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.’
