Stagestruck by Peter Lovesey Page B

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
    G larion 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