Peter Lovesey: Stagestruck

‘Mr Melmot, the chairman. Of course, the director of the play talked to me about the look he wanted for her.’

‘Who is the director?’

‘Sandy Block-Swell. He wasn’t there last night.’

‘The director missing?’

‘Not missing. He watched the dress rehearsal and took a plane to America.’

‘To escape the critics?’

‘No, he said he was well satisfied. He’s a busy man. He has a film to direct in Hollywood.’

PC Reed looked up from her notebook. ‘Would you say the name again?’

‘Block-Swell, with a hyphen between the “k” and the “s”.’

Dawkins said, ‘A hyphen in one’s name is transforming. I could call myself Sergeant Daw-Kins and it has a certain ring to it. You could be Ms Pear-Sall. Imposing. No such refinement for someone with the name of Reed. You said he talked to you about the look. What is the look?’

‘The thirties. For the women, Cupid’s bows, dark eyes and the green fingernails for Sally. The men are clean-shaven and part their hair in the centre. Nothing too difficult. Sandy made the decisions. The leading men, Preston and Mark, as Christopher and Fritz, are very experienced and so is the woman playing Fräulein Schneider. Then there are Clive and Natalia and Mrs Watson, all well capable of looking after themselves.’

‘One moment, madam,’ Sergeant Dawkins said.

She was startled. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘These names are meaningless to Constable Reed and me. We haven’t seen the play.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ Denise turned bright red. ‘There are three male roles and four female. I was explaining why I worked on Sally.’

‘Who is this Sally?’

‘Sally Bowles, the character played by Clarion.’

‘Understood,’ Dawkins said with a force that made Denise jerk back in her chair. ‘Sally is Clarion, or should I say Clarion is Sally?’

‘Yes.’

‘For simplicity…’ He paused, insisting on a response.

‘Yes?’

‘For simplicity, let’s use their real names.’

As if she was catching this policeman’s pedantry, Denise said, ‘I doubt if her real name is Clarion. She’s a show person, like Madonna.’

‘Or Beyoncé,’ PC Reed said to Dawkins, taking the baton and happy to run with it. ‘Duffy, Lady GaGa, Little Boots.’

‘Clarion will do,’ Dawkins said. ‘I don’t need to know her real name.’

PC Reed said, ‘But you just said let’s use – ’

‘Enough,’ he stopped her, and turned back to Denise. ‘What did you use for make-up – greasepaint?’

‘No, that’s hardly ever used in the modern theatre. It’s too heavy and oily. The basic foundation, moisturiser, cream liners, rouge and blusher, powder and the usual liners for eyes and lips. Professional brands made from the best materials. They shouldn’t produce a reaction, certainly nothing like what happened last night.’

‘Shouldn’t, wouldn’t or couldn’t,’ Dawkins said, and he seemed to be talking to himself.

Denise looked ready to burst into tears. It wouldn’t take much more of this abrasive questioning. In fact she was doing more than her interrogator to bring a semblance of structure to the interview. ‘Well, if an actor suffers from acne it can get inflamed, but Clarion had a healthy complexion.’

PC Reed looked up from her notes. ‘Some people have sensitive skin.’

‘Allergies, yes,’ Denise said, ‘but she’d have known. She’d have told me, wouldn’t she?’ Uncertainty clouded her face and her hand clutched at her throat again. ‘Besides, we had the dress rehearsal on Sunday and she was perfectly all right.’

‘Dress rehearsal?’ Dawkins said.

‘Sunday afternoon.’

‘With all the warpaint on?’

She looked pained again, but didn’t take issue. ‘That’s what makes this so hard to understand. If there was going to be a reaction it should have happened then.’

‘Except…’

‘What?’

‘If you used something different last night.’

‘I didn’t. All the pots and sticks were freshly opened, but exactly the same brand. We’ve used it for years in this theatre and never had any problems.’

‘It was Clarion who had the problem,’ Dawkins said.

‘That’s what I meant.’ She sank her face into her hands and sobbed. ‘Oh dear, I feel dreadful about it.’

The damage to Clarion’s face was referred the same day to the head of Bath’s CID, Detective Superintendent Peter Diamond, a man well used to dramas, but not of the theatrical sort. He wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination a theatre-goer. He was already putting up barriers.

‘We’re in danger of getting ahead of ourselves, aren’t we, ma’am?’ he said to Georgina Dallymore, the Assistant Chief Constable. ‘How do we know it wasn’t an accident?’

‘There are grounds for suspicion,’ she said, bringing her lips together in a way that didn’t invite debate. ‘I’m not proposing a full-scale investigation yet, but we must be primed and ready to spring into action. If this is a crime, it’s a particularly nasty one. The poor woman may be scarred for life.’

‘As bad as that?’

‘So the papers say. In case you’re about to remind me that you specialise in murder, I must tell you that this is a kind of death.’

‘In what way?’

‘The end of her show business career. She’s very well known.’

He nodded, thinking she was making a meal out of this. ‘Even I’ve heard of Clarion Calhoun. Daft name, but you don’t forget it.’

‘She’s brilliant at what she does. It’s not my kind of singing, but I can’t deny her talent. The tabloid press are out in force. If there was foul play, we must get onto it before they do. We can’t tag along behind.’

Pressure as always, he thought. One of these days she’ll tell me to take my time over a case. And pigs might fly.

He hadn’t yet fathomed Georgina’s interest in the matter. She was talking as if she had a personal stake.

‘What’s Clarion saying?’ he asked. ‘Does she blame anyone?’

‘She’s refusing to be interviewed. The official line is that she’s in no state to receive visitors. Her lawyers have brought in a private security firm to guard the hospital room.’

‘Lawyers are involved already?’

‘Anything like this and they home in like sharks. They’ll sue the theatre for millions if it can be held responsible.’

‘The theatre can’t afford millions. Are they insured?’

‘I hope so, or Bath may end up with no theatre at all.’

Even Diamond regarded that as not to be contemplated. He’d survive, but the city would be a poorer place.

Georgina said, as if reading his thoughts, ‘To me, it would be a personal loss.’

He lifted an eyebrow.

‘I joined the BLOGs this year,’ she said.

‘Really?’ he said, not impressed. ‘Rather you than me, putting your private life on the internet.’

‘Not blogging,’ she said. ‘Singing. The Bath Light Operatic Group. You know I’ve been in various choirs. Well, I thought I might go solo this year, in a small way. I’m hoping to get a part in Sweeney Todd , their annual musical. They take over the Theatre Royal for a week in September.’

That was the hidden agenda, then. The BLOGs could not be deprived of their week on the professional stage. Diamond had a vision of Georgina as Mrs Lovett, the pie lady. He did well to keep his face straight.

She continued, ‘If, God forbid, the dear old theatre were to shut down, we’d all be devastated.’

‘It won’t come to that,’ he said in an automatic response.

She said through her teeth, ‘It had better not. I hope you can steer a way through this mess.’

‘Me, ma’am?’

‘It won’t be easy.’