‘Who else knew?
A shrug. ‘Now you’re asking. Word gets round, even when you try and do something in secret.’
‘Who brought her up here?’
‘One of the security people, name of Binns.’
‘I’ve met him. Security so-called.’
‘Fair comment. Anyway, I was waiting in here for them. I welcomed her.’
‘How was she looking?’
‘I couldn’t see much. She was holding the scarf across her face, to hide the damage, I suppose. She seemed calm and said she’d be all right. I offered to send up a drink, but she didn’t want one. It was obvious she wanted to be left alone, so I didn’t linger.’ He shook his head. ‘What the press will make of all this, I dread to think.’
‘Do they know?’
‘I haven’t told anyone except you, but it’s certain to leak out.’
‘I can’t disagree with that,’ Diamond said. ‘Look, this is ridiculous, using a hand torch. Why don’t we get proper lighting? It’s a theatre, for God’s sake. They can point a spotlight straight in here.’
‘I’ll see to it at once,’ Shearman said, eager to be out of there.
‘Careful. Keep close to the wall.’
The little manager’s voice turned even more panicky. ‘You don’t think this was a crime?’
‘We can’t see unless you fix the bloody spot.’
Sounding as if he was hyperventilating, Shearman edged around the wall and hurried out.
‘Give me that torch,’ Diamond said to Halliwell.
No question: this nightmare was true. She was definitely the woman he’d visited at Frenchay Hospital. The scarring was still apparent, even if most of the redness had faded. As to a cause of death, he could see no bleeding at the mouth or nostrils. Although a grey chiffon scarf was around her neck, it wasn’t tight and there were no obvious ligature marks. She appeared to have fallen sideways from a chair that was still upright.
Sudden deaths can and do happen to people in the prime of life, but they are rare. This one had to be suspicious, to say the least.
‘Has anyone else been by?’ he asked Halliwell.
‘The two paramedics.’
‘When?’
‘Before I got here. A pathologist is on his way.’
‘Right. And who discovered her?’
‘The theatre director, I think.’
‘Shearman. Did he say what time?’
‘I got the impression it was when the show ended. I suppose he came up here with the idea of escorting her to a taxi.’
‘“Got the impression”?’
Halliwell looked uncomfortable. ‘I haven’t asked him yet.’
‘Why not?’
‘I haven’t been here long.’
Diamond bit back the impulse to find fault. ‘It’s all very odd, Keith. If she was murdered – and we’d better assume she was – it throws new light on the previous incidents.’
‘The dresser’s fall?’
‘And Clarion’s scarring. Is someone responsible for all three?’
Halliwell didn’t answer. He’d worked with Diamond long enough to know guessing wouldn’t do.
As if cued by Diamond’s remark about new light, the spot came on, dazzling them, and after their eyes adjusted they found the box deprived of its lush look. Cracks in the paint-work, old stains on the carpet. Even a cobweb on the ceiling was exposed in the glare, and tangled in it was a dead butterfly, a tortoiseshell.
Diamond gave it a glance and passed no comment.
The two detectives learned no more about Clarion’s death. There was no obvious injury, no sign of a weapon, not even a glass she’d drunk from. In the powerful light her skin was paper white apart from the scar tissue. There wasn’t the facial congestion you expect in a violent death like strangulation.
Halliwell spotted a black leather handbag on the floor below the front of the box. It was zipped. If theft had been the motive and money or cards taken, it was unlikely that the thief would have bothered to refasten the zip.
‘Leave it,’ Diamond said at once. Proper forensic procedure debarred them from handling anything at this stage. ‘We’re doing everything by the book, right?’
‘Right, guv.’
‘She’s so famous that every action we take is going to be picked over by the media. And what is more, from
