‘Is the material funny?’
‘God knows. It seems pretty corny to me, but then I’m not an expert on comedy script. Also rehearsing it this way would take the humour out of anything. See how the audience reacts tomorrow night.’
‘I’ll be out front rooting for you, baby. And, incidentally, anything else I can do for you on the investigation front, just let me know.’
The Alexander Harvey Show was pre-recorded some four hours before its late-night Saturday transmission, so that any major technical cock-ups or offences against public decency could be edited out. Like most chat shows, it kept its guests in a well-stocked hospitality room until such time as they were fed out like gladiators into the arena with Alexander Harvey. The theory was that a drink would relax the guest into his most sparkling form. The danger was that the guests could become relaxed to the point of incoherence and occasionally even fall off their swivel chairs.
Charles was beginning to fear that this might be the case with Lennie Barber. The comedian had appropriated a whole bottle of whisky from the rather dishy researcher who was looking after them, and was working through it as if it were lemonade. Charles, who himself had a modest proficiency with a whisky bottle, was amazed at the speed with which it was going down. He was stinting himself for fear of forgetting the elaborate system of acting by numbers which he had just learned, but Lennie Barber seemed to be affected by no such inhibitions.
‘Bloody awful medium, television,’ the comedian mumbled disconsolately. ‘No atmosphere, you do everything a dozen times, keep stopping and starting. You can’t see the bloody audience and they can’t see you, for all the cameras and sound booms and bloody people. So many people around, just hanging around. Looks as if they’re gathering for a lynching.’
‘Didn’t you like it when you did the old Barber and Pole Shows?’
‘It was different then. Less sophisticated. Less bloody cameras. You just did your act. Now it’s all arty-farty. Still, you got to do it. Never turn up a telly. That’s what people watch these days. Got to be seen if you’re going to make it.’
‘Yes, and of course that’s where the money is,’ Charles contributed knowledgeably.
‘Not the real money. Sure, television’s good. But the real money for a comedian’s in cabaret. Those big cabaret joints, the clubs, they pay the comic all the door money, virtually. Make their dough on the drinks, and the chicken-in-the-basket. Yes, if you want to clean up, get on to one of the major cabaret circuits. Mind you, you need to do the telly for them to book you. Bleedin’ vicious circle.’ Lennie Barber morosely refilled his whisky. His hands were no longer bandaged, no doubt as a concession to the television camera, but he held the glass and bottle gingerly. As he put the bottle down, Charles saw on his palm the bright pink of new skin surrounded by yellowing flakes which were all that remained of the blisters.
Lennie Barber’s burns were genuine. Which, to Charles’ mind, made it very unlikely that the old comedian could have killed Bill Peaky.
‘Um, I think we’ll probably be going ahead in about ten minutes,’ said the dishy researcher, and added for the seventh time, ‘So it’ll just be about ten minutes’ chat along the lines Alex suggested and then straight into the sketch on the special set.’
‘Fine. Point me in the right direction when the time comes,’ Barber mumbled slackly.
‘Are you sure you, feel all right, Mr. Barber?’ Her pretty little face looked anxious. Good heavens, was this show going to be a MAJOR DISASTER to be talked about for weeks in the bar? Like all girls in their twenties in television, she took it TERRIBLY SERIOUSLY and she wasn’t sure that she could cope with an incapably drunk guest. Oh dear, would Alex blame her?
‘I’m on top of the world.’ Barber’s tones were even more slurred.
‘Oh, um. If you’ll excuse me, I must just have a word with the producer.’ And she scuttled out, all White Rabbit.
Charles, who had also been worried by the sudden deterioration in Barber’s condition, was relieved to receive a wink.
‘Get ’em worried. They love it in television. Feel lost without an atmosphere of panic.’
Charles laughed. ‘She’s a pretty little thing. Your type?’
‘My type?’
‘Your type of woman?’
‘I haven’t got a type of woman anymore. Just no interest in them. I’ve been through it all — affairs, marriage, divorce, one-night stands, little dancers, big landladies, the lot — and now I couldn’t give a damn. It’s as if all that bit of my life just doesn’t exist.’
‘But don’t you miss it?’
‘Never give it a thought. I find, getting older, lots of things that used to be important just don’t matter anymore. I look back and I think, why the hell did I waste all my time with that?’
‘Yes.’ Charles mused. In a strange way the moment seemed propitious to continue his inquiries into Bill Peaky’s death. With no apologies for the change of subject, he started. ‘Lennie, you know you told me about Bill Peaky having an affair with one of the girls in Hunstanton?’
‘With three of them, yes.’
‘But one in particular. Janine.’
‘Yes.’
‘You’ve no idea where she is, have you? I want to contact her.’
So far the comedian had not seemed to notice the change in direction of the conversation, but at this he looked up. ‘Now why do you want to contact her? Oh, just a minute, Walter told me something about you being a bit of an amateur detective on the quiet. Is that it? You think there may have been something funny about his death?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘The coroner didn’t seem to think so.’
‘No, but I happen to know that Peaky did test out his equipment as usual that day.’
Barber registered genuine surprise at that. ‘How on earth did you find that out?’
‘Norman del Rosa saw him. For reasons of his own he didn’t want to tell the police.’
‘I can guess the reasons of his own. He was off stealing the dancers’ knickers.’
‘Not far off.’
‘So, what. . you reckon someone fiddled with the electrics after Peaky had tested them?’
‘Again, it’s possible.’
‘But how?’
‘Haven’t got that far yet.’
‘Hmm. I think you may be on a wild goose chase. That theatre’s electrics were so ropey nothing would surprise me about them. I would imagine whatever the fault was just came and went.’
‘Maybe.’
‘But anyway, your suspicions are heading towards Janine at the moment?’
‘As she had been having an affair with him and had a major row on the day of his death, she would seem to have some sort of motive.’
‘Yes. Mind you, who didn’t? I don’t think there was a single person in that company whose back he hadn’t got up at some point. He was bloody rude to everyone — all the dancers, the pop group lot, that miserable little pianist. Even poor old Walter. He’d been hanging round for some time trying to get a telly show going, but Peaky treated him like dirt, kept saying he was getting better offers from the other companies, that sort of line.’
‘Oh, so Walter had been down to see the show before that day?’
‘Oh yeah, three or four times.’
‘I see. But going back to Janine. .’
‘Sorry. Don’t think I can help you. Never even knew her address.’
‘She’s moved anyway, but I thought you might know some of her friends or. .’
‘Don’t know she had any. You could try the rest of the group, I suppose. No, she was a funny little thing. Very quiet. Apparently lived with this boyfriend in London, but nobody never knew his name. I gather the entry of Prince Bloody Charming Bill Peaky into her life really confused her. Should she give up boy-friend? Should she even tell boy-friend? You know how screwed up kids get about that sort of thing.’
He spoke as if people who got upset about sexual matters belonged to an alien race. The whisky glass was filled again and emptied.