Claire McNab - Dead Certain

“Oh, Mark…”

“He’s really still just a kid-he’s in his early twenties.” He added bitterly, “It was an older man, married. He told Tony everything was okay, that he was clean, that it was quite safe. After all, the guy said to Tony, I’m not gay , just looking for something a little different…” He shook his head. “The bastard’s probably infected his wife too.”

“He might not have known.”

Bourke’s face was flushed with anger. “That’s an excuse, is it? Tony’s going to die, Carol, unless some miracle occurs. He won’t ever see thirty. And it’s all because someone just like Collis Raeburn was too selfish or too stupid to take precautions.”

Carol wanted to cool his uncustomary anger. This new Mark Bourke had the uncomfortable shock of the unfamiliar. “Can we get back to Raeburn?”

“Sure.” He gave her a fleeting smile. “Sorry-got a bit carried away there.”

“Not at all, Mark. Did Raeburn discuss with his doctor how he caught the virus?”

“Not a word. He listened to the medical advice, refused to answer any personal questions, established the protocol about confidentiality, and left.”

“We could try some of the AIDS clinics.”

“We could, but they have an absolute ban on providing any information that could identify an HIV patient.”

“See what you can dig up, Mark.”

He unfolded himself from the chair. “Okay. But you know no one’s going to want to talk. To lots of people HIV and AIDS are words that are the ultimate obscenities.”

“What’s more obscene,” said Carol, “is that there may be people he slept with who are infected, and don’t know it.”

Carol noticed that Anne Newsome seemed to be treating her with unusual deference. As their car was waved through the gate at the Sydney Opera House, she glanced over at the young constable. Her short curly hair and olive skin shone with health and suppressed energy. Carol said mildly, “Perhaps I’m wrong, but you seem to be treating me with rather elaborate courtesy.”

Anne didn’t bother to dissemble. Grinning, she said, “Thought you’d bite my head off if I didn’t.”

“That bad, eh?”

An anxiously obsequious official was waiting for them under the illuminated STAGE DOOR sign. This inappropriate appellation marked the cavernous entrance to the Opera House basement that was barred by a boom gate and flanked by a glass-walled room with uniformed security officers and an elaborate console of lights indicating the status of all areas of the building.

“Inspector Ashton! I’m Douglas Binns. We spoke on the phone? Afraid there’s a minor problem. Lloyd Clancy and Alanna Brooks are still in rehearsal. I know you made firm appointments, and both of them should be free soon, but… ah…” He trailed off into a glum silence.

He was neat, nondescript and eager to please. When Carol said, “Is Corinne Jawalski available?” he brightened immediately.

“Indeed, yes. I left her in the Green Room, actually, a few minutes ago. She isn’t due for rehearsal for some time, so if you’d follow me…”

The Stage Door entry was the beginning of a huge square tunnel that bisected the building from south to north and was large enough to accommodate trucks and machinery. At the far end Carol could see the scintillating light reflected off the water of Sydney Harbour. Binns led them past forklifts, stage flats, anonymous piles of equipment, then plunged into a network of stairs and passages.

Over his shoulder he said, “I’ve been in touch with Edward Livingston’s secretary since I last spoke with you, Inspector. I’m afraid Mr. Livingston can’t make time to see you for a few days, at least.”

He paused, seemingly embarrassed by his inability to deliver on schedule, but brightened as they entered a large rectangular room. Only a few people occupied an area that obviously could accommodate hundreds. At one end was a serving area with what looked like standard cafeteria food, at the other a wide window framed an arresting view of the harbor. Between these extremes of utility and beauty sat rows of tables and chairs like any communal eating space, and then, nearing the dazzling water, a lounge area and bar.

Smiling with obvious pride, he said, “The famous Green Room. You might be interested, Inspector, to know that seven hundred performers and staff eat here every day.”

Carol repressed a smile. “Indeed?” she said.

He waved a proprietary hand. “And these monitors show each theater, so one can sit here and see one’s cue on stage.” He paused, apparently expecting some positive reaction from his audience.

Half-smiling, Carol looked at Anne Newsome, who obediently responded, “That’s very interesting.”

This seemed to be sufficient. He swept them towards a red lounge near the glare of the window where a slight figure in a plain white dress sat desultorily flipping the pages of a magazine. “Corinne?”

She looked up, sulky and unsmiling. “Yeah?”

“This is Detective Inspector Carol Ashton and Constable Newsome.“ When she didn’t respond, he went on, “Corinne Jawalski, one of our brightest young stars.”

She came to her feet with one easy movement. Carol had the thought that she was one of those people who, although not beautiful, act as though they are. “You want to speak to me about Collis.” Her voice had been assured until she said his name. She blinked quickly, obviously attempting to regain control.

A year before, Corinne Jawalski had had the good fortune to step into a major role at short notice when a flamboyant imported soprano had fallen suddenly ill. The fledgling diva was already known to the general public because she had won a television talent quest and had then gone on to be featured in a series of advertisements devoted to the Tourist Board’s drive to depict Australia as a cultural identity rather than just a collection of scenic items. Unfazed by the searchlight of publicity, Corinne had sung Gilda in Rigoletto to spectacular effect, and her operatic career had moved into high gear.

At Carol’s elbow, Binns was looking anxious. “Inspector, would you like me to find somewhere private…”

Carol glanced around the almost deserted Green Room. “It’s only a few preliminary questions. Here will be fine, if it’s all right with Ms Jawalski.”

“Then I’ll check on the rehearsal. I’m sure they’ll be free soon. Be back shortly.”

As he hurried away, Corinne gestured to an adjoining red couch. Any grief for Collis Raeburn she might have felt was hidden as she said crisply, “Might as well make yourself comfortable, Inspector. I’ve got a few things to say.”

Dryly amused that her interrogation seemed to be in the process of being hijacked, Carol nodded to Anne to take her place, then obediently sat down. “Please go on.”

Head tilted to one side, the young woman surveyed her. At last she said, “Is this really an investigation, or is it just going through the motions?”

“Meaning?”

Her voice had grown harsh. “Do I have to spell it out? Hush up the scandal and accentuate the tragedy. That sort of thing.”

Carol gave her a brief ironic smile. “This is really an investigation. Now, what would you like to say?”

Corinne Jawalski pursed her lips. She had a plain, yet elegant face, heavy coils of rich brown hair and an aura of cool authority that was almost incongruous in one so young. “Next season, I was to be Collis’s new partner. He was going to tell Edward Livingston that he didn’t want Alanna singing with him anymore, at least in the roles that really need someone my age.” She smoothed the skirt of her white dress. “Quite apart from the fact she was older than Collis, it looks ludicrous, don’t you think, to have a middle-aged woman singing in Romeo and Juliet ?”