‘Some rival singer could have got to her,’ Halliwell said.
‘Would they bother?’ Diamond said. ‘I get the impression her career was on the skids.’
‘A crazy fan, then?’
‘The problem with these suggestions is that the rival or the fan would have to get backstage before the show. Not impossible, but it’s much more likely it was an inside job – someone who could get past the stage-door keeper without being challenged.’
‘Plenty of people work backstage,’ Ingeborg said. ‘It isn’t just the actors. The director, for one.’
‘Hedley Shearman.’
‘He’s the theatre director. I meant the director of the play. Sandy someone.’
‘Block-Swell. Sandy Block-Swell. He wasn’t even there on the first night. After the dress rehearsal he said he was certain everything would be all right, and he pissed off to Hollywood to direct a film.’
‘Sod you lot, I’m all right.’
‘Apparently he’s like that. But you’re right, Inge. We need to find out who was around on the night it happened.’
‘I sense a job coming my way,’ Halliwell said.
They knew Diamond’s methods, these two. He shook his head. ‘Not a job exactly. We don’t have a case yet.’
‘Call it what you like, guv, it amounts to the same thing.’
‘More like a perk than a job. If you happen to be free this evening I’ll treat you to a theatre visit, the pair of you.’
‘Me and him?’ Ingeborg said, turning pale. Keith Halliwell was at least twenty years her senior, and married. She had an image to keep up.
‘What’s wrong with that?’ Halliwell asked.
She didn’t say. She’d already thought of a get-out. ‘Can we get tickets as late as this?’
‘They won’t be hard to come by, with all the returns,’ Diamond said. ‘Aisle seats at the back if possible, leaving you free to move about.’
‘It isn’t just a chance for her to date me, then?’ Halliwell said, with a superior look at Ingeborg.
‘What do you think?’ Diamond said. ‘Before the show, test the security backstage. See if you can enter by the stage door. Failing that, there’s a way down from the royal circle. I want to know which dressing rooms are in use and where everyone is.’
‘What if we’re challenged?’ Halliwell asked. ‘Do we own up to being cops?’
‘Why do you think we wear plain clothes?’
‘What’s our cover, then?’
‘They’ll take us for press,’ Ingeborg told Halliwell. ‘We can say we’ve been promised an interview.’
‘Good suggestion,’ Diamond said. ‘Inge can be the reporter and, Keith, you’d better carry a camera.’
‘Some treat, this.’
‘A night at the theatre?’ Diamond said. ‘CID doesn’t get better than that. And in case you think I’m getting off lightly, someone has to cosy up to that fruitcake Sergeant Dawkins and find out what he got from the theatre director and the dresser who applied the make-up.’
Neither would have volunteered for that.
The theatre seemed to be returning to normal as the day went on. Most of the press had given up and gone. The first rush of people wanting to return tickets was over. The box office manager reported that tonight’s house would be down in numbers, but not embarrassingly so. Hedley Shearman, still agitated, went down to the stage door on a mission he regarded as difficult, but necessary.
Basil, the doorman, had seen it all in his time from Oh, Calcutta! to The Rocky Horror Show, and was trying to be a tower of strength. ‘I wouldn’t worry, Mr Shearman. Theatre people are far too excitable for their own good. Some of them live off their nerves. You get a crisis like we had last night and everyone seems ready to panic, but they don’t. When the shit hits the fan, if you pardon my French, they’re professionals. Look at what happened. That Gisella was word perfect. I was told she was better than Miss Calhoun.’
Shearman hadn’t come for a pep talk. ‘I’m going to ask you a question about last night, Basil. Think carefully before you answer. Were you here all evening?’
‘Always am, Mr Shearman.’
‘And do you remember admitting anyone you wouldn’t have expected?’
Basil shook his head.
‘No strangers? No one asking to go backstage on some pretext?’
‘Nobody gets past me unless they’re staff, or in the show.’
‘It’s frightfully important. Do you know each of the cast?’
Basil nodded. ‘There’s only seven of them.’
‘What about the technical people, scene-shifters and the like?’
‘There aren’t many of them this week. This one is a bread and butter show. Small cast, no set changes or special effects.’
‘Is Denise in?’
Basil shook his head. ‘She was here all morning. She’s entitled to a little time off.’
‘I know that.’
‘She isn’t back yet, but I expect she won’t be long.’
‘The minute she arrives, tell her to report to me. On no account is she to do anything with make-up. And one other thing, Basil.’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Because of what happened, I’m making more use of the security people this week. This is no criticism of you, but I’ve asked them to man all the entrances tonight and for the rest of the week. That includes the stage door.’
Basil’s face creased into a frown. ‘You’re putting a security man on my stage door?’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘As well as me, you mean?’
‘Instead of you.’
Basil blinked. ‘Eh?’
‘I’m giving you the rest of the week off.’
Outraged, he said on a rising note, ‘Laying me off?’
‘On full pay.’
‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘I just made that clear, Basil. It isn’t personal. We value your experience.’
‘Just my point – experience. Security men won’t know any of the actors.’
‘They’ll be given a list, and a copy of the programme with the actors’ pictures. I want a uniformed presence on the door.’
‘Are you expecting more trouble, then?’
‘It’s not a case of that. I want everyone to know that we’re serious about security. You can take a few days off.’
‘As you wish, Mr Shearman,’ Basil said with dignity, as if he were Gielgud overlooked at an audition.
The eccentric Sergeant Dawkins entered Diamond’s office with a faint smile playing on his lips. ‘You sent for me.’
‘I did. Have a seat.’ Diamond already felt blighted. Whichever way he started with Dawkins, awkwardness took over. ‘You were at the theatre this morning checking on what happened last night. Would you give me a quick rundown?’
‘That depends,’ Dawkins said, looking at the back of his hand as if checking for liver spots.
‘Depends on what?’
‘How quick is quick.’
‘A summary, then. You don’t have to tell me every word.’
‘Nor shall I, ‘Dawkins said, settling into the chair. ‘First of all…’
‘Yes?’
‘First of all, may I be so bold as to ask the subtext.’
‘The what?’
‘The subtext.’
‘You’re losing me.’
‘The hidden agenda.’
‘I don’t know what you’re on about.’
Dawkins gave a broader smile and said nothing.
‘You’re talking in riddles, man,’ Diamond told him. ‘Subtexts and hidden agendas. Explain.’
The sergeant turned to look out of the window, as if the answer might be in the car park below. ‘Powers of observation, analysis, deduction.’
‘You don’t have to make a meal of this. All I want is a short report on what was said. You spoke to the theatre director. Did anything emerge?’
‘Hey ho.’
‘I’m losing my patience, sergeant.’
‘Hey ho, I said.’
‘I heard you.’
‘Hey ho to your question: “Did anything emerge?”’
‘You’re talking like one of the Seven Dwarfs and you’re wasting my time.’