‘I should say there was no man less likely to do such a thing.’ Pa looked amused at the idea. ‘He wasn’t interested in other people. He was much too self-absorbed. But you could say that of most actors.’ It was evident that Pa considered himself an exception.
Inspector Foy selected a pencil from the pen tray on the table, took a penknife from his pocket and began to make a fine point. Balked of his pipe, he needed another focus for his attention. I wondered whether this was a ploy to soothe the nerves of his suspects and distract them into making damning confessions. I dismissed at once the idea that he might be jittery himself. The inspector was almost monumentally calm as he smiled at Cordelia, then at me. The situation seemed quite unreal. We might have been discussing the plot of a film.
‘So we’re left with a mixed bag of motives – let’s call it personal animosity. This includes everything from disputes between neighbours rowing over the height of a hedge to professional jealousy.’
Pa looked scornful. ‘I can assure you that Basil’s small talents were insufficient to make me lose a moment’s sleep.’
‘All right. But I have to examine even the remotest possibilities. I’ve interviewed every member of the cast. They all described your relationship with Sir Basil Wintergreen as being – well, the mildest expression was “competitive”. Apparently there was no love lost.’
‘My dear Inspector, it is clear you know nothing of the theatre. All actors are toxically jealous and grudging of others’ success. Sometimes friendships survive despite it. Often there is unqualified dislike and contempt. But never, as far as I know, does it lead to murder. Sooner or later, along comes a critic who will do one’s dirty work far more effectively. Now look here. I’ve had enough of this. I’ve gone along with things pretty well, I think, but I’d like to go home now. This is a ghastly place, quite unfit for even a hardened criminal. Get me out of here, will you?’
‘It’s not as simple as that, sir. The law moves slowly. It has to, to avoid making mistakes.’
‘But I didn’t do it!’ There was something like panic in Pa’s voice. Cordelia leaned against him and tucked her hand through his arm. He patted it absently.
‘There was something else, wasn’t there, that came out at this morning’s hearing? Something which Harriet won’t know about.’ The inspector frowned at a notice instructing anyone who cared to read it that all articles of furniture, stationery and crockery were the property of HM Prison Services and removal of ANY item would be counted as theft. ‘Evidence that, when combined with your fingerprints on the only possible weapon, would have made any bench in the land decide to commit you for trial, regardless of the plea entered. Let’s run over it again, just in case there’s something we haven’t thought of. Do you remember passing anyone as you went on stage to rehearse the putting out of your eyes?’
Pa looked impatient. ‘Must we? I went through it all in court. I’m sick of talking about it.’ The inspector folded his arms and gave my father the look he had given Ophelia – a firming of the lips and a drawing together of the eyebrows. It was surprisingly effective. ‘Oh, all right,’ said Pa very grumpily. ‘You know perfectly well that Sandra was there, with Gemma, the wardrobe mistress. And there was a blonde girl, probably another understudy. New, anyway. Not bad-looking. A bit flat-chested. Can’t remember her name. They were chatting together. Sandra was leaning against the cyclorama –’
‘That’s the curved wall at the back of the stage?’
‘Yes.’
‘But they couldn’t actually see the stage itself from there?’
‘Not unless they had X-ray eyes. The backcloth was down. What I didn’t tell the magistrates was that Sandra leaned forward as I went by, so I accidentally brushed against her breasts. They all twittered like starlings.’ Pa smiled as though the memory was an agreeable one. The inspector continued to run the blade of his knife up and down the lead of his pencil as though nothing was so important to him as getting the point needle-sharp.
‘You went on from stage left?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why? Stage right was more accessible. You wouldn’t have needed to go round the back.’
‘I told them in court … Oh, all right.’ Pa sighed and continued with exaggerated emphasis as though speaking to someone of limited understanding. ‘There was an A-frame trolley stacked with flats carelessly parked at stage right, blocking the wings.’
‘No one could have got on to the stage that side?’
‘Not without an element of risk. Those trolleys are notoriously unstable. Full of flats, the weight is enough to kill a man.’
‘Sandra says that just before the murder she went on to the stage to retrieve her knitting. Sir Basil was on the stage, running through some lines. She remembers this clearly because he glared at her as though she had no right to be there and she was annoyed. She’s quite certain he was alone. A minute or two later you came along. She says she remembers that because you smiled at her and pinched her – cheek.’
‘I may have done.’ Pa put on his supercilious face. ‘If you mean I squeezed her behind, I probably did. These things mean nothing in the theatre.’
‘No one else passed them, either entering or leaving the stage. The next thing anyone remembers is hearing you shout. They ran on stage to find you kneeling by the body.’ The inspector looked at me. ‘You see the inference the court was bound to draw from that?’
The blade of the knife slipped and the point of the pencil snapped. I felt the hair on my scalp rise. I would have taken Pa’s other hand but he was smoothing his hair with his palm as though comforting himself.
Yes,’ I said slowly. ‘It means that Pa must have been alone on the stage with Basil.’
My father forgot to be superior. ‘But he was already dead, I swear it!’
Inspector Foy looked regretful. ‘But you see how awkward it is.’ He sighed. ‘I understand how you must be feeling. But we shall do everything in our power to bring the killer to justice, you can be sure of that.’ There was a sinister ambiguity about this promise. ‘I’ll leave you with your family now. We’ll have another talk later. Goodbye, young lady.’ Inspector Foy smiled kindly at Cordelia and laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
‘Uh-oh,’ said Cordelia, pointing at the notice. ‘It won’t do for a police inspector to be put in gaol for stealing.’
Inspector Foy restored to the pen tray the pencil he had absent-mindedly put in his pocket.
‘Goodbye, Harriet. We’ll keep in touch.’ For a moment it looked as though he was going to pat my arm too, but evidently he changed his mind and instead felt in his pocket for his pipe. I searched his face for clues to what he was thinking. He looked as though he had nothing more on his mind than what Mrs Foy was going to give him for supper. I wondered if there was a Mrs Foy and, if there was, what she was like.
‘I brought you this cake. I made it myself,’ said