Ten minutes later, having accepted more tea and, to some degree, composed himself, Colin told Barnaby what he had observed in the wings at the first night of Amadeus. He spoke in an emotionless voice, hanging his head as if deeply ashamed to be speaking at all. Barnaby received the information impassively, and when Colin had finished, said, “Are you positive he was tinkering with the razor?”
“What else could he have been doing, Tom? Looking round so furtively to make sure that no one was watching. Bending over the props table. And he actually went into the toilet, came out, and went back again.”
“But you didn’t see him touch it?”
“No. I was over on the other side of the stage, behind the fireplace. And of course he’d got his back to me .. Colin looked up then and a tiny wisp of hope touched his voice. “Do you think … Oh, Tom … d’you think I’ve got it wrong?”
“I certainly think we’d better not leap to any more conclusions. One’s enough to be going on with. We’ll see what David has to say when he gets here.”
“David. .. here.. . Oh, God!” Horrified, Colin rose from his seat.
“Sit down,” said Barnaby, irritated. “You come in here and make a false confession. As you’re not a head case, it’s clear that you’re protecting someone. There’s only one person you’d go to those lengths for. Obviously we need to speak to that person. And here”—the buzzer sounded— “I should imagine, he is.”
As the door opened, Colin quickly bowed his shoulders and buried his face once more in his hands. He did not look up as David almost ran across the room and knelt beside him.
“Dad—what is it? What are you doing here?” Getting no response, he turned to Barnaby. “Tom, what the hell’s going on?”
“Your father has just confessed to the murder of Esslyn Carmichael.”
“He’s done what?” David Smy, absolutely dumbfounded, stared at Barnaby, then turned again to the figure crouched in the chair. He tried to move his father’s head so that his face was visible, but Colin gave a fierce animal cry and burrowed ever more firmly in the wedge of his arms.
David stood up and said, “I don’t believe it. I simply don’t believe it.”
“No,” replied Barnaby dryly. “I don’t believe it, either.”
“But then … why? What’s the point? Dad. ” He shook his father’s arm. “Look at me!”
“He’s shielding someone. Or thinks he is.”
“You stupid … What do you think you’re playing at?” Panic streamed through David’s voice. “But … if you know he’s lying, Tom … that’s all right, isn’t it? I mean … that’s all right?”
“Up to a point.”
“How ‘up to a point’?”
“Who do you think he would be prepared to go to prison for?”
David frowned, and Barnaby watched his homely face move through incomprehension, dawning apprehension, and incredulity. Incredulity lingered longest. “You mean … he thought it was me?”
“That’s right.”
“But why on earth would I want to kill Esslyn?”
Barnaby had heard that phrase (give or take a change in nomenclature) a good many times in his career. He had heard it ringing with guilty bluster and innocent inquiry; spoken in high and low dudgeon, afire with self-righteous indignation, and shot through with fear. But he had never before been faced with the quality of complete and utter stupefaction that was now stamped on David Smy’s bovine features.
“Well,” answered the chief inspector, “the general consensus seems to be because of your affair with Kitty.”
David’s expression of disbelief now deepened to the point where he looked positively poleaxed. He shook his head from side to side slowly, as if to clear it from the effects of a blow. Barnaby said, “I should sit down, if I were you.”
David collapsed into the second of the tweedy chairs and said, “I think there’s been some mistake.” Colin raised his head then, the disturbed agony of his gaze quieted, transmuted.
“You were seen acting suspiciously in the wings,” said Barnaby. “Around the quarter.”
David went very pale. “Who by?”
“We had an anonymous tip. These things have to be followed up.”
“Of course.” David sat silently for a moment, then said, “I was sure there was no one around.”
“You don’t have to say anything else!” cried Colin. “You have all sorts of rights. I’ll get you a solicitor—”
“I don’t need a solicitor, Dad. I haven’t done anything all that dreadful.”
“Do you think we could get down to exactly what you have done?” Barnaby said brusquely. “My patience is rapidly running out.”
David took a deep breath. “Esslyn told this unkind story about Deidre’s father. It was so cruel. Everyone laughed, and I knew she’d overheard. She was just on the stairs outside. Then I saw her afterward checking the sound deck, and she was crying. I got so angry. When she went upstairs to collect the ASMs, I got some scouring powder from the gents’ and I shook it all over those little cakes he eats in Act One. I know it was silly. And I know it was spiteful and childish, and I don’t care. I’d do it again.” Barnaby stared at David’s stubborn face, then shifted his glance to the boy’s father. Before his eyes Colin’s countenance was rinsed clean of misery and despair and brightly transformed as is a child’s face when a smile is “wiped” on by the back of its hand. Now, Colin was expressing a delight so intense it made him appear quite ridiculous.
“I didn’t know you fancied the girl!” he cried joyously.
“I don’t ‘fancy’ her, Dad. I care deeply for her and have for some time. I told you.”
“What?”
“We were talking about her last week. I told you that I cared for someone, but she wasn’t free. And we discussed it yesterday as well.”
“You meant Deidre?”
“Who else?” David looked from his father to Barnaby and back again. His expression was stern. He had the air of a man who was being trifled with and could do without the experience. “I don’t know who got this idea off the ground that I’d got something going with Kitty.” Barnaby shrugged and smiled, and David continued indignantly, “It’s no laughing matter, Tom. What if it got back to Deidre? I don’t want her thinking I’m some sort of Don Juan.” The thought of David with his shining countenance and straight blue eyes and simple heart in the role of Don Juan caused Barnaby’s lip to twitch once more, and he faked a cough to cover it. “As for you, Dad …” Colin, looking discomfited, shamefaced, and radiant with happiness, shuffled his feet. “How did you get to know about all this, anyway?”
“We called at the house,” cut in Barnaby before Colin could reply. Not that he looked capable. “I’m afraid your father drew his own conclusions from the form our questions took.”
“You silly sod,” David said affectionately. “I don’t know how you could have been so daft.”
“No,” said Colin. “I don’t either, now. Well …” He got up. “Could we … is it all right to go now?”
“Can’t wait to see the back of you.”
“Actually, Tom,” David said hesitantly, “there’s something I’d half meant to tell you. It seemed so vague, that’s why I didn’t mention it yesterday, but I’ve been thinking it over, and … as I’m here …”
“Fire away.”
“It’s very slight. So I hope you won’t be cross.”