Barnes shot him an ill-tempered look. ‘Which Richardson is that?’
‘The late Sir Ralph.’
‘What do you know about Ralph Richardson?’
‘He was a biker, like me. Rode a Norton for some years, then a BMW. He’d turn up at the theatre, go on, do his stuff, get on his bike and ride home.’
Barnes and Diamond were too stunned to comment.
Leaman added, ‘I don’t think he was a method actor.’
Diamond picked up where he’d meant to be. ‘With all this preparation, you guard your privacy, obviously.’
‘That’s no crime,’ Barnes said.
‘It is, if it leads to an assault.’
‘But you said – ’
‘Yes, Mr Shearman is willing to overlook it, he told me.’ He glanced about him. ‘What’s so special about this room?’
‘It’s mine. That’s what.’
‘Inspector Leaman didn’t find the handbag he was looking for.’
‘Are you being offensive?’ Barnes said. ‘I’m as straight as you are.’
‘Denise the dresser’s handbag. It’s missing.’
He almost spat out the words, ‘So I was informed.’
‘You think we used it as an excuse to get in here? We’re not as subtle as that. Did you know Denise?’
‘We met. She was Clarion’s dresser, not mine. I don’t need one.’ He pointed with his thumb to the shabby sports coat and grey flannels on a hanger beside the dressing table. ‘That’s the only costume I wear in this production. I change my tie a few times and that’s it.’
‘Did you know Clarion before joining the cast?’
‘No, and her singing sucks, but it doesn’t mean I wished her any harm.’
‘Were you worried about the play? I’m told she wasn’t much good in rehearsal.’
‘Wasn’t much good? She was crap. But I’ve been in the business long enough to know it can be all right on the night.’
‘But it wasn’t. What an experience you must have had.’ Deliberately Diamond was playing to Barnes’s ego. This was all about him.
‘It wasn’t something I want to repeat,’ he said. ‘One minute she seemed to have forgotten her lines and the next she was screaming in pain. I defy any actor to cope with that.’
‘After the curtain came down, were you one of the people who went to her dressing room?’
‘No. I waited in the wings to see what would happen next. They gave Gisella the part, as you know. I steered and coaxed her through it in ways you wouldn’t even begin to appreciate.’
‘She was ready to go on?’
‘Scared, obviously. In fact, she saved the night from total disaster. And she gets better with each performance. Have you seen it?’
‘Not yet.’
‘You should.’
‘Your own performance is worth seeing, I was told.’
‘Thanks.’ The actor glanced in the mirror. Flattered, he was off guard.
‘What do you inject before the show?’ Diamond asked in a matter-of-fact tone.
‘What?’ He swung back to stare at Diamond.
‘I noticed the needle marks.’
‘I’m diabetic.’
‘I don’t think so, Preston. And I don’t believe the horseshit you told us a moment ago about locking yourself in to visualise the role. You come here early to jack up.’
‘You can’t prove a damn thing.’
‘I’m not investigating your habit. I know why you flew into such a rage over the search. You thought we’d find the syringe. And why you were so quick to cover your arms when we came in just now.’
He’d turned ashen as Diamond was speaking. ‘You people have no idea of the stress actors are under night after night.’
‘Heroin?’
‘Methadone, on prescription.’ His manner switched from aggression to supplication. ‘I’m fighting the addiction. I can give you my doctor’s name if you keep this to yourself. I don’t want the management finding out. Please.’
‘Does anyone else in this theatre know?’
‘Absolutely not. It would destroy my career.’
‘We can count on your co-operation, then?’
In a voice otherwise purged of defiance he managed to say, ‘Bastards.’
12
‘She definitely broke her neck,’ Keith Halliwell reported on his phone from the mortuary.
‘We know that,’ Diamond said. ‘I saw for myself, but was that the cause of death?’
Halliwell took a moment for thought, a moment that didn’t yield much. ‘Must have been.’
‘Not necessarily.’
‘Are you kidding me, boss?’
‘She could have been dead already.’
This didn’t persuade Halliwell. ‘What – and somebody pushed her off the loading bridge? Difficult. How would he have got her up there?’
‘There are pulleys and lines for hoisting things.’
‘He’d need help.’
‘Possibly.’ Unknown to Halliwell, the word that had first sprung to Diamond’s mind was “definitely”. His confidence was shrinking. Now that he’d spoken, his theory did sound far-fetched, if not totally off the wall.
‘If she died by some other method it would have shown up in the post-mortem,’ Halliwell pointed out. ‘You mean a bullet through the head or a dagger in the heart? There are more subtle ways of misleading a pathologist, Keith.’
‘I was impressed by Dr Sealy. He said because of the position she was found in, she must have been falling backwards. Therefore she climbed over the rail and held onto it with both hands before letting go. Suicides often do it that way, not wanting to look down. He said that’s why she didn’t end up on the floor. She didn’t see the battens that broke her fall.’
‘Pretty conclusive, then?’ he said without pressing his doubts. ‘No other marks or injuries?’
‘None that he noticed, and he’s thorough. He did add that he’d wait for the lab test on the samples he’d sent. There was some suspicion she’d taken alcohol shortly before she died. Even I could smell it.’
‘Dutch courage.’
‘I reckon.’
‘Whisky? Gin?’
‘He calls it ethanol. Same thing.’
Diamond was unimpressed. ‘Typical bloody Sealy. Alcohol to you and me. Ethanol to him.’
‘He couldn’t tell what drink it was. You get the same sharp, sweet smell whether it was cheap beer or vintage bubbly. When you’re alive, alcohol metabolises, but after death it gets trapped in the blood.’
The science didn’t interest Diamond so much as the how, when and where. ‘And what did he say about the time of death?’
‘Not much more than he said before. Probably between eight and twenty-four hours before she was found.’
‘No use to us. But thanks, Keith. How’s the stomach?’
‘Mine?’
Diamond smiled at that. ‘I’m asking if you could manage a sandwich after the post-mortem.’
‘I don’t see why not.’
Which is why you always get the job, he thought. ‘If you fancy a bite to eat, John Leaman and I are about to call at the Garrick’s Head. There was a punch-up at the theatre this morning. Tell you about it then.’
He was trying to be realistic. The theory he’d flirted with had withered away. Dr Sealy would surely have picked up some indications of murder. Post-mortems rarely add much to what is already obvious. True, Sealy cared more about covering his back than giving pointers to the police, but he was good at his job, and Keith Halliwell was a sharp-eyed observer. An unexpected discovery had never been likely. The case was moving to a conclusion. All it wanted was confirmation that Denise took responsibility for the Clarion incident. If her powder box contained traces of caustic soda, the suicide would be hard to deny. Paul Gilbert should soon report on the lab result.
‘Do I need a drink!’ he said to Leaman.
They were greeted in the pub by the barmaid announcing, ‘Here’s your friend, Titus. I told you he’d be back.’
The dramaturge, Titus O’Driscoll, at a table by the fireplace, looked up from the book he was reading. ‘My cup overfloweth. Well, it would have, if he hadn’t arrived with someone else.’