Stagestruck

by Peter Lovesey

  The drive in was quick and enjoyable, before the traffic became the morning crawl he generally endured. He liked the way the early sun picked out the detail of the Victorian terraces along the Upper Bristol Road. The western approach to the city is not Bath as most people think of it. He had to get close before his first sight of Georgian elegance, John Wood’s spacious Queen Square with palatial columns and pediments around a central garden. At this stage of the journey he sometimes reminded himself how privileged he was to be in one of the finest cities in Europe, a boost before moving on to the soulless utilitarian block that was his workplace. He was philosophical about that, refusing to let it get him down. You don’t want your police station looking like the Parthenon.

  Having parked, he went inside, looking forward to a quiet start, not expecting to find anyone in the open-plan area that was CID’s hub. The caseload had dwindled in recent days and there was no need for his team to put in extra time. If they clocked in before eight thirty when the civilian staff started, he was content. So it surprised him to see a figure by the window looking out – no one he immediately recognized. None of the team wore a suit, except himself.

  And what a suit. This three-piece wouldn’t have looked out of place in a circus ring. Patterned in squares too large to be called check, it was loud, tasteless and, frankly, silly. Its wearer was two sizes too small for it, which made the effect even more odd.

  ‘How can I help you?’ Diamond asked.

  ‘The boot is on the other foot. How can I help you?’ the visitor said, turning.

  He recognized the voice first and the face confirmed it and his greet-the-day optimism evaporated. ‘Sergeant Dawkins? What are you doing in here, dressed like that?’

  ‘Nothing yet, your eminence,’ Dawkins said, ‘but I expect to remedy that.’

  He ignored the ‘your eminence’ in pursuit of an explanation. ‘I mean why aren’t you in uniform?’

  ‘In a sense, I am.’

  ‘Come off it, sergeant. I’m not getting into one of these obscure debates with you. That is not your uniform.’

  ‘Not the uniform you expected, I grant you.’

  ‘Are you off duty?’

  ‘Far from it.’ Dawkins gave a smile that lit up the room. ‘On which happy note, I can declare that in this, of all places, my present apparel passes for a uniform.’

  ‘It does not.’

  ‘No one wears regulation blues here.’

  ‘Yes, but we’re CID and you’re not.’

  Dawkins chuckled at that. ‘Have you not heard from the Assistant Chief Constable? I was assigned to your command late yesterday.’

  ‘That can’t be right.’ Suddenly he knew what it meant to be staring down the barrel of a gun.

  ‘A reinforcement, ACC Dallymore calls me.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ Diamond said. He marched straight through to his office, slammed the door, snatched up the phone and asked to be put through to the ACC and was told she was at a policy meeting at Headquarters and wouldn’t be in all day. Even before he replaced the receiver he saw the memo on his desk from Georgina:

  Peter, I have assigned Sergeant Dawkins to CID for a probationary period with immediate effect. As you know, he has made several applications for a transfer and I believe the time is now right to give him this opportunity. His individual qualities will, I am confident, strengthen the team. I may add that he comes with the recommendation of his senior officer.

  ‘I bet he does,’ Diamond muttered with all the bitterness of a man who has been shafted. With Georgina out all day he couldn’t overrule her. He sat for two minutes in stunned confusion. Finally he looked for a get-out in the word ‘probationary,’ telling himself he would make sure it was the shortest probation ever. The man would trip up before he’d taken two steps.

  He opened the door and looked out. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Dawkins.’

  ‘I know that. Your first name.’

  ‘Horatio.’

  It was all of a piece. ‘And is that suit your idea of plain clothes?’

  ‘Civilian wear.’

  ‘But it isn’t plain. You’re going to stand out in a crowd wearing that. Haven’t you noticed what the others wear, casual gear, like T-shirts and jeans and leather jackets?’

  ‘With all due et cetera, sir, T-shirts and jeans and leather jackets are not to be found in my wardrobe.’

  ‘You wear that suit around the house?’

  ‘In point of fact, no. This is my walking out wear.’

  ‘What do you wear indoors, then?’

  ‘When not in uniform, I favour my dance things.’

  ‘Say that again.’

  ‘Singlets and leggings. I’m often barefoot around the house.’

  ‘You’re a dancer?’

  ‘I do a certain amount, yes.’

  There was a pause. ‘As in Swan Lake?’

  ‘I prefer flamenco.’

  Diamond pictured him strutting around the office in Spanish costume and couldn’t see it going down well with the team. ‘That’s remarkable, but it doesn’t solve the problem of the suit.’

  ‘If I may be so bold…’ Dawkins started to say, and then amended it to, ‘If I may presume to comment…’

  ‘What do you want to say?’

  ‘I am not alone in wearing a suit.’

  ‘You mean I’m in one? I’m in charge here. Besides, mine is plain grey. I don’t know what colour you call yours but it hurts my eyes to look at it. Haven’t you anything more subdued at home?’

  ‘Dark blue overalls, for garden duties.’

  He pictured that for a second. ‘I don’t think so. We’ll put up with this today and find some office work for you. The public isn’t ready for that suit. Take off the jacket and sit behind a desk. Other people will be in soon. Oh, and for your own salvation we’ll call you Fred.’

  ‘Fred?’

  ‘As in Astaire, but we needn’t say so.’

  ‘May I venture to ask why?’

  ‘The dancing. And because other people can be cruel, that’s why.’

  A little later, after more quiet reflection and gnashing of teeth, Diamond emerged from his office again and addressed the troops, by now all present and ready for any other shocks the day might bring. They’d taken stock of the new arrival and were keeping their distance.

  ‘Some of you know Fred Dawkins already. He’s on secondment from uniform. No doubt he’ll make his own unique contribution to the team. And he comes at a critical moment, because we have a new line of enquiry. Keith and Inge went to the theatre last night.’

  Some joker at the back made sounds suggesting unbridled sex. Ingeborg turned and gave a withering glare. Normal service had been restored.

  ‘Was the play any good?’ Diamond asked.

  ‘Not much,’ Keith Halliwell said. ‘It creaks a bit.’

  ‘We didn’t see the first half,’ Ingeborg said. ‘We went backstage.’

  ‘How did you manage that?’

  ‘By passing ourselves off as press. There was a security man on the stage door. The regular guy wasn’t on duty.’

  ‘And you collected the little item I requested?’ Diamond said.

  Ingeborg turned to Halliwell, who produced his specs case and opened it like a jeweller displaying a precious stone.

  The dead tortoiseshell hadn’t travelled well. Damaged at the edges and missing one of its antennae, it wouldn’t have been of much interest to a butterfly collector, but at least it was out of the theatre.

  ‘You may be wondering why I wanted this,’ Diamond said. ‘It isn’t my latest hobby. This turned up in the dressing room used by Clarion Calhoun the other night. A dead butterfly is a bad omen in the Theatre Royal. A live one would be good news. Don’t ask me why. It would take too long. All you need to know is that theatre people are deeply superstitious. There’s enough nervousness in that place already without this making it worse.’

  ‘Did Clarion see it?’ Paul Gilbert, the youngest DC, asked.
r />   ‘We don’t know. We’re not even sure if she knows about the butterfly jinx.’

  ‘Are you thinking someone placed it there to scare her?’

  ‘Let’s keep an open mind on that. This sad little critter may have been trapped in the room.’

  ‘How did you know it was there, guv?’ DI John Leaman asked.

  ‘I was given a tour yesterday lunchtime.’

  ‘So you’re not the only one who saw it?’

  ‘My guide saw it. He fainted and appears to have no memory of the incident.’

  ‘Fainted when he saw the butterfly?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Bit extreme.’

  ‘Titus is a bit extreme.’ He added in a tone that didn’t encourage a comeback from anyone, ‘And we were on a so-called ghost hunt at the time. But let’s get back to reality and Clarion’s injury. I called Frenchay Hospital just now and she’s still in the burns unit receiving treatment. There can be no question that the skin damage is real.’

  ‘Wounding with malicious intent?’ Leaman said.

  ‘That’s a possibility. Inge, tell the team.’

  She nodded. ‘After we found the butterfly, we went backstage and met Kate, the wardrobe manager. She was on extra duties because Denise Pearsall called in earlier to say she was too upset to carry out her duties properly.’

  There was a sound like a liner being launched: Dawkins clearing his throat.

  ‘You want to say something, Fred?’ Diamond had a sense of dread.

  ‘If you please, superintendent.’

  ‘“Guv” will do if you want to call me anything at all.’

  ‘Pardon me. Such an appellation smacks of over-familiarity on one’s first day.’

  Looks were exchanged around the room.

  ‘Get on with it, man.’

  ‘This may or may not be significant… guv.’

  ‘Spit it out, or we’ll never know.’

  ‘I interviewed Ms Pearsall yesterday morning.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘DC Smith just said she was too upset to work last night.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Then it is possible that the interview with me was instrumental.’

  Smiles all round the room, unappreciated by Dawkins.

  ‘Conceivably being questioned as a suspect caused her some alarm and she decided to stay away.’

  ‘It can’t be discounted,’ Diamond said, adding with a straight face, ‘and I can understand how it might have happened. Not all of you know this. Fred was the officer who made the first contact with the theatre after getting a report of the injury from A & E. This Denise isn’t answering the phone or her doorbell this morning.’

  ‘Has she done a runner?’ Leaman said.

  ‘We’ll find out. The theatre is playing it down, not wanting us to get involved. They can’t stop us if she’s gone missing.’

  ‘Bit strong, guv,’ Ingeborg said. ‘She phoned in only yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘Acting suspiciously.’

  ‘Can we get a warrant?’ Leaman asked.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘To search the house.’

  ‘We wouldn’t get one. We don’t have anything on her for sure,’ Ingeborg said.

  ‘We treat her as any other missing person,’ Diamond said, ‘ask around, find out her movements. See if she runs a car and if she does we put out an all-units order to trace it. That’s your job, Keith, with help from Paul. We also step up the pressure on the hospital, insist on getting a statement from Clarion. Inge, you and I will go there together. And it’s high time the hospital lab reported on the traces of make-up on the towel. I’ll give them a rocket at Frenchay. We’ll get our own analysis done by forensics. Not that they’re any quicker, but they know what they’re up to.’

  Another bout of throat-clearing came from Dawkins.

  ‘Ah, Fred,’ Diamond said, thinking rapidly to keep this short. ‘You’re going to ask me what I want from you. You’re confined to barracks, for reasons we discussed. Can you use a computer?’

  ‘Use?’ Dawkins said as if he’d never heard the word.

  ‘Like work the keyboard.’

  ‘That much I gleaned.’

  ‘So the answer is yes?’

  ‘One’s keyboard performance is accurate, but not the quickest,’ Dawkins began. ‘At the most basic level -’

  ‘Spare us that. The civilian staff will help you. Get Denise’s statement on file, and Shearman’s. When anything else comes in, every item relevant to the investigation, see that it gets into the system. You’re acting as receiver. That’s a key post, so don’t let me down.’

  Fred Dawkins looked apprehensive and said no more.

  Frenchay Hospital, north-east of Bristol, was developed in the grounds of an eighteenth-century estate. Grand Georgian buildings have been adapted to medical needs and sit among functional wards and corridors. Diamond hadn’t phoned ahead to announce his visit. He had the impression that informality was going to work best. The burns unit was easy to locate and Clarion’s private ward was just as obvious thanks to a grey-uniformed security man seated outside.

  Diamond showed his ID and the guard picked up his mobile phone.

  ‘Is that necessary? We’ll just go in.’

  ‘She’s with someone,’ the man said. ‘I’ll have to clear it.’

  He was about to push past when Ingeborg touched his arm. ‘She may be having treatment, guv.’

  ‘Is she?’ he asked the guard.

  ‘I’m checking now.’

  The upshot was that the ‘someone’ came out and she didn’t appear to be a doctor or a nurse. She was in a black suit with red tights and patent leather shoes. Her hair was dark, with red streaks, and she wore black shades with a retaining chain. To Diamond’s eye, she was in her forties, confident and businesslike. ‘You’d better not be press,’ she said.

  Considering that the guard had already said they were police, this was not a good beginning.

  Diamond held up his ID again and introduced Ingeborg. ‘And who are you?’

  ‘Tilda Box, Clarion’s agent. She’s not seeing anyone.’

  ‘Why? Has she gone blind?’

  Tilda Box pursed her lips. ‘There’s no need to be facetious. She’s suffering from third degree burns and severe shock. She’s been through a traumatic experience and she’s far too distressed to have visitors.’

  ‘We’re not visitors,’ he said. ‘We’re on an investigation.’

  ‘That’s being taken care of.’

  ‘Who by?’

  ‘Private inquiry agents employed by her insurance people. You’re not needed here.’

  Staying civil with this lady wasn’t easy. ‘It’s not a private matter, Ms Box. It appears a criminal offence was committed Monday evening and we have a duty to investigate.’

  She folded her arms. ‘Speak to me, then. I’m aware of all the facts.’

  ‘We’ll speak to Miss Calhoun.’

  ‘I told you. She’s not speaking to anyone.’

  ‘She’s spoken to you, apparently, or you wouldn’t be aware of all the facts. Are you going to step aside, or do we charge you with obstructing the police?’

  ‘That’s blatant intimidation,’ she said, and then, as the last words sank in, capitulated. ‘For God’s sake. Wait here. I’ll see what state she’s in.’

  ‘No need,’ Diamond said. ‘We’re going straight in. Inge, you go first.’

  Tilda Box was incandescent, but stopped short of wrestling with them. Inge went through two sets of swing doors, turned and gestured to Diamond and he followed her into a large room and got his first sight of Clarion Calhoun. He was prepared to find a figure swathed in bandages with apertures for the eyes and mouth. Not so. The patient wasn’t bandaged and wasn’t in bed. Dressed in a white bathrobe, she was in an armchair looking at television. Her face, neck and what was visible of her chest appeared to be coated in a yellowish ointment or healing agent. To be fair, the damage to her skin was evident, flakes of tissu
e hanging from raw burns. She tugged at her long, blonde hair to screen her face from the intruders. ‘Who are you?’

  Diamond showed the ID and introduced Ingeborg.

  ‘I’m not speaking to the police,’ Clarion said. ‘Tell them, Tilda.’

  The agent had come into the room behind them. Diamond swung around and said, ‘Out.’

  ‘I absolutely refuse to leave you alone with her,’ Tilda Box said.

  ‘You can absolutely get lost, or I’ll absolutely do you for wilfully obstructing a police officer.’

  He had Tilda’s measure. She quit the room without another word.

  ‘Now, Clarion,’ he said. ‘I take it you didn’t do this to yourself, so it’s our job to find who is responsible.’

  She appeared to think about playing dumb. There was a lengthy pause. Then she couldn’t resist saying from behind the hair, ‘The theatre is responsible and we intend to sue.’ The voice was easy on the ear. She would have got by as Sally Bowles.

  ‘It may not be so simple,’ he said.

  ‘Explain.’

  ‘If someone wanted to harm you, they’re mainly to blame.’

  Startled, she let go of the hair and turned, giving them a front view of her damaged face and neck. Skin has a marvellous capacity for healing, but it was hard to imagine that the scarring would ever disappear. ‘Nobody wants to harm me. That’s ridiculous. This is a clear case of negligence. They used some defective product that ruined my skin. These are chemical burns.’

  ‘I doubt if any cosmetics firm would sell a product as harmful as that.’

  ‘In case you’re not aware of it, the doctors here are world experts and they’re treating me for burns.’

  ‘I’m not arguing with that. I’m saying we don’t know how the make-up got to be so dangerous. Was something added to it? That’s what we need to find out.’

  ‘Added by mistake, you mean?’ She frowned and it was obvious that the flexing of her skin caused pain.

  ‘Or intention. Do you have any enemies, Clarion?’

  ‘No.’ The denial was total. As soon as she’d made it, uncertainty showed in her eyes.

  Ingeborg said, ‘Someone as mega-famous as you is going to have enemies. You don’t get to the top without making people jealous.’

  She enjoyed the flattery. It showed in her voice. ‘Envious, perhaps, but I can’t accept what you’re saying. No one could hate me that much. This is the end of my career.’