‘Winding down. It wasn’t one of my better days.’ He told her about his visit to Flakey White. ‘I came away feeling a bully and an idiot. He appears to have led a blameless life since he got caught.’
‘I wouldn’t waste sympathy on him,’ she said. ‘Those underage girls he had sex with won’t have forgotten or forgiven.’
‘I know, but it’s different from abusing small boys. He never touched me.’
‘Are you certain? Do you know about paedophiles? Do they make a distinction or do they just prey on children because they’re vulnerable?’
‘In this case I am certain. I saw the surprise in his eyes when he realised what I was on about. That was genuine.’
‘So you’re left in uncertainty again?’
‘I asked him if any of the others might have touched me and he pretty well convinced me it didn’t happen.’
‘Something happened to you. Something deeply upsetting,’ Paloma said. ‘Let’s get this clear. After the play finished you went directly on holiday at the farm in North Wales.’
Her desire to help was well meant. He suppressed the sigh that was coming and repeated the salient facts. ‘Where my sister had her eleventh birthday and for a treat we were taken to the Arcadia Theatre at Llandudno and I refused to stay in there. I kicked up a fuss even before the show started.’
‘You were in your seat?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you hadn’t objected to going into the theatre? Whatever this upset was, it happened when you were in there. Do you see what I’m saying, Peter? It wasn’t the idea of going inside.’
‘It is now. I damn near throw up when I approach the entrance.’
‘But the first time it happened, you didn’t. I was thinking this over last night. You told me your theatre phobia – you don’t call it that, I know, but let’s give it a name for clarity’s sake – you said it didn’t affect you some time later when you were taken to the Mermaid Theatre.’
‘For
‘Yet
‘I walked out before it started. My teacher only found out later. Are you going to tell me the choice of play makes all the difference?’
‘No, I’m not. It’s obvious that the theatre does.’
He stared unseeing across the empty CID room. ‘But why?’ Paloma’s reasoning seemed to be circular. He had no expectation of a breakthrough.
‘Can you remember any other theatre where you weren’t aware of the phobia and just enjoyed the show?’
He didn’t have to dig deeply in his memory. His theatre-going didn’t amount to much. ‘Once when I was in Chichester with Steph we saw a comedy by some guy from somewhere up north, Scarborough, I think.’
‘Ayckbourn.’
‘Was it? You know better than me. Anyway, there were no alarms for me. It was very funny.’
‘Chichester,’ Paloma said. ‘Now that’s interesting. Chichester has a thrust stage. It projects out into the audience, with the seating around it. And the Mermaid was open stage as well.’
‘Does that make a difference?’
‘You’re the one who can answer that. There’s no curtain in an open-stage theatre.’
‘True.’
‘No curtain, Peter, and no problems for you. Do you follow me?’
‘Are you saying I have a fear of curtains? I’d never go anywhere if I did.’
‘Theatre curtains. Bath has curtains. So does the Old Vic. And no doubt the Arcadia at Llandudno. As soon as your family were seated, you couldn’t get out fast enough. Am I onto something?’
‘Search me. Curtains.’ But he tried to give it more serious thought. He couldn’t deny that he’d gone to some lengths to avoid looking at the Theatre Royal curtain – the treasured house drapes donated by the Chaplin family. ‘That would narrow it down for sure.’
‘Did something unpleasant happen with the curtain in that play you were in as a child?’
‘Nothing I can remember. I’ve no memory of the curtain. I suppose they had one. It was just a church hall.’
‘They surely would. Give it some thought. It may yet come back to you.’
Enlightened? In truth, no. He’d said the right things to please her. She cared about him, and he appreciated that.
After putting down the phone he picked up the notes Dawkins had made on Charlie Binns, the security man. As a piece of research, it was all he could have asked for. Fred was a pain in many ways, but give him a job like this and he was as reliable as anyone on the team. Binns, aged thirty-six, was a Londoner, born in Stepney to a couple who managed a dry-cleaning shop, a poor scholar who failed most of his GCSEs, joined the army as an apprentice and served until 1996, ending as a corporal. He’d had a series of jobs in the building trade, followed by two years as an assistant undertaker. He had then started in the security business as a part-time bouncer for various pubs and nightclubs. Twice divorced, he had a child by the first marriage and had defaulted a number of times on the maintenance payments. Over the last three years he’d held down a regular job with his current security firm and resumed the payments. He was living alone in a rented flat in Twerton, to the west of Bath. He belonged to a martial arts club and was a black belt in judo.
