The Texan scoffed from the back of the room.
‘Well, my dear, I promise it won’t take too long – we and the performers rely heavily on the merchandising income, and these people will pay twenty quid a time for a photo with Kevin Samson… unbelievable eh?’ He grinned conspiratorially, then craned his neck to address the talent scout. ‘Arnie, I didn’t see you back there – here to poach my best talent again?’
Adams responded with another snort of contempt.
Mason was tenacious. ‘Well perhaps we can make good use of the time by asking you a few questions?’
Penman looked surprised for a moment before adopting the same solemn expression he had worn earlier in the ring.
‘Why, certainly… I’m happy to answer any questions you may have about this tragic incident.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ Mason retorted. ‘Why don’t you start by telling us how Victor Schultz came to be working for you?’
‘Well, if you knew the industry, miss, you’d know that Vic Valiant was a big name once upon a time. People will always pay to see their childhood heroes… no matter how far they’ve fallen from grace. Nostalgia equals cash.’ He smirked again, and Sigurdsson felt a sudden dislike for the man.
‘That doesn’t answer my question – what brings a retired American wrestler to a tiny English island? The streets here aren’t exactly paved with gold.’
‘What makes you say “retired”? No one ever retires unless they can afford it. Valiant certainly couldn’t. I got in touch with him through my contacts in the business, and offered him double what they were paying him in the Midlands at the time. I’d like to think he enjoyed his time with us – we certainly assisted him financially.’
‘We’ve been informed that he was a heavy drinker and a drug user,’ Mason continued. Sigurdsson noticed Adams frown at her as she paraphrased his comments. ‘But your assistant Wheeler says none of that sort of thing goes on here. Do you think Schultz had cleaned himself up?’
Penman shrugged. ‘Who can say? Drug use certainly isn’t something I tolerate on the premises here – and all of my performers know that. But if you tell me you’ve found that Valiant was still abusing his body, it won’t shock me – after all, something must have killed him.’
Sigurdsson’s eyes narrowed at the callous undertones in Penman’s response. Mason’s distaste was barely concealed as she replied icily.
‘I agree, Mr Penman. And we’re here to find out what it was. If that means we have to search every bag in the dressing room then we will do just that. If it means we have to cancel shows while we’re here then we’ll do that too. You might be able to turn a blind eye to such matters, but unfortunately we cannot – because a man has died.’ Penman glared back at her, dabbing even more feverishly at his brow, face briefly twisted into a scowl of outrage. Then the muscles relaxed back into an easy, insincere smile.
‘Inspector, I understand completely. I’m not sure how we’ve got off on the wrong foot. Just let me know how I can be of assistance to your investigation.’
Mason returned the warmthless smile. ‘You can start by cutting short your photo session – I want everyone assembled in the dressing room in five minutes.’
Penman’s teeth seemed to grind behind his lips as he reached for the telephone on his desk, jabbing a memorised number into it as he lifted the receiver.
‘Bill? Yes, it’s me… we’re going to have to cut short the photos and get everyone together. I know, I know; unfortunately the police are… impatient to get this over with.’
He replaced the receiver slowly, perhaps too carefully, conveying a sense of contained anger.
‘Well officers, follow me and you can meet my superstars.’
Down the corridor the smell was even more overpowering – there was a shower available for the performers, but many of them hadn’t yet had the opportunity to make use of it. Men in various states of undress gradually filtered into the room, lounging on the benches and chairs that had been brought in to convert the staff room and adjoining kitchen into a makeshift changing area. A lithe black woman also joined the group, still towelling her hair. Sigurdsson couldn’t see any other women for her to compete against – presumably she had wrestled one of the men. The expressions of the group seemed to span a variety of emotions – scowls of distrust that Sigurdsson found all too familiar, wide-eyed surprise at the unexpected police presence, nonchalant humour from some that sat chuckling together. The youngster, Wilshere, who they had seen wrestling earlier, looked up at them with an earnest expression almost bordering on excitement. Tall Paul loitered in a doorway, still wearing his suit and sunglasses, leaning his rippling bulk against the frame. Sigurdsson wondered if the wall might suddenly collapse under his weight.
‘Okay boys, quiet down, quiet down…’ shouted Wheeler over the chatter, seeming to occupy the role of coach while Penman hovered silently behind him. ‘We all know what happened to Vic Valiant the other night, and we all know how sad we are to lose not just a wrestling legend, but a good friend.’
Sigurdsson glanced at Arn Adams, who was standing in a corner, but couldn’t read anything in his taciturn frown.
‘Our thoughts are of course with April, who will take as long as she needs before returning to the fold.’
Sigurdsson frowned and glanced at Mason, but she didn’t seem to react to the reference – maybe she already knew the ‘April’ that Penman had referred to. Making a note to clarify the point later, he turned his head to survey the assembly of faces – Mitchell’s vacant expression, Samson nonchalantly chewing gum, The Necromancer (must get his real name) standing upright with his arms folded, still wearing his robe rather than changing into conventional clothes. Close to him was another man, with a thick moustache and aviator shades, and a ridiculously small silver jacket draped over his shoulders, exposing a carpet of chest hair. He had a toothpick in his mouth and a championship belt slung over his shoulder; presumably the coveted title they were all vying for.
Wheeler continued, ‘Well, the good news is that the police want to make sure Vic’s death is investigated properly, and they’ve asked us to get you all together so they can talk to us. Er, I’ll hand over to you, shall I…?’ He looked at Sigurdsson, who winced internally, knowing that Mason would see this as a slight to her authority. He opened his mouth to hand over to her, but she interrupted.
‘Yes, thanks Mr Wheeler. Okay everyone, thanks for your time – I will keep this brief. My name is Inspector Mason, and these are my colleagues Sergeant Mitchell and Detective Inspector Sigurdsson. I know some of you must be very affected by what happened on Friday night, but the fact is that there are some suspicious circumstances surrounding Mr Schultz’s death.’
‘It’s Valiant,’ someone said. Sigurdsson winced again, this time at Mason’s lack of sensitivity.
She looked momentarily flustered before continuing. ‘The cause of death was identified during a post mortem conducted last night as strychnine poisoning by intravenous injection. Although there is a strong possibility that Sch… Valiant injected himself with the substance, we must eliminate all possibilities, and understand why he would want to do this, or even how he acquired the drug in the first place.
‘We will therefore need to interview everyone who was in attendance at Friday’s event, potentially more than once, until our enquiries are concluded. To that effect, I would like to request that none of you leave the island until next weekend.’
A few murmurs and grumbles circulated the room.
‘Screw that – I’ve got a plane to catch tomorrow, like I said before,’ Arn Adams drawled from the back of the room. Before Mason could respond, Wilshere