‘Isn’t there a puppet that comes to life in the show or something similar?’
‘It’s a dummy—a wax dummy comes to life at the end of the first act and murders a girl. It’s a traditional image that has precedent in many films and plays of the past. I’m new but I’ve done plenty of research on the subject.’
‘I see. Perhaps you’d better let me have a copy of the script. Just in case anything else happens.’ May found himself taking an irrational dislike to the little writer. There was a paradoxical arrogance in his humility that irked the detective.
‘Sorry, I don’t have one on me,’ said Pryce, folding his arms. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘I’ve got one in my bag you can have,’ said Larry Hayes, the young wardrobe master. ‘I always keep a script on me.’ He worked closely with Ella Maltby, the set and props designer. Together, they had been responsible for creating a brooding, Gothic feel to the play. Larry was pierced and tattooed in every visible spot, with a splayed deck of playing cards stitched in red and blue up his right arm and a chain of Asian tigers running around his left. He proved friendly and helpful, but could add no further insights into Robert Kramer’s relationships with the members of his company.
‘Yeah, I’m in charge of bringing the dummy to life,’ Ella Maltby agreed, ‘but that doesn’t make me a suspect, does it?’
‘Why would you think you were?’ asked May.
‘Because there’s a rumour going around that the kid was chucked from the window by a walking Mr Punch puppet. Which rather puts me in the frame, don’t you think?’ Maltby’s tone suggested a prickly, aggressive personality. She was solid-framed and crop-headed, the self-consciously creative type one usually saw in Camden Town or Hoxton.
‘I’m more concerned with motive, Ms Maltby. This doesn’t appear to have been a premeditated act, so I’m looking for people who have some kind of grudge against Mr Kramer and his wife.’
‘Then that rules out most of us,’ said Larry Hayes. ‘I mean, unless we had a death wish about our careers. If we upset the boss we could kill the show.’
‘Fair point,’ May conceded. ‘Any idea who might want to do that?’
‘None whatsoever. I’m production, which means I’m basically backstage staff. If you’re trying to find someone who bears a grudge, you’d be better off asking Mr Kramer himself.’
Finally, May saw Robert Kramer for a second time. The theatre owner was displeased at being retained and impatient to be on his way, but submitted to May’s questions with the resignation of a man who was used to attending long, dull meetings. He perched on the common room’s ratty sofa, his ankles crossed at his red socks, and watched rain leaking through the warehouse’s rusted window frames with distaste. May knew that it was impossible to mention what he had discovered without incurring further threats of lawyers, something he was anxious to delay for as long as possible.
‘Enemies,’ he said instead. ‘Family stresses or people you meet in the course of your working day. I need an honest appraisal from you. Anyone who you might consider a risk?’
‘Plenty, in financial terms,’ answered Kramer. ‘You don’t rise in business without making tough decisions. But there’s no-one so upset with me that he’d shake my son to death and throw him from a window.’
‘So what do you think happened?’
It was the first time Kramer looked less than confident. His gaze lost its focus, as if he feared what he might imagine. ‘I don’t know. Something evil. Something cruel. I can’t understand how anyone could visit such horror upon us. I honestly can’t. Maybe our lives were too perfect and something terrible had to happen. I watched my wife sleeping this morning, and I thought this will destroy us. You don’t get over the death of your only child, not when you’ve tried so long and hard to bring him into the world. I haven’t always been a good man, but I don’t deserve this.’
May kept his counsel, but wondered how long it would be before the lie of the Kramers’ marriage escaped. Secrets had a habit of slowly becoming visible, like images appearing on photographic paper. Crime often exposed hidden shames to the light.
He watched from the window as Kramer left the building. Standing on the edge of the pavement searching for taxis in the rain, the tycoon seemed a bewildered, lonely figure. May wondered what his partner would have made of these people, but Bryant had chosen to hide himself away in his room. The last time May looked in on him he appeared to be dismantling a bookcase and searching behind it for something. He showed no interest whatsoever in the interviews, and rudely sent May away to carry out what he considered to be the prosaic end of the investigation.