‘Added by mistake, you mean?’ She frowned and it was obvious that the flexing of her skin caused pain.
‘Or intention. Do you have any enemies, Clarion?’
‘No.’ The denial was total. As soon as she’d made it, uncertainty showed in her eyes.
Ingeborg said, ‘Someone as mega-famous as you is going to have enemies. You don’t get to the top without making people jealous.’
She enjoyed the flattery. It showed in her voice. ‘Envious, perhaps, but I can’t accept what you’re saying. No one could hate me that much. This is the end of my career.’
‘Has anyone threatened you recently or in the past?’
‘I’d remember, wouldn’t I? Of course they haven’t.’
‘Crazy fans? Someone else’s fans?’
‘I’m coming up to thirty. My last album was two years ago.’
‘Three, I think,’ Ingeborg said, and got a glare for her accuracy.
‘I was about to say my fans have grown up with me,’ Clarion said. ‘People of my age don’t do crazy. They’ve grown out of all that hormonal silliness.’
‘How did the theatre people treat you in rehearsal?’ Diamond asked, moving it on, but not confident of shaking the self-esteem of someone who’d basked in admiration for years. She couldn’t believe anyone would want to harm her. ‘You’re an outsider, in a way.’
‘I was at drama college, a good one. I’m not a total novice.’
‘Yes, but you’re not known for your acting and you walked into a starring role. How did they take it?’
‘With good grace. They’re professionals. My name sells tickets. Few of them would pull in an audience. That’s how it is in the commercial theatre and they accept it.’
‘Jobbing actors,’ Ingeborg said.
‘I wouldn’t say so in their presence, but yes.’
‘So do you recall any hostility while you were rehearsing?’ Diamond asked. ‘I’m thinking of others besides the actors. Anyone from the management down to the stage hands?’
‘If there was any bad feeling, I didn’t pick it up.’
‘Let’s talk about Monday evening,’ he said. ‘You arrived at the theatre at what time?’
‘Before five. I went to my dressing room and sat going over my lines until about a quarter to six. Then I changed into my first costume.’
‘Was the dresser there?’
‘Denise? She came later with the clothes. She had to collect them from wardrobe. There are six changes between scenes.’
‘What time did she turn up?’
‘When she said she would. About forty-five minutes before curtain up.’
‘Did anyone else come in?’
‘There were two or three interruptions from call boys delivering bouquets from well-wishers.’
‘Certain flowers can cause allergic reactions, can’t they?’ Diamond said, more to Ingeborg than Clarion.
‘Oh, come on, I didn’t bury my face in them,’ Clarion said. ‘I think I’d know if they were responsible.’
Ingeborg showed by her expression that she, too, thought the flower theory was garbage, so Diamond abandoned it. ‘You’d met Denise before?’
‘Never.’
‘In rehearsal.’
‘I see what you mean.’
‘She made you up for the dress rehearsal the previous day?’
‘Yes.’
‘And did your face react then? Any discomfort?’
‘None whatsoever. And I didn’t notice her doing any different on the opening night. She brought her box of colours and brushes with her. She cleansed my face of day make-up and then put on a thin layer of moisturiser followed by the foundation and the highlights and the liners for the eyes and mouth and so on. I felt no discomfort.’
‘What cleanser did she use?’ Ingeborg asked.
‘Cold cream and astringent, she told me. It all felt normal.’
‘What make was it?’
‘How would I know that, for Christ’s sake? I was thinking about my lines.’
‘Then what? The moisturiser?’
‘Didn’t I just tell you? The stage make-up feels dry without it.’
‘And the foundation? Cream or pancake?’
‘Cream in cake form. She applied it with a sponge. She told me she was experienced and I’m sure she was.’
‘So there was this delay before you felt your face burning,’ Diamond said. ‘How long?’
‘Between twenty minutes and half an hour.’
‘You were all right until you got on stage?’
‘Perfectly.’
‘This is the mystery,’ he said. ‘If we’re right in assuming the make-up damaged your skin, why didn’t it happen in the dressing room when it was being applied?’
‘Slow-acting,’ Clarion said.
‘We’ll get advice on that, but I’ve got my doubts.’
Her glare could have drilled a hole through his head. ‘You can doubt all you want. I’m left with a face like a fire victim and there’s no doubting that. I’m suing for loss of earnings and disfigurement and you won’t stop me.’
7
Glarion hadn’t endeared herself to Diamond. He sympathised with her injury and understood her anger at the probable loss of her looks and career. He also knew no member of the public welcomes being questioned by the police. Even allowing for that, she’d come across as hostile and unappreciative of the need to get to the truth. She obviously thought her lawyers and her private security people were better placed to take care of her interests. Almost every statement she’d made had been barbed with reproach. But it’s impossible to put yourself in the place of someone who’s had such a shock, he told himself, trying to be charitable. Easier to feel sorry for the dead victims he usually dealt with. They weren’t capable of striking attitudes.
‘Back to Bath now?’ Inge said, to jog him out of his silence.
‘Not yet. Call Bristol police and ask them to supply a roundthe-clock guard for her.’
‘She has her own guard, guv.’
He gave her a look that said all she needed to know about the competence of private security guards.
She took out her phone.
‘And now we’ll find the pathology lab,’ he said.
‘We’d better ask.’ She stopped a porter wheeling an oxygen cylinder along the main pathway and they were soon heading in the right direction.
The technician who greeted them inside the door was clearly a junior, but he showed them in to the scientist in charge, a large, bearded man called Pinch, who was sitting on a bench eating a banana. He eyed them as if they’d come to ask for money. When they showed their IDs he jumped to attention, tossed the peel into a bin, wiped his hands and offered them coffee.
All Diamond wanted was the test result, but Ingeborg accepted for them both. The kettle was hot and the coffee was instant, so it shouldn’t delay them long.
Pinch explained that his staff supplied their own mugs and there weren’t any spares. ‘Hope you don’t mind drinking from a glass beaker. I promise you, they’re clean. Haven’t contained anything of human origin. Not today, anyway.’
Diamond wouldn’t touch his, he decided.
‘So how can I help?’
They asked about Clarion’s towel.
‘That’s been tested, yes.’
‘With what result?’
‘Traces of glycerine-based make-up, for sure, and face powder, but also a corrosive I wouldn’t recommend putting anywhere near your face.’
‘Acid?’
‘Alkali, in fact, but no less dangerous. Sodium hydroxide.’
‘Caustic soda,’ Ingeborg said with a sharp intake of breath.
A shocked silence followed.
Finally Diamond, appalled, said, ‘Isn’t that what they use to unblock drains?’
‘Right. We didn’t believe it at first, so we repeated the tests. That’s why we took so long.’ Pinch poured the coffee. ‘Help yourselves to sugar.’
Neither reached for the spoon. Ingeborg’s face had drained of colour.
‘There’s no question, then?’ Diamond said.
‘It’s caustic soda for sure, available from your friendly, neighbourhood hardware store. As you doubtless know, it comes in powder form as tiny flakes or granules. Add a solvent such as water and you’ll remove most blockages.’