Dead Certain

“Inspector Ashton! I’m Douglas Binns. We spoke on the phone? Afraid there’s a minor problem. Lloyd Clancy and Alanna Brooks are still in rehearsal. I know you made firm appointments, and both of them should be free soon, but… ah…” He trailed off into a glum silence.

He was neat, nondescript and eager to please. When Carol said, “Is Corinne Jawalski available?” he brightened immediately.

“Indeed, yes. I left her in the Green Room, actually, a few minutes ago. She isn’t due for rehearsal for some time, so if you’d follow me…”

The Stage Door entry was the beginning of a huge square tunnel that bisected the building from south to north and was large enough to accommodate trucks and machinery. At the far end Carol could see the scintillating light reflected off the water of Sydney Harbour. Binns led them past forklifts, stage flats, anonymous piles of equipment, then plunged into a network of stairs and passages.

Over his shoulder he said, “I’ve been in touch with Edward Livingston’s secretary since I last spoke with you, Inspector. I’m afraid Mr. Livingston can’t make time to see you for a few days, at least.”

He paused, seemingly embarrassed by his inability to deliver on schedule, but brightened as they entered a large rectangular room. Only a few people occupied an area that obviously could accommodate hundreds. At one end was a serving area with what looked like standard cafeteria food, at the other a wide window framed an arresting view of the harbor. Between these extremes of utility and beauty sat rows of tables and chairs like any communal eating space, and then, nearing the dazzling water, a lounge area and bar.

Smiling with obvious pride, he said, “The famous Green Room. You might be interested, Inspector, to know that seven hundred performers and staff eat here every day.”

Carol repressed a smile. “Indeed?” she said.

He waved a proprietary hand. “And these monitors show each theater, so one can sit here and see one’s cue on stage.” He paused, apparently expecting some positive reaction from his audience.

Half-smiling, Carol looked at Anne Newsome, who obediently responded, “That’s very interesting.”

This seemed to be sufficient. He swept them towards a red lounge near the glare of the window where a slight figure in a plain white dress sat desultorily flipping the pages of a magazine. “Corinne?”

She looked up, sulky and unsmiling. “Yeah?”

“This is Detective Inspector Carol Ashton and Constable Newsome.“ When she didn’t respond, he went on, “Corinne Jawalski, one of our brightest young stars.”

She came to her feet with one easy movement. Carol had the thought that she was one of those people who, although not beautiful, act as though they are. “You want to speak to me about Collis.” Her voice had been assured until she said his name. She blinked quickly, obviously attempting to regain control.

A year before, Corinne Jawalski had had the good fortune to step into a major role at short notice when a flamboyant imported soprano had fallen suddenly ill. The fledgling diva was already known to the general public because she had won a television talent quest and had then gone on to be featured in a series of advertisements devoted to the Tourist Board’s drive to depict Australia as a cultural identity rather than just a collection of scenic items. Unfazed by the searchlight of publicity, Corinne had sung Gilda in Rigoletto to spectacular effect, and her operatic career had moved into high gear.

At Carol’s elbow, Binns was looking anxious. “Inspector, would you like me to find somewhere private…”

Carol glanced around the almost deserted Green Room. “It’s only a few preliminary questions. Here will be fine, if it’s all right with Ms Jawalski.”

“Then I’ll check on the rehearsal. I’m sure they’ll be free soon. Be back shortly.”

As he hurried away, Corinne gestured to an adjoining red couch. Any grief for Collis Raeburn she might have felt was hidden as she said crisply, “Might as well make yourself comfortable, Inspector. I’ve got a few things to say.”

Dryly amused that her interrogation seemed to be in the process of being hijacked, Carol nodded to Anne to take her place, then obediently sat down. “Please go on.”

Head tilted to one side, the young woman surveyed her. At last she said, “Is this really an investigation, or is it just going through the motions?”

“Meaning?”

Her voice had grown harsh. “Do I have to spell it out? Hush up the scandal and accentuate the tragedy. That sort of thing.”

Carol gave her a brief ironic smile. “This is really an investigation. Now, what would you like to say?”

Corinne Jawalski pursed her lips. She had a plain, yet elegant face, heavy coils of rich brown hair and an aura of cool authority that was almost incongruous in one so young. “Next season, I was to be Collis’s new partner. He was going to tell Edward Livingston that he didn’t want Alanna singing with him anymore, at least in the roles that really need someone my age.” She smoothed the skirt of her white dress. “Quite apart from the fact she was older than Collis, it looks ludicrous, don’t you think, to have a middle-aged woman singing in Romeo and Juliet?”

Noting the thread of malice under the conversational tone, Carol wondered if she had been jealous of the other soprano. “They’ve been singing together for some time?”

“I suppose so.”

Carol probed a little more. “They were friends?”

Corinne flushed slightly. “What has this got to do with anything?”

Carol said mildly, “I was wondering how he told her about this new arrangement.”

She shrugged. “I’ve no idea if Alanna knew. Frankly, I don’t know if he told anyone else, but that’s what he was going to do. I mean, these things happen, don’t they? Things change.”

Carol said pleasantly, “Forgive me-I don’t understand the ins and outs of your profession, but I would have thought decisions about casting would not be left to the singers…”

Corinne’s tone was equally agreeable. “In most cases, of course not. But Collis could ask for anything… and he got it. It’s one of the perks of fame, Inspector Ashton.”

“Why was he thinking of replacing Alanna Brooks with you?”

The question elicited a complacent smile. “I don’t like to sound immodest, but Collis believed we would make a better team. I mean, Alanna’s had a great career, and she’s not that old for a singer, but…”

“She’s past it?” said Anne.

The young singer swung her attention to the constable. “Brutal,” she said with a faint curve to her lips, “but pretty accurate. Alanna had it to begin with-there’s no doubt of that-but her high notes are getting hard, the bloom’s off her voice. She should have years of singing left, but…” She added with unconvincing regret, “Faulty technique, probably.”

Such casual cruelty. Carol said, “When did you last speak with Collis Raeburn?”

The question jolted the young woman. Her expression of private triumph melted into misery. She dropped her head, saying almost inaudibly, “That evening.”

“He called you from his hotel?”

“Collis didn’t say where he was, but it must have been from the hotel. It was about seven and I was on my way out when my flatmate took the call. Beth called me back, but I was in a hurry, so we only had a short conversation.”

“Why was he calling?”

“Why was he calling,” Corinne repeated.

Repeating the question gives you time to think. What is it you need to think about? Carol looked over at Anne, and was pleased to see that she was watching Corinne Jawalski intently.

The young soprano put her hand to her mouth, then said with an attempt at nonchalance, “Nothing important. Just some stuff about Graeme Welton’s latest little epic.”

“Dingo? Were you to sing in it?”

“I wasn’t tied to it legally, if that’s what you mean. Poor Collis was packing death at the thought of the whole thing. Didn’t want to be involved, and couldn’t see how he could get out of it.”

“Did Mr. Raeburn sound depressed?”

“Well, he wasn’t very happy. I got the feeling Alanna was giving him a hard time.”

“Because you were to replace her?”

The singer gave an offhand gesture. “Don’t know. Could’ve been anything. Alanna’s always taken the role of