“That’s right. Derek teaches drama at Eastvale Comprehensive. Amateur dramatics is only his hobby. Mark trained professionally in theatrical costume and set design.”
“Do the actors all have other jobs, like Mr. Wyman?”
“Yes. It’s an amateur company.”
“I’ll need to talk to Mr. Wyman when he gets back.”
“Of course. Sally in the box office should be able to give you his address.”
“When did Mark Hardcastle go to London?”
“Wednesday.”
“Was he supposed to be back here this morning?”
“He said he was driving back up Thursday afternoon.”
“Weren’t you concerned when he didn’t show up for work today?” “Not really. As I said, Mark’s our set and costume designer. His job is mostly done by opening night. We’re the ones who do the donkey work. He doesn’t carry lamps and bookcases around the stage—though in all fairness he helps out with the heavy stuff when we need him. Mostly he creates the vision of the production, the blueprint of how every scene and costume should appear. Along with the director, of course.”
“In this case Derek Wyman?”
“Yes. For some reason, they settled on German Expressionist sets for Othello, so it’s all big, unusual cut-out shapes, light and dark, angles and shadows. Very Nosferatu. That’s why they went to London, why Derek’s still there, actually. There’s a celebration of German Expressionist cinema at the National Film Theatre.”
“Do you know if Mark Hardcastle had a mobile phone?”
“No. He hated them. Used to go spare every time one went off during a performance. And that was more often than it should be, despite the warnings. What’s happened to Mark? I still can’t make any sense of this. You say he’s been found dead. Has there been an accident? Did someone kill him?”
The others all sat on the edge of the stage listening closely. “What makes you think that?” Winsome asked.
Ross looked at her. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you? Major Crimes.”
“We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet, Mr. Ross,” Winsome said. “In all cases of suspicious death there are certain protocols to follow, certain procedures.”
“So he didn’t just drop dead of a heart attack, then?”
“Did he have a bad heart?”
“It was just a figure of speech.”
“No, he didn’t drop dead of a heart attack. Was he ill?”
“His health was fine,” said Ross. “As far as we knew. I mean, he was always healthy enough, lively, full of energy and vitality. Mark loved life.”
“Did he take drugs?” Annie asked.
“Not that I was aware of.”
“Anyone?” Annie glanced around the room. They all shook their heads. She counted six people on the stage; that made seven, including Ross. “I’ll need to talk to you all individually at some point,” she said. “For the moment, though, can any of you tell me anything at all about Mr. Hardcastle’s recent state of mind?”
“Did he commit suicide?” asked the young woman who had been paying close attention from the start. She had a pleasant, heart-shaped face, free of makeup, and her light brown hair was tied back in a ponytail. Like the rest, she wore jeans and a T-shirt.
“And you are?” Annie asked.
“Maria. Maria Wolsey.”
“Well, Maria, why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. Just the way the two of you are talking. If it wasn’t an accident or a heart attack, and he wasn’t killed...”
“Suicide is one possibility,” Annie said. “Was he depressed or upset about anything?”
“He’d been a bit edgy lately,” Maria said. “That’s all.”
“Edgy? In what way? Why?”
“I don’t know why. Just... maybe, like there was something worrying him.”
“I understand that Mr. Hardcastle was gay,” Annie said.
“Mark was quite open about his sexuality,” said Vernon Ross. “Open without being... well, without overdoing it, if you understand what I mean.”
“This trip to London with Derek Wyman,” Annie went on. “Anything in it?”
Comprehension dawned on Ross’s face. “Good Lord, no,” he said. “Derek’s a happily married man. With children. Has been for years. They’re just colleagues with a shared interest in theater and film, that’s all.”
“Did Mark Hardcastle have a partner?”
“I think so,” said Ross, clearly a bit embarrassed by the whole idea.
“Maria?”
“Yes, he did. Laurence.”
“Do you know his surname?”
“I don’t think it ever came up.”
“Were you a particularly close friend of Mark’s?”
“I suppose so. I like to think so. I mean, as much as you could be. He never let you really close. I think things had been difficult for him. He’d had a hard life. But he was one of the best men I’ve ever known. Surely he can’t be dead? Just like that.”
“Was this relationship recent?”
“Six months or so. Just before Christmas, I think,” said Maria. “He was very happy.”
“What was he like before?”
Maria paused, then she said, “I wouldn’t say he was unhappy, but he was definitely more restless and superficial. He lived for his work, and I also got the impression that he was doing the rounds—you know, going through the motions, sexually, like, but that he wasn’t very happy. Don’t get me wrong. On the surface he was always cheerful and had a kind word for everyone. But deep down I think he was very unhappy and unfulfilled in his life until he met Laurence.”
“For God’s sake,” said Ross. Then he turned to Annie. “You’ll have to forgive Maria,” he said. “She’s our resident romantic.”
Maria blushed, with equal parts of anger and embarrassment, Annie guessed. “I can forgive her that,” she said to Ross, then turned to Maria again. “Did he talk much about this relationship?”
“Not in any sort of detail. He was just more... comfortable, more settled, relaxed than I’d seen him before.”
“Until recently?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever meet Laurence?”
“A few times, when he came to the theater.”
“Could you describe him?”
“About six foot, handsome, a bit sort of upper class. Dark hair with a touch of gray at the temples. Slender, athletic. Very charming, but rather remote. Maybe a bit of a snob. You know, a sort of public school type, to the manor born.”
“Do you know what Laurence does? What his job is?”
“Mark never mentioned anything. I think he might be retired. Or maybe he buys and sells antiques, works of art, something like that.”
“How old?”
“Early fifties, I’d say.”
“Do you know where he lives? We really need to find him.” “Sorry,” said Maria. “I don’t know. I think he’s fairly well off, though, at least his mother is, so he’s probably got a posh house. I know Mark was spending more and more time with him. I mean, they were practically living together.”
Annie saw Winsome make a note of that. “This change you noticed in Mr. Hardcastle lately,” she went on. “Can you tell me a bit more about it?”
“He’d just been a bit moody this past couple of weeks, that’s all,” Maria said. “He shouted at me once for putting a table in the wrong place on the stage. He never usually does that.”
“When was this?”
“I don’t remember exactly. Maybe about ten days ago.”
Vernon Ross glared at Maria as if she were betraying state secrets. “Lovers’ tiff, I should imagine,” he said.
“Lasting two weeks?” Annie said.
Ross gave Maria another stern look. “It didn’t appear serious at the time,” he said. “Maria did position that table in the wrong place. It was a silly mistake. It would have put the actor completely off his timing. But that was all. It wasn’t that serious. Mark was just in a bad mood. It happens to all of us. There was nothing that would drive him to suicide, for crying out loud.”