Stagestruck

It was tempting to leave the lawyers to discover the truth about the scarring episode and argue over who was responsible. They were going to make a long-running, expensive court action out of it for sure. He’d only been drawn into this at Georgina’s insistence, and she would be content if Sweeney Todd went ahead as scheduled. There was no reason why it shouldn’t. The legal process would be slow to start.

But his self-respect as a detective wouldn’t let him walk away. There ought to be a better explanation. He reached for one of the forensic textbooks on the shelf behind him. What would be the use of caustic soda in a theatre? Presently he learned that sodium hydroxide, as it was known to the scientists, was much more than a remedy for blocked drains. Destructive as it was to human tissue, it had useful applications, mainly because of its action on unwanted fats and acidic materials. Soap manufacturers depended on it for converting fat, tallow and vegetable oils. It was used in the processing of cotton and the dyeing of synthetic fibres, in the manufacture of pulp and paper, biodiesel and PVC. The recycling industry needed it to de-ink waste paper. Incredibly even food producers and water-treatment firms made use of the stuff.

For all that, he thought, the simple power to unblock drains seemed the best bet. A theatre with eleven dressing rooms – most with shared washing facilities – was certain to experience problems with waste water. Actors would be showering and washing away hair and make-up after every performance. It would be an ill- prepared theatre that didn’t have drain-cleaning products at the ready. A cheap, effective product such as caustic soda might be preferred to something with a fancy name that cost three times as much.

But where had Denise picked up the chemical, and why? He’d found none in her house. The theatre cleaning staff would have a store somewhere. He was wondering if supplies of the stuff also lurked in her workplace among the clutter of the wardrobe department, where costumes were laundered daily and drains might well need unblocking. Equally, some might be tucked away under a sink in one of the dressing rooms she visited.

The biggest mystery was how she could have made the mistake. Pure caustic soda came in sturdy containers with child-proof lids and a printed warning. Could a professional like Denise have muddled one with a tin of talc? The fine, white powder might appear similar, but the packaging was distinctive.

Early on, he’d speculated whether someone else had tampered with Denise’s make-up and this still seemed possible. Various people were unhappy that Clarion had the starring role. If one of them had decided to injure her and put her out of the play, they knew she was the only cast member being made up by Denise. Doctor the make- up and it was obvious who would take the rap.

This line of thought presented two problems he hadn’t resolved: opportunity and timing. First, Kate in wardrobe had said Denise arrived with her black leather make-up case and didn’t open it or leave it lying around. She went straight from the wardrobe room to Clarion’s dressing room. And second, there had been a delay of at least twenty minutes before Clarion reacted.

There had to be a way through this. Deep in thought, he clasped his hands behind his neck and stared at the ceiling. Finally he tapped the chair arm and stood up. He was no Sherlock Holmes. He needed to ask for a second opinion.

He got up and put his head around the door. ‘Is Ingeborg still about?’ She could well have gone home. It was late in the afternoon and she always got in early.

The only response came from Sergeant Dawkins, still at his desk in the hideous check suit. ‘Did you wish to see her?’

‘That’s the general idea.’

‘Will anyone do?’

‘If I’d wanted anyone, I’d have said.’

‘I’m ready for any assignment.’

‘You’re not, dressed like that,’ Diamond told him. ‘And there ain’t no assignment, as you put it.’

‘Am I grounded?’

‘If that’s how you want to think of it, yes. On essential office duties, as I told you. Do you know where Inge is?’

‘Does that make me a groundling, I wonder?’

‘Fred, I’m too busy for word games.’

‘I’ve also been busy. I transferred all the witness statements to the computer as instructed. My “to do” list is now a blank.’

‘Did she say where she was going?’

‘She did not and I didn’t ask.’

‘But she hasn’t gone home?’

‘With all due respect, that’s not a question you should ask a groundling about a colleague.’

‘For crying out loud, man, I’m not checking up on her.’

‘An informed guess, then. She may have gone to powder her nose.’

Powder her nose? Which century was this stuffed shirt living in? ‘I give up.’

This was the moment Ingeborg came through the door.

‘In here,’ Diamond said like a headmaster, pushed to the limit.

Ingeborg shrugged, looked towards Dawkins for a clue as to what was wrong, and followed Diamond into his office.

‘If I have to put up with that pillock much longer, I’m taking early retirement,’ he told her.

‘I thought it was me in the firing line,’ she said. ‘He’s not too bad if you make allowance.’

‘Believe me, I’ve made all I can manage. I want to tap your brain. I had a thought about the dead butterfly we found in Clarion’s dressing room. The reason I asked you to collect it the other night was simply to avoid an