Stagestruck (7 page)

‘What’s wrong with that?’ Halliwell asked.

She didn’t say. She’d already thought of a get-out. ‘Can we get tickets as late as this?’

‘They won’t be hard to come by, with all the returns,’ Diamond said. ‘Aisle seats at the back if possible, leaving you free to move about.’

‘It isn’t just a chance for her to date me, then?’ Halliwell said, with a superior look at Ingeborg.

‘What do you think?’ Diamond said. ‘Before the show, test the security backstage. See if you can enter by the stage door. Failing that, there’s a way down from the royal circle. I want to know which dressing rooms are in use and where everyone is.’

‘What if we’re challenged?’ Halliwell asked. ‘Do we own up to being cops?’

‘Why do you think we wear plain clothes?’

‘What’s our cover, then?’

‘They’ll take us for press,’ Ingeborg told Halliwell. ‘We can say we’ve been promised an interview.’

‘Good suggestion,’ Diamond said. ‘Inge can be the reporter and, Keith, you’d better carry a camera.’

‘Some treat, this.’

‘A night at the theatre?’ Diamond said. ‘CID doesn’t get better than that. And in case you think I’m getting off lightly, someone has to cosy up to that fruitcake Sergeant Dawkins and find out what he got from the theatre director and the dresser who applied the make-up.’

Neither would have volunteered for that.

The theatre seemed to be returning to normal as the day went on. Most of the press had given up and gone. The first rush of people wanting to return tickets was over. The box office manager reported that tonight’s house would be down in numbers, but not embarrassingly so. Hedley Shearman, still agitated, went down to the stage door on a mission he regarded as difficult, but necessary.

Basil, the doorman, had seen it all in his time from
Oh, Calcutta!
to
The Rocky Horror Show,
and was trying to be a tower of strength. ‘I wouldn’t worry, Mr Shearman. Theatre people are far too excitable for their own good. Some of them live off their nerves. You get a crisis like we had last night and everyone seems ready to panic, but they don’t. When the shit hits the fan, if you pardon my French, they’re professionals. Look at what happened. That Gisella was word perfect. I was told she was better than Miss Calhoun.’

Shearman hadn’t come for a pep talk. ‘I’m going to ask you a question about last night, Basil. Think carefully before you answer. Were you here all evening?’

‘Always am, Mr Shearman.’

‘And do you remember admitting anyone you wouldn’t have expected?’

Basil shook his head.

‘No strangers? No one asking to go backstage on some pretext?’

‘Nobody gets past me unless they’re staff, or in the show.’

‘It’s frightfully important. Do you know each of the cast?’

Basil nodded. ‘There’s only seven of them.’

‘What about the technical people, scene-shifters and the like?’

‘There aren’t many of them this week. This one is a bread and butter show. Small cast, no set changes or special effects.’

‘Is Denise in?’

Basil shook his head. ‘She was here all morning. She’s entitled to a little time off.’

‘I know that.’

‘She isn’t back yet, but I expect she won’t be long.’

‘The minute she arrives, tell her to report to me. On no account is she to do anything with make-up. And one other thing, Basil.’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Because of what happened, I’m making more use of the security people this week. This is no criticism of you, but I’ve asked them to man all the entrances tonight and for the rest of the week. That includes the stage door.’

Basil’s face creased into a frown. ‘You’re putting a security man on my stage door?’

‘That’s what I said.’

‘As well as me, you mean?’

‘Instead of you.’

Basil blinked. ‘Eh?’

‘I’m giving you the rest of the week off.’

Outraged, he said on a rising note, ‘Laying me off?’

‘On full pay.’

‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘I just made that clear, Basil. It isn’t personal. We value your experience.’

‘Just my point - experience. Security men won’t know any of the actors.’

‘They’ll be given a list, and a copy of the programme with the actors’ pictures. I want a uniformed presence on the door.’

‘Are you expecting more trouble, then?’

‘It’s not a case of that. I want everyone to know that we’re serious about security. You can take a few days off.’

‘As you wish, Mr Shearman,’ Basil said with dignity, as if he were Gielgud overlooked at an audition.

The eccentric Sergeant Dawkins entered Diamond’s office with a faint smile playing on his lips. ‘You sent for me.’

‘I did. Have a seat.’ Diamond already felt blighted. Whichever way he started with Dawkins, awkwardness took over. ‘You were at the theatre this morning checking on what happened last night. Would you give me a quick rundown?’

‘That depends,’ Dawkins said, looking at the back of his hand as if checking for liver spots.

‘Depends on what?’

‘How quick is quick.’

‘A summary, then. You don’t have to tell me every word.’

‘Nor shall I, ‘Dawkins said, settling into the chair. ‘First of all…’

‘Yes?’

‘First of all, may I be so bold as to ask the subtext.’

‘The what?’

‘The subtext.’

‘You’re losing me.’

‘The hidden agenda.’

‘I don’t know what you’re on about.’

Dawkins gave a broader smile and said nothing.

‘You’re talking in riddles, man,’ Diamond told him. ‘Subtexts and hidden agendas. Explain.’

The sergeant turned to look out of the window, as if the answer might be in the car park below. ‘Powers of observation, analysis, deduction.’

‘You don’t have to make a meal of this. All I want is a short report on what was said. You spoke to the theatre director. Did anything emerge?’

‘Hey ho.’

‘I’m losing my patience, sergeant.’

‘Hey ho, I said.’

‘I heard you.’

‘Hey ho to your question: “Did anything emerge?”’

‘You’re talking like one of the Seven Dwarfs and you’re wasting my time.’

‘Not at all,’ Dawkins said. ‘It was a comment, sir, a compliment, in fact.’

‘I’m not looking for compliments.’

‘Quite so. The “hey ho” should have been silent, a tap of the cue on the snooker table.’

The man was round to snooker now. Diamond despaired of getting any plain statement. Without thinking, he put his hand to his head and tugged at the precious patches of hair he had left. What was the point in trying for straight answers?

‘The hidden agenda,’ Dawkins said, ‘so well disguised.’

Diamond reached into his in-tray, picked up the minutes of a Police Federation meeting and tried blocking out this pointless conversation.

But Dawkins had more to say, and he spoke the words slowly, as if they carried a momentous truth. ‘Put it this way: I can see where you’re coming from.’

‘I wish I could say the same.’

‘The place I’m coming from is the theatre.’

‘We can agree on that,’ Diamond said. ‘So why don’t you tell me in plain words what you found out there?’

‘Because of where you’re coming from.’

Diamond gripped his desk and made one more try. ‘Listen, sergeant. There’s no subtext, as you put it, no hidden agenda. I’m not coming from anywhere. I’m here, face to face with you.’

‘Not coming, but come?’

‘If that makes any difference, yes.’

‘And if my report is satisfactory, may I look forward to going there?’

‘Going where?’

‘Where you’re coming from.’

‘And where is that?’

‘CID.’

That was it. This pain in the arse thought he was being assessed for a plainclothes job. Hell would freeze over first. ‘No chance.’

Dawkins blinked in surprise.

‘You’ve got more front than the Abbey,’ Diamond told him. ‘Get on with your report.’

Finally Sergeant Dawkins appeared to accept the inevitable. ‘In plain words?’

‘Plain and to the point.’

He cleared his throat. ‘First I questioned the director, Mr Hedley Shearman. He was at pains to convey that the incident is being treated as an internal matter. They are dealing with it themselves, with a definite intention of carrying out an enquiry. It’s a family matter, to quote him. He didn’t see Miss Calhoun before the show, but he was in the audience and watched her on stage. When the curtain came down he went backstage and drove her to hospital himself.’

‘So he takes it to have been an accident?’

‘Indeed, preferring accident to incident.’

To stop Dawkins from starting on another tedious bout of wordplay, Diamond said, ‘You also spoke to the dresser.’

‘Ms Denise Pearsall, yes. Six years’ experience at the Theatre Royal. She made up Ms Calhoun. When I say “made up” I don’t mean – ’

‘What’s she like?’

‘As a dresser? I wouldn’t know.’

‘In interview, I mean. What impression did she make?’

‘Anxious, nervous, on her guard.’

Who wouldn’t be, faced with you? Diamond thought. ‘Suspiciously so?’

‘Difficult to tell. In her position, anyone would be entitled to feel vulnerable. If there is blame, she is the prime candidate.’

‘True.’

‘However…’ A finger went up.

Diamond had to wait. The man was like an actor playing to an audience of one.

‘However, one other thing of interest emerged.’

‘What’s that?’

‘On Sunday they had a dress rehearsal in full make-up. Nothing untoward was reported.’

‘Worth knowing,’ Diamond said, nodding.

Dawkins almost purred at the praise. ‘May I therefore…’

‘Therefore what?’

‘Look forward to a transfer?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘Pardon me, but you appeared to approve of my report.’

‘When you finally got round to it, yes,’ Diamond said. ‘You were simply doing your job, a uniformed officer’s job. It wasn’t a secret test for CID, whatever you may have thought.’

Dawkins looked as if he’d walked into a punchbag. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘I made myself clear. This isn’t a job interview. It’s routine.’

‘But you sent for me.’

‘To get your report, yes.’

‘The mere facts?’

‘Right. Have I got through to you?’

Dawkins shook his head. ‘If you had wanted the facts, you needn’t have asked me. You could have got them from PC Reed. She writes everything down.’

Diamond smouldered inside. How he wished he’d thought of that.

Backstage in the theatre, the male lead was the first to arrive for the next performance. Short for a leading actor and with a nose a pigeon could have perched on, he’d had to settle for character parts for most of his career. The role of Christopher Isherwood, a man of slight build and less than slight nose, presented a fine opportunity to get the name of Preston Barnes in lights, second only to Clarion Calhoun’s. The resemblance to Isherwood was striking, and he’d cultivated his hair to get the authentic parting and cowlick. ‘Has Basil been sacked?’

Hedley Shearman, on patrol in the dressing room area in case Denise Pearsall arrived, was thinking of other things. ‘Basil?’

‘The stage-door keeper. Some jobsworth is on the door. Very officious.’

‘I’ve installed a security man, for all our sakes. Basil will be back when the present emergency is over.’

‘Is that what it is – an emergency?’

‘It is for the management. Something went badly wrong last night, and we can’t risk a repeat.’

‘A repeat? God help us all if it happens a second time. Do you blame Basil, then?

‘I don’t blame anyone. It was unfortunate, that’s all.’

‘It was bloody unfortunate in performance, I can tell you. I’m pretty experienced at covering up when other actors miss their lines, but that was impossible. If you ask me, there was something dodgy with the make-up. The rest of us used our own and we were all right.’

‘Did Clarion say anything about it before you went on?’

‘I didn’t see her. I’m on stage when the play opens, as you know. The first I knew there was anything wrong was when she came on and missed her cue and started grimacing. I gave her the line again and she screamed in my face. How is she now?’

‘Progressing, I understand, but we ought to assume she won’t be back this week. Are you okay playing opposite Gisella?’

Barnes gave a shrug. ‘She was adequate last night. Better than Clarion has ever been in rehearsal. Between you and me, we were saved from being savaged by the critics. But the play won’t transfer now. We’ll all be looking for work after Saturday night.’

‘You’ll be snapped up,’ Shearman said.

‘Do you think so?’ Barnes enjoyed that. The vanity of actors is legendary, and he was a prime example. ‘I’ll be glad to get a normal haircut. This silly Isherwood look is too much. I can’t think why he persisted with it for so long.’

‘You look the part, that’s for sure,’ Shearman said, eyeing him.

‘It doesn’t come without years of experience. Character is the actor’s overarching responsibility. I inhabit the role I’m playing and the resemblance is created in the process.’

‘Like one of those TV impressionists?’

Barnes winced at the suggestion. ‘I was thinking of the late Sir Alec Guinness. It’s from inside, you know. It isn’t the hairstyle or the make-up. It’s the self-belief. Speaking of which, I must get to my dressing room and begin my preparation.’

He’d spoken before of his preparation. He arrived early and spent at least an hour in contemplation ‘connecting emotively with the role’, as he put it. His door was closed to everyone.

‘When you arrived last night, was anyone about?’ Shear-man asked.

‘Who do you mean?’

‘Denise, for example.’

‘The dresser? I’ve no idea. She doesn’t look after me. I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself. I wear that grubby sports coat and revolting blue shirt and all I have to think about is changing my tie.’

‘I know that. I was wondering if you remembered seeing anybody.’

‘I expect there were technical people. It was a first night, for God’s sake. I wasn’t registering who was here. I went straight to my room to prepare.’

‘That would have been early?’