‘But would he risk the theatre closing?’
‘It didn’t, guv. Everything carried on as usual after Denise’s death. He was one of the keenest to let the show go on. He argued with you about the matinee that was cancelled.’
‘True.’
‘He looks the strongest suspect we have,’ Paul Gilbert said.
Diamond was reluctant to pin it on Shearman at this point. ‘Are you also suggesting he murdered Clarion?’
‘He was the man on the spot, wasn’t he?’ Halliwell said. ‘He arranged for her to be seated in the Arnold Haskell box. He could have gone there any time during the play. He was the only one of the theatre staff we know for sure was in there with her. He admits she was dead at the interval and he delayed reporting it until the show was over. If that isn’t guilty behaviour, what is?’
‘But why? Why murder Clarion?’
Halliwell shrugged. ‘He’s unstoppable. He fancied his chances with her.’
‘Little Hedley Shearman?’ Diamond shook his head. ‘With an international pop star?’
‘You’ve got to remember how vulnerable Clarion was at that stage. She’d been scarred. She’d come back to the theatre, his territory. He felt he had power over her, placing her in the box. He came on strong with her, she told him to get lost and he snapped and killed her.’
‘With a plastic bag he happened to have brought along for the seduction? I don’t think so, Keith.’
Halliwell wasn’t giving up on his suspect. ‘Well, he tried it on earlier, before the interval, and she laughed in his face. He was humiliated, so he went back with the bag and suffocated her.’
‘Thanks. I’ll bear it in mind,’ Diamond said in a tone suggesting the opposite. ‘Has anything else of interest been uncovered yet?’ He moved around the room looking over people’s shoulders. He could be an intimidating presence. Everything went quiet again apart from the tapping of keyboards and the occasional beep of the phones.
One of the civilian staff called him to the phone. ‘DI Leaman would like a word, sir. He’s at the theatre.’
He picked it up. ‘John?’
‘Guv, we’ve started the search here.’
‘Any joy?’
‘I’m in wardrobe, with Kate.’
‘Lucky man.’
‘You asked us to look for carrier bags. The thing is, Kate has to do shopping for costumes and materials. She has a stack of bags. So far I’ve counted forty-seven.’
19
Patience was a virtue Diamond didn’t have in abundance, but over the years he’d cultivated a little of it. Experience had taught him that you can’t rush the people who work in forensic labs. The blood test results from the post-mortem on Denise Pearsall would be revealed only when the scientists were ready. The men in white coats were well used to dealing with calls from policemen wanting swifter action. However, the same constraints didn’t apply to document examiners. They were used less often, so fair game for some badgering, in Diamond’s opinion. The suicide note supposedly written by Denise and recovered from the fake stove on stage at the theatre had been sent to an expert in Bristol called Lincroft. He hadn’t reported back yet.
‘Fearfully sorry, but I can’t help you much,’ Lincroft said when Diamond phoned him. ‘There isn’t much to go on.’
‘A signature.’
‘Half actually. She signed with her first name only.’
‘We sent you her real signature to compare it with.’
‘Well, I couldn’t do much without. If the suicide note is a forgery, it’s a good one. Often you can tell under the microscope, for example when there’s some shakiness to the writing from the effort to make an exact copy. There is slight evidence of a tremor here, but one has to make allowance for the writer’s state of mind.’
‘I don’t know how you ever reach a conclusion,’ Diamond said, hearing himself apeing the laid-back voice.
‘Usually there’s more to work with. And I don’t confine my researches to suicide notes. You’d be surprised what gets referred to me apart from the usual cheques and wills. Degrees, diplomas, even sick notes. Sometimes the deception is obvious, when, say, they trace over a signature in pencil and ink it in after. This certainly didn’t happen to the note in question.’
‘If this is a forgery – and there’s reason to think it is – how do they make it look right?’
‘By working from a genuine signature and practising. In that way they avoid the giveaway signs of uneven speed and pressure.’
‘But I can’t look to you for a firm opinion?’
‘I did say it was quite well done if it isn’t the real thing. I’ve spent considerable time, effort and taxpayers’ money examining this document. The fact that it’s merely a forename makes my task even more demanding. Even if I work on it for another week I’m unlikely to say what you want to hear.’
‘Oh, brilliant.’
At this point, Lincroft must have been moved by the disappointment in Diamond’s voice. ‘If I were you, I’d come at this from another direction.’
‘Oh?’
‘The letter was computer-generated. Did this lady possess her own computer and printer?’
‘Yes, but you can’t tell anything from printed stuff. It’s all done by laser, isn’t it? The days are long gone when we all used typewriters with chipped keys.’
‘Some modern printers still give information. I noticed some specks down the right edge, very small, deposited by the toner.’
Diamond picked up the photocopy he had of the note. He’d already seen some tiny dots randomly spread and hadn’t thought anything of them.
‘Cleaning the drum removes them,’ Lincroft went on, ‘but people tend to wait until the marks get worse and become obvious. There must be enough here to identify the printer that was used. I suggest you run some paper through the lady’s printer and then compare it.’
He was impressed. ‘Sounds like good advice.’
‘Glad to be of service. I’ll return the letter with my invoice. Goodbye.’
The phone went dead. There were times when Diamond wished he, too, was self-employed and issuing invoices.
He checked with the store downstairs where evidence was kept. They had what they called Denise’s motherboard, but not her printer. ‘Why not, for crying out loud?’ he said, and then aired his new expertise. ‘Some printers leave marks, you know. Vital information.’
They said it wasn’t their fault, but they would send someone to Dolemeads to fetch it.
‘Pronto.’
‘If that’s what you want, sir.’
‘What I really want is for someone to run a dozen sheets of blank paper through the thing and have them on my desk within the hour.’
He went down to the canteen. He’d arranged to meet his new recruits there. George Pidgeon and Dawn Reed were waiting by the door, as edgy as first night actors. Was it his imagination, or were police getting younger?
‘You should have gone in,’ he told them. ‘Or are you waiting for me to buy you tea and a bun?’
PC Reed started to explain, but Diamond interrupted. ‘You’ll soon learn that I’m not easy to work for. Whatever you do, it’s wrong. Coffee?’
They hesitated as if it was a trick question.
‘I’m having tea and a Bath bun,’ he said.
‘The same for me, sir,’ PC Pidgeon said at once.
‘But we’ll buy our own,’ Reed added.
‘In that case you can buy mine as well while I bag a table,’ Diamond said.
From the far side of the canteen he watched with amusement as they lined up at the counter talking earnestly to each other with an occasional glance to where he was, most likely settling who would pay for his tea and bun.
When they came over with the tray he held out a fiver.
‘It’s on us, sir,’ Reed said.
‘It isn’t. I brought you here. I pay.’
Having worked with Fred Dawkins, this young lady was used to being overruled.
That settled, Diamond said with an effort to be friendly, ‘You’re asking yourselves why you’ve been plucked from the ranks. It’s because I’ve seen you in action, both of you, and I liked what I saw. George, when you found that car for me the other evening you asked about the possibility of a transfer to CID.’