Peter Lovesey - Stagestruck

‘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 tissue 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.’

‘Has anyone threatened you recently or in the past?’

‘I’d remember, wouldn’t I? Of course they haven’t.’

‘Crazy fans? Someone else’s fans?’

‘I’m coming up to thirty. My last album was two years ago.’

‘Three, I think,’ Ingeborg said, and got a glare for her accuracy.

‘I was about to say my fans have grown up with me,’ Clarion said. ‘People of my age don’t do crazy. They’ve grown out of all that hormonal silliness.’

‘How did the theatre people treat you in rehearsal?’ Diamond asked, moving it on, but not confident of shaking the self-esteem of someone who’d basked in admiration for years. She couldn’t believe anyone would want to harm her. ‘You’re an outsider, in a way.’

‘I was at drama college, a good one. I’m not a total novice.’

‘Yes, but you’re not known for your acting and you walked into a starring role. How did they take it?’

‘With good grace. They’re professionals. My name sells tickets. Few of them would pull in an audience. That’s how it is in the commercial theatre and they accept it.’

‘Jobbing actors,’ Ingeborg said.

‘I wouldn’t say so in their presence, but yes.’

‘So do you recall any hostility while you were rehearsing?’ Diamond asked. ‘I’m thinking of others besides the actors. Anyone from the management down to the stage hands?’

‘If there was any bad feeling, I didn’t pick it up.’

‘Let’s talk about Monday evening,’ he said. ‘You arrived at the theatre at what time?’

‘Before five. I went to my dressing room and sat going over my lines until about a quarter to six. Then I changed into my first costume.’

‘Was the dresser there?’

‘Denise? She came later with the clothes. She had to collect them from wardrobe. There are six changes between scenes.’

‘What time did she turn up?’

‘When she said she would. About forty-five minutes before curtain up.’

‘Did anyone else come in?’

‘There were two or three interruptions from call boys delivering bouquets from well-wishers.’

‘Certain flowers can cause allergic reactions, can’t they?’ Diamond said, more to Ingeborg than Clarion.

‘Oh, come on, I didn’t bury my face in them,’ Clarion said. ‘I think I’d know if they were responsible.’

Ingeborg showed by her expression that she, too, thought the flower theory was garbage, so Diamond abandoned it. ‘You’d met Denise before?’

‘Never.’

‘In rehearsal.’

‘I see what you mean.’

‘She made you up for the dress rehearsal the previous day?’

‘Yes.’

‘And did your face react then? Any discomfort?’

‘None whatsoever. And I didn’t notice her doing any different on the opening night. She brought her box of colours and brushes with her. She cleansed my face of day make-up and then put on a thin layer of moisturiser followed by the foundation and the highlights and the liners for the eyes and mouth and so on. I felt no discomfort.’

‘What cleanser did she use?’ Ingeborg asked.

‘Cold cream and astringent, she told me. It all felt normal.’

‘What make was it?’

‘How would I know that, for Christ’s sake? I was thinking about my lines.’

‘Then what? The moisturiser?’

‘Didn’t I just tell you? The stage make-up feels dry without it.’

‘And the foundation? Cream or pancake?’

‘Cream in cake form. She applied it with a sponge. She told me she was experienced and I’m sure she was.’

‘So there was this delay before you felt your face burning,’ Diamond said. ‘How long?’

‘Between twenty minutes and half an hour.’

‘You were all right until you got on stage?’

‘Perfectly.’

‘This is the mystery,’ he said. ‘If we’re right in assuming the make-up damaged your skin, why didn’t it happen in the dressing room when it was being applied?’

‘Slow-acting,’ Clarion said.

‘We’ll get advice on that, but I’ve got my doubts.’

Her glare could have drilled a hole through his head. ‘You can doubt all you want. I’m left with a face like a fire victim and there’s no doubting that. I’m suing for loss of earnings and disfigurement and you won’t stop me.’

Glarion hadn’t endeared herself to Diamond. He sympathised with her injury and understood her anger at the probable loss of her looks and career. He also knew no member of the public welcomes being questioned by the police. Even allowing for that, she’d come across as hostile and unappreciative of the need to get to the truth. She obviously thought her lawyers and her private security people were better placed to take care of her interests. Almost every statement she’d made had been barbed with reproach. But it’s impossible to put yourself in the place of someone who’s had such a shock, he told himself, trying to be charitable. Easier to feel sorry for the dead victims he usually dealt with. They weren’t capable of striking attitudes.