Peter Lovesey: Stagestruck

Unable to contain his annoyance any longer, Shearman said, ‘There’s nothing worth writing down. All of this is pointless. Please leave by the side door rather than the front, where the press are.’

‘Not before we’ve finished,’ Dawkins said. ‘If this ever comes to court, we’ll all be obliged to PC Reed for taking notes.’

The reminder of the process of law subdued Shearman again. ‘What else do you need to know?’

‘When were you first aware that Miss Calhoun was in trouble?’

‘That’s self-evident. When she missed her line and started screaming.’

‘Did you see her before the show?’

‘Personally, no. I was meeting some VIPs. Others who saw her said she was in good spirits.’

‘Spirits may have been her undoing.’

‘Just what are you hinting at?’

‘Spirits of this or spirits of that. You never know what chemicals they use in the cosmetics industry. Did she do her own make-up?’

‘No. She’s not experienced in the theatre, so we provided a dresser for her, and that’s who looked after her.’

‘The make-up?’

‘Yes.’

‘A dresser dresses,’ Dawkins said. ‘I know about dressers. Constable Reed thinks a dresser is an item of furniture for displaying crockery, but this isn’t my first time in a theatre and I know dressers don’t do make-up.’

‘You’d better revise your ideas,’ Shearman said. ‘This dresser was specially asked to assist Clarion.’

‘With her make-up? When was it applied?’

‘Some time before curtain up. I wasn’t there.’

‘Have you spoken to this dresser?’

‘Yes, I have.’

‘I expect she has a name.’

‘I’d rather not say. I don’t attach blame to anyone.’

‘Blame?’ Dawkins picked up on the word as if Shearman had condemned himself. ‘Are we starting to play the blame game?’

‘I said I’m not blaming anyone.’

‘All the same, we need the name.’

He told a white lie. ‘It escapes me.’

Dawkins wasn’t willing to let it pass. ‘You said you were a family. You must know her.’

This interrogation had become a minefield. ‘Do you have any conception how many are employed in a theatre? Too many to know all the names.’

‘How do you address this member of your family?’ Dawkins gave the toothy smile again. ‘We may look like plodding policepersons, but we are not incapable of discovering the identity of the dresser who looked after the female lead.’

Shearman sighed and gave in. ‘Denise Pearsall.’

‘Would you kindly spell that for PC Reed?’

He did so.

‘And is Ms Denise Pearsall available for interview?’

‘I can’t tell you.’

‘But as the director you can arrange it.’

‘Now?’ Shearman reached for the phone. He’d given up the struggle. Passing these two on to Denise would come as a massive relief.

Dawkins lifted a finger and moved it like a windscreen wiper. ‘Not until we’ve finished with you. Was Clarion Calhoun the popular choice for this play?’

Reluctantly Shearman removed his hand from the phone. ‘It depends what you mean. Her fans were ecstatic. We sold every ticket in advance.’

‘Let us be frank. The lady is not famous for being an actress,’ Dawkins said as if he knew about casting. ‘How did the rest of the cast feel about performing with a pop singer?’

‘I’m not aware of any hurt feelings. She’s pre-eminent in her field.’

‘As a singer. Does she sing in the play?’

Shearman gave an impatient sigh. ‘This isn’t Cabaret , for God’s sake, it’s I Am a Camera . Clarion plays a nightclub performer and all she sings are a couple of lines in the third act.’

‘She has to do some acting, then?’

Explaining the basics was wearisome to Shearman. He said with sarcasm these plodding policepersons wouldn’t appreciate, ‘Quite a lot of acting.’

‘So you’re telling me no one had any reason to dislike her?’

This was heading into dangerous territory. ‘What are you suggesting – that she was injured deliberately? That would be outrageous. We’re a theatre. We work as a team to produce a top quality production, the cast, the backstage crew, the front-of-house, the director. We’re too damned busy to go in for petty feuds.’

‘So it’s a team? Just now you were calling it a family.’

‘Same thing.’

Dawkins shook his head slowly. ‘Not so, if I may be so bold.’

This sergeant had the trick of making courtesies sound like insults. Shearman stared back and said nothing.

‘There are regulars like yourself and the scene-shifters and Denise the dresser, am I right? I can see how you think of them as family. And then you’ve got the actors who get replaced each time you put on a new play. With respect, they’re not family. They’re a team.’

‘If you’re trying to say it’s a case of them and us, you’re wrong. We all have a common interest in the show succeeding.’

‘Getting back to my question about whether anyone disliked Miss Clarion Calhoun, did you pick up any untoward vibrations?’

‘ Vibrations ?’

‘Bad vibes?’ Constable Reed translated for him.

They both looked to Shearman for a response.

‘No, and I don’t care for this line of questioning. Whatever went wrong last night, it was not deliberate.’

‘How do you know?’ Dawkins asked.

‘Couldn’t have been.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m in charge and it’s my job to know the people here, call them a family, or a team, or whatever you choose. No one in this theatre would stoop to the sort of mindless attack you seem to be suggesting and I must insist you say not another word about it. If the press get a sniff there’ll be hell to pay.’

‘The press are not slow, Mr Shearman. They’ve sniffed and got the scent and are in full cry.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘They’ll be writing tomorrow’s headlines as we speak.’

‘They’ll have it wrong, then.’

‘Which is why we need to find out what really happened. I suggest you exit stage left and cue the dresser.’

The two police officers met Denise Pearsall over coffee in the Egg café, at the far end of the theatre block. The name of the place had nothing to do with the menu. It was taken from the shape of the children’s theatre it adjoined. The café was much used by mothers and toddlers and should have been a relaxing setting, but Denise was too strung out to touch her coffee. Probably in her forties, she was red-haired and pretty, with brown eyes dilated by fear. Or guilt. She stared in horror at PC Reed, waiting with pen poised, and then Dawkins. The first thing she said was, ‘Have we met before?’

‘Not to my uncertain knowledge,’ the sergeant said in his stilted style. ‘Have you seen me before? Very likely. I’m easy to spot in my uniform and I’m often around the streets of Bath. Have I seen you before? If I had, you would be known to the police, and you don’t want that. Are you going to tell us about last night?’

‘I’ve worked here for six years and never experienced anything so awful as this,’ she said, plucking at her neck, ‘and I can’t blame anyone else. I did Clarion’s make-up myself. Most actors do their own, but she hasn’t worked in the theatre for years, if at all. She was the female lead, she needed help and I was asked to give it.’

‘Was she the only one you worked on?’

She nodded. ‘The others are perfectly capable of doing their own make-up. My responsibilities begin and end with Clarion. I’ll deliver some costumes to other dressing rooms because I work for the wardrobe department, but I was asked to take care of her personally.’

‘Who by?’