Diamond didn’t answer. He was still weighing the possibilities this had opened up.
Finally he turned away. ‘I’ll take another look at that dressing room.’
‘There was nothing in there,’ Titus said.
‘Nothing obvious.’
They returned to number eleven and its nine dressing tables and it still gave the impression of long disuse. Diamond stood in the centre with the air of a prospective buyer trying to visualise the place fully up and running. ‘Do the cleaners come in here most days?’
‘How should I know?’ Titus said, his voice piping in protest. ‘I’m not the caretaker.’
Diamond answered his own question. ‘Likely they wouldn’t when the room isn’t in use.’ He moved closer to the line of tables and crouched like a bowls referee judging a closely contested end.
‘Have you found something?’ Titus asked.
‘No.’
‘What are you doing, then?’
‘Looking at the table tops.’ He took two steps to his left and assumed the same position, eyes level with the surface.
Consumed with curiosity, Titus came closer and tried to ape Diamond’s stance. ‘There’s nothing I can see. Are you a sensitive?’
‘A what?’
‘Certain people have extra sensory perception.’
The man never let up. Diamond straightened up. ‘Be honest with me, Titus. Have you ever seen a ghost?’
‘Up to the present time, no. But I’m sensitive to emanations like the grey lady’s jasmine.’
So tempting to shoot him down in flames, but in a mysterious way Diamond didn’t care to dwell on, he had formed a liking for Titus. Back to reality. ‘I was right. The place hasn’t seen a duster for some time.’
‘It’s a dressing room, not an army hut.’
Unfazed, he moved on again to the next table, the last along that side. ‘When we came in just now we didn’t touch the tops of these, did we?’
‘I certainly didn’t,’ Titus said. ‘I watched you from the doorway. You looked into the shower room. You didn’t open any cupboards.’
‘Because there aren’t any,’ Diamond said. ‘It’s built for economy.’ He completed his examination of each of the surfaces on the facing side. Then he stood back. ‘What we have here are nine dusty tables and one over there’ – he pointed to the one farthest from the door – ‘has a distinct curved shape in the dust at the front edge. You’ve heard of fingerprints? That looks to me like a bum print.’
13
‘Talc, pure talc, and nothing else.’
‘That’s a pain. I thought we were getting somewhere.’
Diamond, Halliwell and Leaman had returned from their liquid lunch to find DC Paul Gilbert waiting in the CID room to report on the contents of Denise’s box of powder. It wasn’t the result anyone wanted to hear.
‘I could have had my feet up watching a film last night instead of standing in a car park kidding myself we’d found solid evidence.’
Young Gilbert hung his head as if he was personally res ponsible. ‘But we can use this,’ Diamond said, more in charity to the young cop than real confidence.
Gilbert looked up. ‘Can we?’
‘If Denise’s talc was harmless, how did Clarion come into contact with the caustic soda?’
‘It can’t have been accidental,’ Halliwell said, picking up the point. ‘We’re talking about a dangerous substance with all kinds of warnings on the container. Someone was hell-bent on damaging Clarion’s face. If Denise didn’t do it, who did?’
‘I can name some people with an interest in stopping Clarion.’ From across the room, Ingeborg said, ‘We’ve been over this, guv, and we got nowhere.’
‘Yes, but since we spoke I’ve met some of these characters.’
‘The understudy?’ Ingeborg said without enthusiasm.
‘Only four days into the run and already behaving like the prima donna. Clarion’s misfortune is Gisella’s big break. Very little sympathy there and huge ambition. For some reason,
though, she hasn’t moved into the star dressing room.’
‘Feels safer where she is?’ Halliwell said.
‘Could be as simple as that.’
‘Now she’s got the part, she doesn’t want to get unpopular with the rest of the cast, lording it over them?’
‘I can believe that, too. I pointed out that she’s the only person to benefit from Clarion’s exit from the play.’
