33
A Pathologist
THE CARETAKER AT St George’s Theatre was in the lunch room and remembered Harry from the previous night. He seemed relieved.
‘F-finally someone who’s not going to dig and ask questions about what it looked like. We’ve had journalists buzzing round here the wh-whole day,’ he said. ‘Plus those forensic fellas of yours. But they’ve got enough work to do of their own; they don’t b-bother us.’
‘Yes, they have quite a job on their hands.’
‘Yeah. I didn’t sleep much last night. Wife had to give me one of her s-sleeping pills. You shouldn’t have to experience that sort of thing. S’pose you’re used to it, though.’
‘Well, that was slightly stronger fare than usual.’
‘I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to go into that r-room again.’
‘Oh, you’ll get over it.’
‘No, listen to me, I can’t even bloody call it the p-props room, I say that room.’ The caretaker shook his head in desperation.
‘Time heals,’ Harry said. ‘Trust me, I know a bit about that.’
‘I hope you’re right, Officer.’
‘Call me Harry.’
‘Coffee, Harry?’
Harry said please and laid the bunch of keys on the table between them.
‘Ah, there they are,’ the caretaker said. ‘The bunch of keys Rechtnagel borrowed. I was f-frightened they wouldn’t turn up and we would have to change all the locks. Where did you find them?’
‘At Otto’s place.’
‘What? But he used the keys last night, didn’t he? His dressing-room door . . .’
‘Don’t worry about it. I wonder if there was anyone else apart from the performers behind the stage yesterday.’
‘Oh yes. Let’s see now. The l-lighting engineer, two stagehands and the sound manager were there, of course. No costume or make-up people, this isn’t a b-big production. Well, that’s about it. During the show there were only the stagehands and the other performers. And me.’
‘And you didn’t see anyone there?’
‘Not a soul,’ the caretaker answered without any hesitation.
‘Could anyone have got in another way apart from the back door or the stage door?’
‘Well, there’s a corridor at the side of the gallery. Now the g-gallery was closed yesterday, but the door was open because the lighting engineer was sitting up there. Have a word with him.’
The lighting engineer’s prominent eyes bulged like those of a deep-sea fish that had just been brought to the surface.
‘Yes, hang on. There was a bloke sitting there before the interval. If we can see in advance that there’s not going to be a full house we sell only stall tickets, but there was nothing odd about him sitting there. The gallery isn’t locked even if the tickets are actually for the stalls. He was on his own, in the back row. I remember I was surprised he would want to sit there, so far from the stage. Mm, there wasn’t a lot of light, but, yes, I did see him. When I returned after the break, he was gone, as I said.’
‘Could he have got behind the stage through the same door as you?’
‘Well.’ The lighting engineer scratched his head. ‘I assume so. If he went into the props room he could have avoided being seen by anyone. Thinking about it now, I would say the man didn’t actually look very well. Yeah. I knew there was something at the back of my mind, nagging at me, something that didn’t quite fit—’
‘Listen,’ Harry said, ‘I’m going to show you a photo—’
‘By the way, there was something else about the man—’
‘This is all great,’ Harry interrupted him, ‘I’d like you to imagine the man you saw yesterday, and when you see the photo you mustn’t think, just say the first thing that occurs to you. Afterwards, you’ll have more time and maybe change your mind, but for now I want your instinctive reaction. OK?’
‘OK,’ said the lighting engineer and closed his protuberant eyes, making him look like a frog. ‘I’m ready.’
Harry showed him the photograph.
‘That’s him!’ he said, quick as a flash.
‘Take a bit more time and tell me what you think.’
‘There’s no doubt. That’s what I was trying to tell you, Officer, the man was black . . . an Aboriginal. That’s your man!’
Harry was worn out. It had already been a long day, and he was trying not to think about the rest. When he was ushered into the autopsy room by an assistant, Dr Engelsohn’s small, plump figure was bent over a large, fat woman’s body on a kind of operating table illuminated by huge overhead lamps. Harry didn’t think he could face any more fat women today.