“He made that all right,” giggled Kitty. Then, catching Barnaby’s eye, she had the grace to blush. “Sorry, Tom. Bad taste. Sorry.”
“Can I pin you down on this, Kitty? It may be important. Can you remember precisely what it was he said?”
“No more than I’ve just told you.”
“What a coup de theatre it’ll be.”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure by ‘it’ he meant this transformation in Act One?”
“Well … that’s what he was talking about just before.”
Barnaby, watching Kitty closely, then said, “Your husband did speak once before he died.” No flicker of fear there. No spark of alarm. Just straight-forward curiosity. Damn, thought the chief inspector. And my favorite suspect, too.
“What did he say?”
“My sergeant got the sound of the word ‘bungled.’ That mean anything to you?”
Kitty shook her head. “Except …” Under Barnaby’s look of encouragement she stumbled on. “Well … that something had gone wrong. That’s what bungled means, isn’t it? And it had. For Esslyn, anyway.”
“Perhaps his grand coup de theatre. ”
“No—that’s at the beginning of the play. He pulled that off all right. This was right at the end.” Sharp little cookie, thought Troy, wincing as she shook out another cigarette and lit up. Catching his greedy eye, she held out the pack.
“Not on duty, Mrs. Carmichael, thank you.”
“Gosh. I thought that was just hard liquor and … er … what was the other?”
“I have a warrant with me, Kitty.” Barnaby got up abruptly. “I’d like to look through Esslyn’s effects before I go. Especially any correspondence and personal papers.”
“Help yourself. I’d better slip into something decent.” They followed her into the hall, and she nodded toward a door on the left. “That’s his study. See you in two ticks.” Troy watched her long, tanned legs disappear up the thickly carpeted stairs. He thought she looked like a delectable slave girl in one of those TV comedies set in ancient Rome. Where all the birds pranced around in shortie nighties and the men had brushes growing out of their helmets. He wouldn’t mind chasing her round the Forum. Whu-hoo.
“Forget it, Troy.”
“I’m off duty at seven, chief. Might find out something.”
“The only thing you’ll find out is how to stunt your growth. Now come on—let’s get cracking.”
They entered a small room sparsely furnished with a knee-hole desk, bookshelves, and a couple of armchairs. Troy said, “What are we looking for?”
“Anything. Everything. Especially personal.”
No section of the desk was locked, but the contents proved to be meager and unexciting. Insurance. Documents for the Volvo. Mortgage and a few bills. Bank statements that showed regular standing orders and moderate monthly transfers from a deposit account. Barnaby put these aside. There were also a couple of holiday brochures. They checked the shelves of books (all on accountancy apart from a set of Dickens that looked as if it had never been opened, let alone read) and shook them open, but no sinister letter or revealing billet doux fell out.
Esslyn’s wardrobe and the rest of the house were equally unrevealing. By the time they were ready to leave, Kitty, in a black jumpsuit, was racing away on her exercise cycle. She came down to the hall to see them out. She had brushed her hair, and it lay like pale satin against her velvet shoulders.
“Beautiful house,” said Troy, putting a friendly smile in the bank for future use.
“Miles too big for little me,” replied Kitty, opening the front door. “I’m putting it on the market tomorrow.”
“I should make sure it belongs to you first,” said Barnaby.
“What do you mean? Everything comes to me as next of kin.”
“A commonly held misconception, Kitty.” Then, looking at her suddenly frozen features, Barnaby patted her arm sympathetically. “I’m sure Esslyn left things in order, but I’d pop into the solicitor if I were you. Just to make absolutely sure.”
He left then, and his sergeant was about to follow when Kitty laid her hand on his sleeve.
“Funny you being called Troy, isn’t it?”
“Why’s that, Mrs. Carmichael?” Even through the thickness of his overcoat he could feel the warmth of her fingers.
“Cause my middle name’s Helen,” she said with a wicked smile.
“Hold it … hold it.”
Barnaby stopped Colin on line one, asked for some tea, and talked vague generalities until it turned up. He waited while Colin had dissolved his three sugars with a lot of active stirring, then pulled a pad and pencil toward him.
“Tea okay?”
“Yes, thank you.” Colin had been in such a state waiting for the chief inspector that he hadn’t really got much past picturing his own declaration of guilt. If he had, he’d certainly have envisioned a slightly more excitable reception than he had received so far.
“What did you expect, Colin?” asked Barnaby. “That I’d clap you in irons?”
Colin flushed. And felt a deep stab of alarm that the other man could read his mind so easily. He struggled to compose his expression. To set it in a mask of unconcern. “ ’Course not.” He swallowed nervously. “I knew there’d be tea. Seen it all often enough on the box.”
“Ah, yes. They only got bread and water before Hill Street. ”
Colin felt he should laugh or at least crack a smile. There was a long pause. What were they waiting for? Colin scraped his throat nervously and drank some more tea. Perhaps this was the way it worked. How they broke people down. Ordeal by silence. But what was there to break down? He’d come in to make a confession, hadn’t he? Why the hell couldn’t he just get on with it? The continuing quiet stampeded him into speech.
“It’s been preying on my mind, Tom.”
“Messing with the razor?”
“Yes. I felt I couldn’t … um … live with myself so … I came to confess.”
“I see.” Barnaby nodded seriously, but without, Colin noticed, writing anything on his pad. “And why exactly did you do it?”
“Why?”
“Not an unreasonable question, surely?”
“No … of course not!” Why? Oh, God, Colin! You great fool. You haven’t thought any further than the end of your bloody nose. “Because … he was awful to David … sneering and laughing at him at rehearsals. Humiliating him. I … decided he should be taught a lesson.”
“Rather a savage lesson.”
“Yes …”
“Disproportionately harsh, one might say.” Barnaby picked up his pen.
“I didn’t expect—” Colin’s voice strengthened. “He was an absolute bastard to David.”
“He was an absolute bastard to everyone.” When Colin did not reply, Barnaby continued, “Well, what didn’t you expect?”
“That he’d … die.”
“Oh, come on, Colin. Why do you think there were two thicknesses of tape on the thing? What did you think would happen when they were removed and he dragged it across his throat? If you’ve got the guts to come and confess, at least have the guts to admit you knew what you were doing.” Although Barnaby had hardly raised his voice at all, it seemed to Colin to positively boom, bouncing off each wall in turn, belaboring his eardrums. “So when did you take the tape off?”
“After Deidre checked it.”
“Obviously. But when precisely?”
“Do you mean the time?”
“Of course I mean the time!”
“… um … after she’d called the half, I think … yes. That’s right. So between seven-thirty and seven-forty.”
“Bit dodgy, wasn’t it? Must’ve been quite a few people about.”
“No. Deidre had gone to collect her ASMs from upstairs. All the actors were still in their dressing rooms.”