Stagestruck (31 page)

‘You suggested this over the phone?’

‘Yes, and she liked it immediately.’

‘So you made plans?’

‘Certainly. I didn’t order her car, but she told me to look out for a black Mercedes limo. I laid on everything at my end of things, getting Binns, the security man, to meet her and escort her upstairs.’

‘Did you tell anyone else?’

‘Only Hedley Shearman. He had to know, as theatre manager. I asked him to look in at the interval and make sure she was comfortable.’

‘Didn’t you see her yourself?’

‘Only when she arrived. She was a little late, just before curtain up, and it was the briefest of conversations. I had other duties in the interval, so I had to rely on Hedley to take care of her.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘
Take care of her
. God only knows what happened. It now appears she died during the interval.’

‘Where were you?’

‘In the interval? In the 1805 Rooms, pressing the flesh.’

‘The 1805 Rooms?’

‘It’s our VIP suite. Named after the year the theatre was built. We had a casting director from the National and several of our sponsors.’

‘You were there for the whole twenty minutes?’

‘It went on for longer, in fact. Some minor alarm backstage.’

‘This would have been Fräulein Schneider reacting to the grey lady – as she supposed at the time.’

‘Actors.’ He clicked his tongue in disapproval as if speaking of prodigal sons.

‘You haven’t answered my question: were you in the 1805 Rooms for the whole of the interval? I can easily check, but it would be simpler hearing it from you.’

‘The bulk of the time. I slipped out towards the end to find out what the delay was about and while I was making my way backstage the second half started.’

‘So there was a period of time when you were between the 1805 Rooms and backstage?’

‘A very short period. Is that significant?’ He managed a look of innocence that faded when Diamond declined to answer.

‘And at what point did you learn that Clarion was dead?’

‘After the final curtain as I was leaving the theatre. One of the front-of-house staff told me an ambulance had been called to someone who had apparently collapsed and died in the Arnold Haskell box. Dreadful. I knew who it was, of course. The whole world fell in on me. Couldn’t think how it had happened. They told me Hedley was dealing with it. In my state of alarm I couldn’t face anyone and I knew there was sure to be an explosion of media interest. Let’s admit it: I panicked.’

‘You left the theatre?’

‘Returned here in turmoil and spent a sleepless night trying to work out what to tell people.’

‘People like us?’

‘Not you. I’ve told you the honest truth. It’s all those reporters I dread. They’ll twist it into a filthy scandal. They always do.’

Diamond was tempted to say not much twisting would be needed and see what reaction that would get, but the last brief comment interested him. ‘Why, have you been on the receiving end before?’

‘Not in a serious way. This is something else.’

‘Yes, it’s huge,’ Diamond said. ‘I’m holding a press conference this afternoon.’

On the drive back to Bath, he asked Gilbert what he’d made of Melmot.

‘Didn’t like him, guv. He’s all front. Chairman of the board and all that.’

‘True.’

‘There wasn’t much real sympathy for either of the women who died in his theatre. All he thinks about is what the press will make of it. He said he was a Clarion fan, but he isn’t grieving for her.’

‘She let him down,’ Diamond said. ‘He had great hopes. He saw an opportunity and brought her to the theatre to be in this play, offered to let her stay with him.’

‘Hoping to get inside her knickers?’

‘I wouldn’t express it in those terms. He claims not. He said she stayed in a different wing of the house.’

‘He’d say that, wouldn’t he?’

‘I’m inclined to believe him. He’s a mummy’s boy, and you’d understand why if you met his mother. Aside from all that he was getting credit from the theatre people for finding a star performer and she was supposed to be grateful for getting the part. But it all turned sour. She didn’t stay long in the house.’

‘I’m not surprised, seeing the state of it.’

‘And she was going to be a flop in the play.’

‘His reputation was under threat.’

‘You’ve got it. People of his sort, heirs to a big estate, are often prone to insecurity. They don’t like to be thought of as living off their capital and nothing else, so they get involved in business or the arts at boardroom level. The theatre is a perfect vehicle for someone like him to earn extra status.’

‘Buffing up the image.’

‘And it was in serious danger of collapse. I’ve been asking myself if that could be a motive for murder. But he let slip another intriguing remark.’

‘About being treated unfairly by the press?’

‘Yes, there’s some skeleton in Melmot’s cupboard that we ought to know about. When we get back to Bath, do some digging. See if he’s on file.’

Tilda Box had found time to dress in purple and black, an outfit straight out of Vogue, but appropriate for the occasion. She spotted Ingeborg in the station forecourt and came over, confident, smiling, swinging her handbag and smelling expensive. She’d obviously refreshed her make-up just prior to arrival at Bath Spa station. She was carrying several celebrity magazines.

‘I hope you weren’t trying to phone me on the train. I had to switch off. It’s been non-stop.’

‘It’s like that at the nick,’ Ingeborg said. ‘My boss is giving a press conference some time soon.’

‘Really? What will he say?’ She was eager for information.

‘Not a lot. He’ll want to confirm her identity if possible. That’s up to you, of course.’

She frowned. ‘There’s no question that it’s her?’

‘Not so far as I know.’ Ingeborg started the car and headed out into Dorchester Street and west towards the hospital. She had a miniature tape-recorder running under the armrest between them.

Tilda was more uneasy than she’d first appeared. Nobody enjoys the duty of identifying a body, and most find it daunting, if not scary. ‘There’s no damage to her face, is there? Extra damage, I mean. I should be able to recognize her? I thought this was just a formality.’

‘Absolutely,’ Ingeborg said, noting how panicky her passenger was starting to sound. This would be as good a time as any to pounce. ‘How long has she been cutting herself?’

‘Cutting herself?’ Tilda made a show of sounding baffled without remotely convincing Ingeborg she was sincere.

‘You must have seen the state of her arms,’ Ingeborg said as if she had checked the corpse herself. ‘You of all people will know about the self-inflicted injuries – as her professional adviser.’

Briefly, there seemed to be a real danger of Tilda opening the passenger door and leaping out. Then she seemed to think better of the escape option and gave up any pretence of not knowing. ‘For some years, in fact. Top performers like Clarion are under enormous pressure that the rest of us will never experience. Have you seen the body, then?’

‘My guvnor has.’

‘Oh. Did he say anything else?’

‘Anything else?

‘About her appearance. I’ve no idea what to expect when we get there.’

‘As you said yourself, it’s just a formality,’ Ingeborg said. ‘Did she talk openly about the self-harming?’

‘I wouldn’t say openly. To me in confidence, yes.’

‘It must have been a huge worry for you, personally and professionally.’

‘That goes without saying.’

‘But she told you everything. A sympathetic ear.’ A touch of flattery from Ingeborg, opening the way for the key question. ‘We could see you were very close when we met at the hospital after her face was damaged. Did she tell you she did that to herself?’

Tilda hesitated, as if sensing she’d been forced into a corner, and then the words tumbled out. ‘Yes, it was so sad, really. She told me in the hospital. The rehearsals hadn’t gone well and she was worried sick about the first night. She needed a get-out but at the same time she was deeply ashamed of herself. She’d used corrosives on her skin before, all part of the self-harming. There was caustic soda under the sink in one of the dressing rooms. I think they used it to clear the drains. She collected some in a tissue and dabbed it on her face before she went on, punishing herself as well as making sure she would have to abandon the performance. I don’t think she knew how excruciating it would be. She almost passed out with the pain.’

‘And then she blamed the theatre?’

‘Poor darling. The doctors told her she was scarred for life. Having to admit to the world that she’d done it to herself was more than she could cope with, so she started this talk of legal action. I don’t think she ever intended to see it through, but it relieved the pressure. She even convinced me – and I know her history. That morning when you came to the hospital I was sure she had strong grounds for damages. I called her lawyers and told them what to expect and they promised to see her as soon as she was out of hospital. The meeting never took place, of course.’

‘When did she tell you the truth?’

‘Later, over the phone. It was preying on her mind. I phoned the lawyers and they advised the theatre she’d decided not to sue. Without disclosing the reason, of course.’

Ingeborg breathed a quiet sigh of relief. One part, at least, of the mystery that had engulfed CID all week was solved.

‘Did you see her after she came out of hospital?’

‘No, I’d already returned to London. We spoke on the phone and she told me of her plan to see the play. I would have advised against it, but she sounded so depressed that I thought it would provide some distraction, if nothing else. I couldn’t see any harm in it, so I didn’t try to dissuade her.’ She reached in her bag for a tissue and sniffed into it. ‘If only I had.’

‘Would you say she sounded suicidal?’

‘Why?’ Tilda was all attention again, and her voice piped in horror. ‘Oh my God – did she? Do you know something? They haven’t already done the post-mortem?’

‘No, they won’t have started yet. I’m just asking.’

‘Oh.’ Deflated, she said, ‘No, the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.’

Outside Bath Central police station, the pressmen, impatient to go in, were taking pictures of everyone who entered, regardless of who they were. ‘Can’t you let them in?’ Georgina, the ACC, said, not pleased at being called love and asked if she was Clarion’s mother, in spite of being in uniform.

‘I know what they’re like, ma’am,’ Diamond said. ‘Stuck in the conference room they’ll get even more bolshy.’

‘You’d better think of something. They’ll be smashing windows soon.’

It was eleven thirty. The post mortem should have started at ten. He phoned the mortuary and asked for Halliwell. They said he was still observing.

‘Don’t they ever take a break?’

‘They took one less than twenty minutes ago,’ the mortuary keeper said.

‘And what were they saying when they came out?’

‘That it could take another hour or more.’

‘For crying out loud. You’d think it was brain surgery.’

‘Well, it is.’

He was forced to admit that this was true.

He left a message for Halliwell to update him at the first opportunity.

At least Ingeborg had delivered. He’d listened to the tape. To have it confirmed by Tilda Box that Clarion had been a long-term self-harmer was a breakthrough. Under all the pressure he hadn’t yet worked out the full implications. If Clarion had damaged her own face, why had Denise killed herself and left that suicide note? Get through the press conference, he told himself, and you’ll think more clearly.

‘Is this a good moment, guv?’ Paul Gilbert asked, putting his head around the office door.

‘There’s no such thing.’

‘Sorry.’ The head disappeared.

‘Come back.’

Even more apprehensive, Gilbert obeyed.

‘It had better not be a request for time off.’

‘You asked me to check on Francis Melmot.’

‘Well? Do we have anything on him?’

‘Nothing on record. It never got to court, but there was a complaint of assault that was later withdrawn. It was in connection with his father’s death in 1999.’

Diamond gave a nod. ‘I know the old man shot himself, supposedly while cleaning his gun.’

‘Well, not long after that, a reporter turned up at Melmot Hall and made some remarks Francis didn’t appreciate.’

‘About the shooting?’

‘No, about his father’s private life. The old boy was quite a goer. He’d been screwing a barmaid and Mrs Melmot had got to hear of it. The reporter seemed to be suggesting the old lady told her husband to do the decent thing and shoot himself and wanted to see if he could get a quote from Francis. Instead he got his nose broken.’

‘He’s a big guy to tangle with, is Francis. I suppose the mistress offered her story to the paper.’

‘Whatever, it never got into print.’

‘This tells us he’s capable of violence, but I have some sympathy, especially as it was a poxy pressman. Where did you dig this out?’

‘From an old-stager at Frome nick. He remembered taking the statement.’

‘Nice work, Paul. Get a note of it on the case file.’

Around noon, Ingeborg came in. ‘Is your phone dead, guv?’

‘Could be. I asked the switchboard to give me a break.’

‘Keith was trying to reach you from the mortuary.’

He sat forward. ‘He was? Is it over?’

‘Depends what you mean. You could say it’s just beginning. They’re saying Clarion was suffocated.’

18

‘C
onvince me,’ Diamond said. Halliwell gave his humour-the-boss grin. He was back from the mortuary and looking drained, not from attendance at the autopsy, but the prospect of explaining the result to his crotchety superior. ‘Dr Sealy wasn’t in any doubt.’

‘I’m no pathologist,’ Diamond said, ‘but even I know they turn purple if they suffocate. I saw the body. She was as pale as your shirt. What is more, they get those little blood marks in the eyes and the skin.’

‘Petechial haemorrhages,’ Halliwell said from his long experience of listening to pathologists.

‘Well, there weren’t any.’