Stagestruck

‘To make her story stand up. She wasn’t going to admit that the scarring was self-inflicted or she’d have been crucified by the press. So she had to point the finger at someone else. She waited a few days and then let it be known she was withdrawing the action, but without saying why.’

He was being persuaded, and now he added his own twist. ‘I wonder if she ever did instruct her lawyers. That’s something else you should ask the agent.’

‘Do we agree that the threat to sue was all a bluff?’

‘Could well have been, if this theory is correct. Her stay in hospital may have given her pause for thought. The doctors who treated her at Frenchay would have seen the state of her arms and worked out that she had a history of this.’

‘Wouldn’t they have informed us?’

‘Patient confidentiality.’

‘I’m all for that,’

‘So am I, until it gets in the way of a police enquiry.’ He drummed his fingers on the edge of the worktop. ‘And so we come to the even bigger question: does self-harming lead to suicide?’

‘You mean did she kill herself?’ The question hung unanswered for a long interval before Ingeborg said, ‘I don’t think it follows. Most of them are content to damage their bodies without wanting to destroy them.’

‘It’s not a slippery slope, then?’

‘You’d have to ask an expert, but I don’t believe it’s inevitable or even likely.’

He’d done enough theorising. ‘We have no clue as to what caused her death last night.’

‘But we should find out from the post-mortem. Will Keith be sitting in?’

‘He’s got lucky again, yes. But of course we’ll have the usual wait for test results.’

‘Is poison a possibility?’ Ingeborg said, her voice rising in anticipation.

‘She wasn’t shot, stabbed or strangled. There were no obvious injury marks, apart from those we’ve talked about.’

‘So it is.’

‘The trouble is we won’t know if she took poison herself or was given it.’

‘Was there an empty cup or glass in the box?’

‘I didn’t see one.’

‘Most poisons are slow-acting, aren’t they? I don’t think I’m with you on this.’

He let it pass. In fact he hadn’t declared for poisoning or any other form of death. He’d simply complained about waiting for results. But he wanted Ingeborg on side. ‘Hope it didn’t ruin your evening, turning out last night.’

‘It wasn’t a problem. I was ironing.’

‘Ironing?’

‘And listening to the radio.’

A domestic scene he hadn’t remotely imagined. He’d pictured her clubbing at Moles. It seemed even the funky Ingeborg wasn’t whooping it up every night of the week.

It was still early. After shaving, he got on the phone again and put in several calls to police authorities in the home counties. He’d given a promise to Paloma that he would follow up on that call he’d made to the Yard seeking information on Flakey White. She was right. For peace of mind, the damage of long ago had to be repaired if at all possible. Everyone he phoned said they would ‘look into it’. He suspected that their priority was at a lower level than his.

His first move of the day wasn’t to the theatre or Manvers Street nick, but south, into Somerset, with Paul Gilbert as back-up and chauffeur. An early call on Francis Melmot was essential.

The sun came out and Melmot Hall appeared dramatically out of an early morning mist, much of the west wing still obscured. A little over a week ago, Clarion had been driven here to be the guest of her unlikely fan and his sharp-asnails mother. What had the pop star expected of her stay in a stately home, and what had she experienced? She hadn’t remained here long.

‘Do you like lemon drizzle cake?’ Diamond asked young Gilbert as they approached the pedimented entrance.

‘I don’t even know what it is, guv.’

‘You’ve led a sheltered life. You could find out today. They’re famous for it here.’

Their knock was answered after a long delay by Melmot himself, wearing an ancient brown dressing gown over bare legs and with flecks of shaving foam around his nose and ears. ‘Do you know what time this is?’

‘Time for some questions about last night,’ Diamond said. ‘You know what happened in the theatre?’

‘Of course. I was there.’

‘Not when I needed to question you. May we come in?’

Melmot held onto the large oak door. ‘Can’t you come back later?’

‘That’s something you don’t say to the police, Mr Melmot.’

‘If you must, then. I wasn’t expecting visitors.’

‘You coped with hundreds the other day.’