Peter Lovesey: Stagestruck

Melmot chose to ignore the outburst. ‘When the make-up woman -’

‘The dresser.’

‘When she saw Clarion in the dressing room before the show, was she in any discomfort?’

‘No – and she was fine while she was waiting to go on. The first signs of anything going wrong were on stage.’

‘How long after she was made up?’

‘Twenty minutes, at least. If there was going to be a reaction, why was it delayed? I’m mystified.’

‘Have you impounded the make-up?’

Shearman clapped his hand to his head. ‘God, you’re right. I must see to that. I’ll speak to Denise. We’ll confiscate everything that was used last night and lock it in the safe.’

His phone beeped. He snatched it up and said without waiting to hear who was on, ‘I told you I’m in a meeting.’

The switchboard girl said, ‘The police are downstairs, sir.’

‘The police? That’s all we need.’

Melmot was already moving to the door. ‘I must leave you to it, old man. Urgent calls to make.’

Hedley Shearman’s job was all about telling others what to do. He prided himself on his social skills. He told the police in a calm, considerate way that they weren’t needed.

The senior of the two uniformed officers, a sergeant whose bearing suggested he was nothing less than a chief constable, said, ‘It’s not your call, sir.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘We don’t work for you.’

‘I’m aware of that, but this is my theatre. I’m the director here.’

The sergeant said to his female colleague, ‘He’s the director here. We’re in the right place, then.’

It sounded like sarcasm. Already under strain, Shearman said with more force than the first time, ‘But you’re not needed.’

‘Like London’s Noble Fire Brigade?’

‘What?’

‘Belloc.’

‘I beg your pardon.’

The sergeant chanted, ‘“Until Matilda’s Aunt succeeded in showing them they were not needed.”’

‘I’m a busy man.’

‘Then permit me to introduce Constable Reed. Reed can write at speed, so Reed is needed. Oh, yes, there is a need for Reed.’

The young policewoman looked at Shearman and winked, as if asking him to make allowance. To confirm that this was for real, she had opened a notebook and was writing in it.

‘And I’m Sergeant Dawkins,’ the ponderous introduction continued, ‘in pursuit of the truth, and as the poet said, “Beauty is truth, truth beauty, that is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.” So I’m needed also. Dawkins and Reed, addressing the need. We’re here about the occurrence last night.’

Out of all the verbiage one word struck home, and to Shearman’s ear it carried dangerous overtones. ‘Occurrence?’

Sergeant Dawkins said, ‘In your theatre, on your stage.’ Then he had the cheek to reach into one of the model stage sets on Shearman’s bookcase and touch the figure of an actor, tipping it over, face down.

Shearman was incensed. He wanted to tell this smart-arse to go to hell, but you don’t say that to a policeman. ‘You didn’t have to do that. I know what you’re talking about and I wouldn’t call it an occurrence.’

‘What would you call it, then?’

‘I don’t know. It didn’t amount to anything.’

‘An incident?’

‘Nothing like that. One of the cast was taken ill, that’s all.’

‘Occurrence.’ Dawkins made a horizontal gesture with his right hand like a cricket umpire signalling. Then he repeated the movement six inches higher. ‘Incident.’ Then higher again. ‘Offence. Occurrence, incident, offence.’

‘It’s not an offence , for God’s sake. Anyway, we’re dealing with it ourselves.’

‘I bet you are.’

Blatant insolence. If this man had been on the theatre staff he wouldn’t have lasted a moment longer. ‘It’s the responsible thing to do,’ Shearman said.

‘Dealing with it?’

‘Of course. That’s my job.’

‘And we investigate. That’s our job.’

‘But I didn’t send for you.’

Sergeant Dawkins parted his lips in a grin that revealed sharp canines. ‘If we waited to be invited, we wouldn’t get out at all.’

Shearman felt as if he’d strayed into a play by Samuel Beckett. ‘So on whose authority are you here?’

‘Take your pick.’

He hesitated, wary of a trap. ‘My pick of what?’

‘Avon and Somerset Police. The Home Office. Her gracious Majesty.’

Either the man was a crank, or he was trying to wind Shearman up for a purpose. ‘Who, precisely, sent you?’

‘Are you thinking we came of our own volition? Are you thinking of us as ambulance chasers?’

Shearman gave up. The whole conversation was surreal.

‘Rest assured,’ Dawkins said. ‘We’re not ambulance chasers. We’re at the receiving end.’

‘There’s no point in this. I don’t follow what you’re saying.’

‘We don’t follow either.’

‘Follow what?’

‘Ambulances.’

‘It wasn’t me who mentioned ambulances.’

‘We follow up. Follow up occurrences. Or incidents. Or offences. When an occurrence is deemed to be an offence you really do have something to be concerned about. Any unexplained injury of a serious nature that shows up in A & E gets referred to us and we follow up. Were you present at the occurrence yourself?’

That word again. Shearman’s mind was made up. He refused to submit to interrogation by these two. They had to be challenged here and now. ‘This has gone far enough. I intend to speak to your senior officer.’

Dawkins was unmoved. ‘You’ll be wasting your time and ours, sir. There’s a chain of command and it’s cast iron solid, from the Chief Constable all the way down to PC Reed. We’re ordinary coppers doing our job and our superiors back us every interview of the way. So let’s get down to question and answer, shall we? Did you see what happened last night?’

A straight question, and no mention of an occurrence. Perhaps it signalled a change of approach. Reluctantly, Shear-man gave Dawkins the benefit of the doubt. The wise option might be to get this over quickly and send them on their way. ‘I’m always in the audience on first nights.’

Constable Reed continued making notes, her hand moving at prodigious speed.

‘You don’t have to write all this down.’

‘You’re a witness,’ she said. ‘You just confirmed it, sir.’

‘But nothing of a criminal nature took place.’

Sergeant Dawkins said as if Shearman had just sprung the trap, ‘Who mentioned crime? Not one of us. A crime is an offence.’

Constable Reed seemed to be putting every word in her notebook.

Shearman made a huge effort to be reasonable. ‘Look, everyone here is extremely concerned about what happened and I’m going to carry out a rigorous enquiry.’

‘So are we,’ Dawkins said. ‘Rigorous and vigorous. And so are the press by the looks of it. Have you seen all the news-hounds downstairs?’

‘That means nothing. It’s a matter of public interest when a celebrity of Miss Calhoun’s stature is unable to go on. Nobody’s broken the law.’

‘We don’t know that, do we – or do we?’ the sergeant said, his eyebrows arching. ‘She’s in hospital with burns.’

‘You don’t have to tell me,’ Shearman said. ‘I drove her to A & E myself. In the theatre we’re a family. We look after our own, and, believe me, we’re taking this seriously, but I want to spare Clarion the added distress of a police investigation. Surely you understand that?’

Constable Reed looked up from her notes. ‘You’re speaking rather fast. Would you mind repeating the bit after “taking this seriously”?’