

  ‘They can never leave the job behind. They’re not encouraged to make friends outside the police.’

  ‘Do you fancy him, Titus?’

  ‘He has a certain butch quality that may mean anything, or nothing. And I had a sense that he lives alone. Do you think I did the right thing, giving him my card?’

  ‘Who can say? One thing is certain.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  ‘You’re known to the police now.’

  Back in Manvers Street, Diamond decided to update two of his colleagues, DCI Keith Halliwell and DC Ingeborg Smith. ‘All of this could come to nothing,’ he summed up, ‘but as Georgina put it to me, sitting behind her desk, we must be primed, ready to spring into action.’

  Halliwell, his deputy and mainstay, said, ‘Just because Georgina doesn’t want to miss her chance to sing in Sweeney Todd.’

  ‘Be fair,’ Ingeborg said. ‘The story is all over the papers. If there is a crime involved, we’ll be in the thick of it.’

  ‘Sorry I spoke.’

  Diamond said, ‘Let’s cut to the chase. Suppose it really is a crime. Who’s in the frame?’

  ‘The dresser,’ Halliwell said at once.

  ‘Too obvious,’ Ingeborg said.

  ‘Who do you suggest, then?’

  ‘The understudy.’

  ‘Isn’t that obvious, too?’

  ‘Makes sense,’ Diamond said. ‘She gets the leading role for the rest of the week. But how would she get to damage Clarion’s face?’

  ‘By adding something to the make-up,’ Ingeborg said. ‘We’d need to know who got made up before Clarion.’

  ‘All of them did their own except Clarion,’ Diamond told them. ‘She isn’t used to stage make-up, so she got help.’

  ‘Do we know the understudy’s name?’ Halliwell asked.

  ‘Gisella Watling.’

  ‘She’ll be one of the cast, as like as not,’ Ingeborg said. ‘Understudies usually have a small part in the play, ready to step in when necessary.’

  ‘Done some acting, have you?’ Halliwell said.

  She gave him a sharp look. ‘No, I was a critic.’

  ‘A critic?’

  ‘If you’re a journo, as I was, it’s a good way to get complimentary tickets.’

  Diamond steered them back on track. ‘There are four women in I Am a Camera. I can tell you that much.’

  ‘So there it is,’ Ingeborg said. ‘Our understudy has a dressing room of her own. How about this? Before the show, while Clarion is being made up, this Gisella calls at the number one dressing room to wish her luck and switches the foundation so that Clarion gets a faceful of vitriol.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Halliwell asked.

  ‘Sulphuric acid, but I wasn’t speaking literally.’

  Halliwell exchanged a look with Diamond. Sometimes Ingeborg was too clever by half. ‘The motive being…?’

  ‘Ambition,’ Diamond said. ‘Acting brings it out in people. They all want the star role.’

  ‘It’s a vicious way to get it.’

  ‘I’m sure the damage was worse than Gisella intended,’ Ingeborg said. ‘She didn’t think it would disfigure Clarion for life.’

  ‘Before we pin it on the understudy, let’s think who else could be a suspect,’ Diamond said. ‘Do we know anything about Clarion’s personal life?’

  ‘Don’t look at me, guv,’ Ingeborg said. ‘I’m not a fan and never was.’

  ‘But you know where to look?’

  ‘On any newsstand. She’s one of those celebs with a paparazzi following.’ She gave a shrug and a smile. ‘Okay, I should have seen that coming. I’ll do a profile.’

  ‘Some rival singer could have got to her,’ Halliwell said.

  ‘Would they bo
ther?’ Diamond said. ‘I get the impression her career was on the skids.’

  ‘A crazy fan, then?’

  ‘The problem with these suggestions is that the rival or the fan would have to get backstage before the show. Not impossible, but it’s much more likely it was an inside job – someone who could get past the stage-door keeper without being challenged.’

  ‘Plenty of people work backstage,’ Ingeborg said. ‘It isn’t just the actors. The director, for one.’

  ‘Hedley Shearman.’

  ‘He’s the theatre director. I meant the director of the play. Sandy someone.’

  ‘Block-Swell. Sandy Block-Swell. He wasn’t even there on the first night. After the dress rehearsal he said he was certain everything would be all right, and he pissed off to Hollywood to direct a film.’

  ‘Sod you lot, I’m all right.’

  ‘Apparently he’s like that. But you’re right, Inge. We need to find out who was around on the night it happened.’

  ‘I sense a job coming my way,’ Halliwell said.

  They knew Diamond’s methods, these two. He shook his head. ‘Not a job exactly. We don’t have a case yet.’

  ‘Call it what you like, guv, it amounts to the same thing.’

  ‘More like a perk than a job. If you happen to be free this evening I’ll treat you to a theatre visit, the pair of you.’

  ‘Me and him?’ Ingeborg said, turning pale. Keith Halliwell was at least twenty years her senior, and married. She had an image to keep up.

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ Halliwell asked.

  She didn’t say. She’d already thought of a get-out. ‘Can we get tickets as late as this?’

  ‘They won’t be hard to come by, with all the returns,’ Diamond said. ‘Aisle seats at the back if possible, leaving you free to move about.’

  ‘It isn’t just a chance for her to date me, then?’ Halliwell said, with a superior look at Ingeborg.

  ‘What do you think?’ Diamond said. ‘Before the show, test the security backstage. See if you can enter by the stage door. Failing that, there’s a way down from the royal circle. I want to know which dressing rooms are in use and where everyone is.’

  ‘What if we’re challenged?’ Halliwell asked. ‘Do we own up to being cops?’

  ‘Why do you think we wear plain clothes?’

  ‘What’s our cover, then?’

  ‘They’ll take us for press,’ Ingeborg told Halliwell. ‘We can say we’ve been promised an interview.’

  ‘Good suggestion,’ Diamond said. ‘Inge can be the reporter and, Keith, you’d better carry a camera.’

  ‘Some treat, this.’

  ‘A night at the theatre?’ Diamond said. ‘CID doesn’t get better than that. And in case you think I’m getting off lightly, someone has to cosy up to that fruitcake Sergeant Dawkins and find out what he got from the theatre director and the dresser who applied the make-up.’

  Neither would have volunteered for that.

  The theatre seemed to be returning to normal as the day went on. Most of the press had given up and gone. The first rush of people wanting to return tickets was over. The box office manager reported that tonight’s house would be down in numbers, but not embarrassingly so. Hedley Shearman, still agitated, went down to the stage door on a mission he regarded as difficult, but necessary.

  Basil, the doorman, had seen it all in his time from Oh, Calcutta! to The Rocky Horror Show, and was trying to be a tower of strength. ‘I wouldn’t worry, Mr Shearman. Theatre people are far too excitable for their own good. Some of them live off their nerves. You get a crisis like we had last night and everyone seems ready to panic, but they don’t. When the shit hits the fan, if you pardon my French, they’re professionals. Look at what happened. That Gisella was word perfect. I was told she was better than Miss Calhoun.’

  Shearman hadn’t come for a pep talk. ‘I’m going to ask you a question about last night, Basil. Think carefully before you answer. Were you here all evening?’

  ‘Always am, Mr Shearman.’

  ‘And do you remember admitting anyone you wouldn’t have expected?’

  Basil shook his head.

  ‘No strangers? No one asking to go backstage on some pretext?’

  ‘Nobody gets past me unless they’re staff, or in the show.’

  ‘It’s frightfully important. Do you know each of the cast?’

  Basil nodded. ‘There’s only seven of them.’

  ‘What about the technical people, scene-shifters and the like?’

  ‘There aren’t many of them this week. This one is a bread and butter show. Small cast, no set changes or special effects.’

  ‘Is Denise in?’

  Basil shook his head. ‘She was here all morning. She’s entitled to a little time off.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘She isn’t back yet, but I expect she won’t be long.’

  ‘The minute she arrives, tell her to report to me. On no account is she to do anything with make-up. And one other thing, Basil.’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Because of what happened, I’m making more use of the security people this week. This is no criticism of you, but I’ve asked them to man all the entrances tonight and for the rest of the week. That includes the stage door.’

  Basil’s face creased into a frown. ‘You’re putting a security man on my stage door?’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘As well as me, you mean?’

  ‘Instead of you.’

  Basil blinked. ‘Eh?’

  ‘I’m giving you the rest of the week off.’

  Outraged, he said on a rising note, ‘Laying me off?’

  ‘On full pay.’

  ‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’

  ‘I just made that clear, Basil. It isn’t personal. We value your experience.’

  ‘Just my point – experience. Security men won’t know any of the actors.’

  ‘They’ll be given a list, and a copy of the programme with the actors’ pictures. I want a uniformed presence on the door.’

  ‘Are you expecting more trouble, then?’

  ‘It’s not a case of that. I want everyone to know that we’re serious about security. You can take a few days off.’

  ‘As you wish, Mr Shearman,’ Basil said with dignity, as if he were Gielgud overlooked at an audition.

  The eccentric Sergeant Dawkins entered Diamond’s office with a faint smile playing on his lips. ‘You sent for me.’

  ‘I did. Have a seat.’ Diamond already felt blighted. Whichever way he started with Dawkins, awkwardness took over. ‘You were at the theatre this morning checking on what happened last night. Would you give me a quick rundown?’

  ‘That depends,’ Dawkins said, looking at the back of his hand as if checking for liver spots.

  ‘Depends on what?’

  ‘How quick is quick.’

  ‘A summary, then. You don’t have to tell me every word.’

  ‘Nor shall I, ‘Dawkins said, settling into the chair. ‘First of all…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘First of all, may I be so bold as to ask the subtext.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The subtext.’

  ‘You’re losing me.’

  ‘The hidden agenda.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re on about.’

  Dawkins gave a broader smile and said nothing.

  ‘You’re talking in riddles, man,’ Diamond told him. ‘Subtexts and hidden agendas. Explain.’

  The sergeant turned to look out of the window, as if the answer might be in the car park below. ‘Powers of observation, analysis, deduction.’

  ‘You don’t have to make a meal of this. All I want is a short report on what was said. You spoke to the theatre director. Did anything emerge?’

  ‘Hey ho.’

  ‘I’m losing my patience, sergeant.’

  ‘Hey ho, I said.’

  ‘I heard you.’

  ‘Hey ho to your q
uestion: “Did anything emerge?”’

  ‘You’re talking like one of the Seven Dwarfs and you’re wasting my time.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Dawkins said. ‘It was a comment, sir, a compliment, in fact.’

  ‘I’m not looking for compliments.’

  ‘Quite so. The “hey ho” should have been silent, a tap of the cue on the snooker table.’

  The man was round to snooker now. Diamond despaired of getting any plain statement. Without thinking, he put his hand to his head and tugged at the precious patches of hair he had left. What was the point in trying for straight answers?

  ‘The hidden agenda,’ Dawkins said, ‘so well disguised.’

  Diamond reached into his in-tray, picked up the minutes of a Police Federation meeting and tried blocking out this pointless conversation.

  But Dawkins had more to say, and he spoke the words slowly, as if they carried a momentous truth. ‘Put it this way: I can see where you’re coming from.’

  ‘I wish I could say the same.’

  ‘The place I’m coming from is the theatre.’

  ‘We can agree on that,’ Diamond said. ‘So why don’t you tell me in plain words what you found out there?’

  ‘Because of where you’re coming from.’

  Diamond gripped his desk and made one more try. ‘Listen, sergeant. There’s no subtext, as you put it, no hidden agenda. I’m not coming from anywhere. I’m here, face to face with you.’

  ‘Not coming, but come?’

  ‘If that makes any difference, yes.’

  ‘And if my report is satisfactory, may I look forward to going there?’

  ‘Going where?’

  ‘Where you’re coming from.’

  ‘And where is that?’

  ‘CID.’

  That was it. This pain in the arse thought he was being assessed for a plainclothes job. Hell would freeze over first. ‘No chance.’

  Dawkins blinked in surprise.

  ‘You’ve got more front than the Abbey,’ Diamond told him. ‘Get on with your report.’

  Finally Sergeant Dawkins appeared to accept the inevitable. ‘In plain words?’

  ‘Plain and to the point.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘First I questioned the director, Mr Hedley Shearman. He was at pains to convey that the incident is being treated as an internal matter. They are dealing with it themselves, with a definite intention of carrying out an enquiry. It’s a family matter, to quote him. He didn’t see Miss Calhoun before the show, but he was in the audience and watched her on stage. When the curtain came down he went backstage and drove her to hospital himself.’