Kate, in wardrobe, sighed heavily. ‘Denise was my senior dresser. I can’t think what drove her to this.’
‘She used this room as her base, I was told.’ Diamond couldn’t see where. He was wedged between an ironing board and a washing machine. Every surface was covered in layers of dress materials. Racks of costumes, hatboxes piled high, wigs on dummy heads and sewing machines filled all the other space.
‘She did, but you wouldn’t know. She always brought her own things with her and took them away at the end of the show.’
‘What things?’
‘Her bags, I mean, with all she needed. Dressers are expected to deal with any emergency from a missing button to a false moustache that won’t stick.’
‘Make-up?’
‘In rare cases, yes.’
‘Like Clarion?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did Denise supply the make-up for Clarion?’
‘That’s right. Her own. She had a special bag for it.’
‘Describe this bag, would you?’
‘Black leather, rather like an old-fashioned doctor’s bag, with all the pots and brushes inside. I expect you’ll find it in her house.’
‘We already searched. It isn’t there.’
‘In her car, then.’
‘Do you know where she parked?’
‘Anywhere she could. Finding a place is a lottery at this time of year, with all the summer visitors.’
He looked across the heaps of costumes and materials. ‘I was wondering if she left a note somewhere.’
‘A suicide note? I haven’t found one. I don’t think she’d leave it here. Things get covered over. I’m always losing scissors.’
‘It’s worth a check.’
‘If it’s anywhere, it would be somewhere near the door where you’re standing. She’d hang her coat there and chat, just like you are.’
He didn’t class his questions as chat. After lifting everything within reach and finding no note he asked, ‘Did she seem anxious about anything?’
‘Anxious? Not Denise. She wouldn’t mind me saying she was as tough as old boots. She’d done all sorts. At one time when she couldn’t get theatre work she helped out an undertaker’s, prettifying the departed for their relatives to see them. She also toured with a theatre company in Bosnia when the war was going on. And when she was just a slip of a girl she was involved with a prison drama group in Manchester, murderers and rapists. She was no wimp, bless her.’ She produced a tissue and blew her nose, but Diamond had the impression it was more about self-pity than sympathy. The loss of the senior dresser would add to the workload.
‘Did she talk to you about the current production?’
‘I talked to her. As one of the dressers she works for me, you see.’
The pecking order again. ‘Are there others?’
‘Usually, yes, but not for this production apart from one little student who helps out. There are only seven actors and not many costume changes.’
‘Did Denise have anything to say about the casting?’
‘We consulted over the costumes and make-up.’ A guarded answer.
‘Yes, but did she say anything about
The last words were a mistake. Kate shook her head before he’d finished saying them. He had an instinct that this big-eyed, blousy woman who didn’t like being known as the wardrobe mistress would be a rich source of gossip if only he could tap into it.
‘Come on, Kate,’ he said. ‘You just told me she liked a chat. You both had to work with the same set of people. Actors are fascinating to be around, aren’t they?’
‘Tell me about it,’ she told him, rolling her eyes, and then appeared willing to say more now that the focus had shifted from Denise. ‘They’re like kids, most of them. It’s all “me, me.” And if they’re not full of themselves they’re sucking their thumbs in a corner, wanting to be mothered. It depends.’
‘How was Clarion getting on with everyone?’
‘Clarion?’ She spoke the name as if it had no connection to the cast. ‘All right.’ Said without conviction.
‘Nervous?’
‘She was confident in one way, used to dealing with people, but it stood out a mile that she was terrified of acting. She’s used to going in front of an audience, huge audiences sometimes, but not speaking lines. She kept telling us she’d had drama training, and I think she was trying to convince herself more than us. She wasn’t much good in rehearsal.’
‘Forgetting her lines?’
