Stagestruck

‘I’ll put them back, in case.’ She was still holding one item, an envelope. ‘This looks like a letter. To All at the Theatre Royal.’

‘Is it sealed?’

‘No. Shall I see what’s in it?’

‘Let me,’ Diamond said.

She handed it across.

He took out a sheet of paper and gave it a rapid look. ‘This is a suicide note.’

15

My Dear Friends,

This theatre has been my life and you have been my family, all of you, for six happy years. I can’t thank you enough for all the warmth and support you have given me and the wonderful moments we shared. I had no idea everything would change overnight, but it has, through my own stupidity. I’m deeply sorry now about what happened to Clarion and I pray that it won’t be permanent. I hope by some miracle the theatre and all of you can survive this. But for me there can be no future in my beloved Theatre Royal, my home, and this is where I have chosen to put an end to it, backstage where I belong.

Please don’t mourn. No black clothes. No prayers at my funeral. If my ashes could be scattered in the theatre garden that would be more than I deserve.

Goodbye and blessings.

Denise

Diamond handed the note to Ingeborg. Fred Dawkins stood beside her and read the words at the same time.

‘Poor soul,’ Ingeborg said.

‘Brave soul,’ Dawkins said.

‘True.’

‘Blaming no one else.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard suicide called a coward’s way out, but I don’t agree with that.’

‘Even to think about one’s own funeral.’

‘It’s been written on a computer and printed out,’ Diamond said, unwilling to join in the fatalistic talk and already querying this as reliable evidence. ‘Suicide notes are usually written by hand.’

‘Guv, we’re in the computer age now,’ Ingeborg said. ‘No one writes anything by hand apart from shopping lists. If I were doing one of these I’d use my laptop. She’s signed it by hand.’

‘We’ll get the signature checked,’ he said and then as he thought about forensics, ‘If I’d been sharper, we wouldn’t have handled it. They can get prints from paper. Someone is going to rap my knuckles over this.’ With a shrug and a wry smile, he started to fold the note.

‘Don’t, guv,’ Ingeborg said. ‘The more you touch it, the less chance there is of finding anything. We need an evidence bag.’

‘Did anyone think of bringing one?’ he said with a look that said it was more their fault than his.

Dawkins was never stumped for a suggestion. ‘Place it between two of the other sheets of paper.’

‘Good thinking, Fred,’ Ingeborg said.

Outnumbered, Diamond didn’t argue.

The same evening when he called for Paloma, she was in her office scanning pictures of frock-coated Victorians for the costume designer of Sweeney Todd. ‘Could you lower the lid while I hold this engraving in place? Gently.’

The scanner hummed and another image was stored. The BLOGs would have more than enough authentic illustrations to work with.

‘Did I tell you my boss has made it into the chorus?’ Diamond said.

‘Georgina? Good for her. She’ll be one of the Fleet Street women in a bright bodice and skirt.’

‘More out of the bodice than in. She’s a well built lady.’

‘Front row for her, then. The BLOGs maximise their assets.’ She picked up a book and opened it at the page she wanted. ‘One more, and we’re done. I hope this damn show goes ahead. I’ve invested a lot of time in it.’

‘It’s on. The theatre has a future.’ He told her about Clarion deciding not to proceed with the lawsuit.

‘Sensible woman,’ Paloma said. ‘The only people who make money out of the courts are the lawyers. Who told you this?’

‘Francis Melmot, the chairman of the trust. They can’t believe their luck.’

Then he told her about finding the suicide note.

‘Not a bad day all round,’ she said. ‘The theatre is in the clear and the note proves what happened to Denise. Case closed.’

‘If the note is genuine.’

‘Why shouldn’t it be?’