The main public ceremony would take place in the stadium just before the athletics meeting. The mayor would make a speech, an Olympic-style torch would be carried in by a young runner, and the whole shooting match would be declared open. In the evening, a civic reception was to be held in the new art gallery. Invitations were harder to get hold of than pickled onions in a narrow jar. It was rumoured that many of the uninvited had arranged holidays abroad to support their claims to have sent their apologies. Joe, on the other hand, felt neither surprised nor humiliated at not being on the list. In fact, if an invitation had dropped through his letter box, he'd probably have binned it as a bad forgery and a worse joke.
He ran in to Hooter Hardiman as he entered the stadium. He looked harassed.
'You still around, Joe?' said the man, making it sound like another straw on his already overladen back.
'Nice to see you too,' said Joe. 'You had any more thoughts about who might have been planting those notes? Someone in the Spartans, you thought, maybe.'
A nonstarter, he reckoned. This thing was way beyond a nasty practical joke. But so long as Hooter stayed on his suspect list, he might as well keep him lulled. And just because Starbright had caught Abe and Mary humping was no reason to revise the list.
'Don't you think I've got other things to keep me occupied than worrying about some hacked-off half wit demanded Hardiman. 'Every other bugger responsible for getting things organized for tomorrow seems to think I should be doing his job. I don't see why I've got to take on yours as well!'
He strode away. Genuine irritation or heavy play-acting, wondered Joe. Didn't matter which. If Hooter was a player, he reckoned it was a support role, not a lead. Find Alberich and the Rhinegold was safe. Why the shoot was his mind running on Wagner? Of course. Mrs. Mattison telling him about Montaigne's little joke. Good baritone part, Alberich. There'd been some talk of Boyling Corner putting on a concert version of Das Rheingold with the Luton Operatics, and there'd been a heady moment when Rev. Pot, musing on the problems of casting, had let his eye dwell speculatively on Joe as he referred to the malignant dwarf baritone.
Well, it had come to nothing, and if it had materialized, Joe didn't doubt he'd have ended up in the chorus as usual. But no harm in dreaming.
He essayed a few remembered phrases from Alberich's opening exchange with the Rhinemaidens, and was amazed when one of them sang back over his shoulder. True, it was in a tenor falsetto, but perfectly phrased for all that. He turned to find Starbright Jones standing behind him.
'Hey, man,' he said. 'You never said you could sing.'
'Can't really. You should've heard my old dad. But he had me at it soon as I could open my mouth without burping. You do more than karaoking?'
You really have been following me around, thought Joe.
He said, 'I'm in the Boyling Corner Choir.'
'You are?' He sounded impressed. 'Hear they're pretty good.'
'You?' said Joe.
'Was when I was younger. Sort of drifted away. Who're you after?'
Thought I might have a chat with Abe Schoenfeld.'
Jones nodded approvingly.
'He's your man,' he said. 'He's around somewhere.'
'Shouldn't you be keeping an eye on Zak?' asked Joe.
'She's showering.'
Joe thought of making a joke, remembered Starbright's secret passion, decided against it.
'Finished training already?' said Joe looking at his watch.
'She's got a race tomorrow, remember? Just a light workout is all she needs today. Listen, you get this sorted quick, see? If your way don't work, then I'll have to try mine.'
He walked away, looking as menacing in retreat as he did advancing. A high melodic line which didn't sound as if it could have any connection with him came drifting back. Joe thought he recognized it as Siegfried's outburst as he confronted the giant Fafner now turned into a dragon.
Time I got this sorted, thought Joe. Unless I want the blame for letting Starbright loose on an unsuspecting world.
He wasn't sure how best to play it. Or rather he was sure how best to play it, which was with subtle questioning and clever verbal traps to trick Schoenfeld into admitting what was presently only a nasty suspicion in Starbright Jones's mind. Trouble was, he didn't really know the rules of that subtle questioning game. Also it was worth remembering that if Schoenfeld was the guy behind the betting scam, then he was also the guy who reacted to interference by trying to cancel the interferer's ticket.
Maybe the best way to proceed was Starbright/Siegfried's after all! As Aunt Mirabelle used to say as she dragged him to the dentist, little bit of pain never hurt anyone.
He was into the warren of corridors connecting the offices and the changing areas now. Ahead of him a door opened and Mary Oto came out, clutching what looked like a length of fax paper. She didn't look in his direction but turned the other way. He paused till she turned a corner then hurried after her. The room she'd come out of was Hardiman's office. Cautiously he peered round the next corner and glimpsed her vanishing through another door. When he reached it he saw that it led into the men's locker room. This he recalled was where Starbright had overheard the activity which caused him such embarrassment. Chances were the woman had come in here to meet her boyfriend once again. What other reason? Joe didn't mind a classy strip show but he was no voyeur. He wanted to be in there before talking stopped and the action started. There wouldn't be just a single entrance to the changing rooms, would there? Fire regulations would demand at least one alternative. He went on down the corridor and felt a glow of satisfaction at being proved right. Cautiously he opened the door and peered in. No one in sight but he could hear the sound of a shower at the far end.
He stepped inside and made his way towards it.
