‘Self promotion.’
She smiled. ‘But not what the well-dressed man is wearing. Maybe I should take him clothes shopping tomorrow.’
‘Good thought. I might view him differently as a smart dude.’
She was enjoying this. ‘And we’ll give the clown suit to a charity shop.’
‘Safer to burn it. Are you serious?’
‘About what?’
‘Getting him some sensible gear.’
‘Well, he’s desperate to get out of the office. The only outings he gets are to the little boys’ room.’
He snapped his fingers. ‘Got it.’
‘What?’
‘What Dawkins said. I asked him where you were and after rabbiting on about himself he said you may have gone to powder your nose. I had a mental picture of you in front of a mirror with an old-fashioned powder puff.’
‘And did that inspire you?’
‘It put a useful thought in my head. Well, it may be useful. Earlier I was trying to think of a way round one of the main puzzles in this case. How come Clarion wasn’t in pain until she got on stage, at least twenty minutes after she was made up?’
‘The pancake?’ she said.
He frowned. ‘Come again.’
‘Theatrical make-up. They apply it thickly for the stage. In this case it acted as insulation. The caustic soda went on last and only began to work when she got under the lights and started to sweat.’
‘Twenty minutes is still too long,’ he said.
‘How do you know that?’
‘Caustic soda is highly active. I’ve got a book on toxicology here and it talks of absorbing the moisture from the air, even. I doubt if she’d have left the dressing room before it started destroying the tissue. But I think I know what happened, thanks to Fred Dawkins.’
‘And me supposedly powdering my nose?’
‘Right. The caustic soda wasn’t in the make-up Denise used in the dressing room. Before the actors go on, when they’re waiting in the wings, isn’t someone there to touch up the make-up to stop them shining under the lights?’
She blinked in surprise.
‘Am I right?’ he said.
Now she stared as if he’d performed the three-card trick. ‘You are, guv. I saw it going on last night when Keith and I were backstage. A young girl was there with a make-up brush.’
‘That’s when Clarion got it.’
One mystery solved. To give credit where it was due, he’d had help, unwittingly, from Fred Dawkins. But he doubted if he’d tell the man.
‘Got anything planned for tonight?’ he asked Ingeborg.
She gave a slow smile. ‘Depends. I was going to wash my hair.’
‘Because I’d like to see this young woman at work and I need – ’
‘A sidekick?’
‘A guardian angel.’ And he meant it. A visit to the theatre was a test of nerve. Talk about stage fright. He had his own form of it.
After fortifying himself with a coffee he returned to the privacy of his office and phoned his sister in Liverpool, his only blood relative. Jean was three years older than he and they’d never been close. They each scribbled a short update on Christmas cards and that was their only communication these days. But after Steph’s death she had surprised him by travelling down for the funeral and he’d appreciated her presence there.
He didn’t spend long over the small talk. A polite enquiry as to her husband’s health (‘Physically, he’s fine. No problems at all.’ Leaving open the matter of Reggie’s fragile mental state) and then he plunged in.
‘I’m going to test your memory if you don’t mind. You remember how I hated being taken to the theatre as a child?’
‘Do I just?’ Jean said. ‘It ruined a birthday treat for me, as Mum never stopped reminding us. You got over it eventually, I hope?’
‘Actually no. I’m better than I was, but I still get uneasy. I wouldn’t visit a show unless I’m really pushed into it. Just now I’m on a case involving theatre people and the same old problem is getting to me.’
‘But you’re a tough old cop. You see all sorts of horrible things in your job.’
‘This is different. It’s involuntary. I get the shakes each time I enter the theatre. It’s stupid. I’ve got to get over it. Something way back must have started me off, but I seem to have blanked it out. If I knew the cause, I could deal with it.’
