‘If he did, that would mean Marcus was your main suspect. But actors are trained to know the difference between their roles and their own characters. It’s those who watch who become the most obsessed. Look at stalkers. Look at the history of murderers who say they’ve been influenced by fictional characters.’
‘Do you really think Robert Kramer could have murdered his own son?’
Pryce looked even less comfortable now. ‘There are people who say Noah wasn’t his son.’
‘Who’s been saying that?’
‘I try not to listen to backstage gossip. Besides, Robert is my employer, and if anything happens to the show I’m out of a job. But you can’t be too careful. His wife’s been doped up since Monday night. If it was up to me, I wouldn’t leave her alone with him.’
‘You say it’s like a theatrical performance. Doesn’t it take bravery to act before so many people?’
‘No, I think it just takes a form of anger.’
‘Thank you, Mr Pryce, you’ve been most illuminating. We may be in touch again.’ Bryant opened the door to let the writer out. ‘I think we need to put someone in there with her, John. Just in case Pryce turns out to be right.’
‘I guess we could spare Meera. Right now, Judith Kramer is the person we most need to talk to, and the only one we can’t get to. So?’
‘What?’ Bryant feigned innocence.
‘Your big theory, the one I’m going to hate. Are you ready to share it?’
‘Not yet. I’m revising my thinking in light of recent developments. I still have some more tests to conduct.’
‘What kind of tests?’
‘Bells. Mythomania—that’s pathological lying—and the cephalic index.’
‘I’m sorry.’ May shook his head. ‘You’ve lost me.’
‘Well, the bells—’
‘No, the last thing.’
‘The cephalic index is an index of head shape, the most popular component of racial studies. You get it by measuring the width of the head from a point over one ear to the opposite point over the other ear.’ Bryant waggled his fingers around his face. ‘Then you measure the maximum length of the head from a point in the middle of the forehead between the eyebrows to the occiput on the back of the head, dividing the width by the length and multiplying the result by one hundred. Most human adults range from seventy to eighty-five, and the range indicates whether you’re brachycephalic, mesocephalic or dolichocephalic. But this measurement is different from the cranial index. Eastern European immigrants entering the United States were measured, and what they found—’
‘Perhaps I could just stop you there before I go mad and kill you,’ May suggested calmly. ‘I fail to see what on earth this has to do with the investigation.’
‘Well, of course you would, because I’m making sure you deal with all the boring bits. I get to do the fun stuff.’
‘Explain this in terms I can understand.’
‘Robert Kramer is a Bavarian Jew.’ Bryant raised his eyebrows meaningfully.
‘And what does that mean?’
‘Well, one of the more grotesque racial myths is that you can separate Jews and Gentiles by measuring the shape of their heads. Officials once thought that the way you folded your arms was also an indicator of ethnicity. Whether you folded your right over your left or your left over your right could reveal whether you were a Kurdish Jew or not, because the Kurds in Israel favoured right over left.’
‘Okay, I think I’m going to leave you to wander the untravelled highways of your mind a little longer,’ May said. ‘Let me know when you have something to share that makes the slightest iota of sense, will you?’
‘Absolutely, no problem at all,’ said Bryant, slamming open another dusty volume, entitled Morphological Traits & Ethnic Physiognomy in ‘The Arabian Nights.’ ‘Feel free to call upon me at any hour, but next time come bearing brandy—I’ll be here most of the night. Oh, and get ready for a train journey early in the morning. There’s something we need to see.’
The air smelled cold and green. It amazed her how quickly the temperature fell as soon as you stepped out of the city’s brick corridors. The swimming pool had closed for the night. At over ninety metres, the expanse of aquamarine water was one of the largest pools in Europe. The Tooting Bec lido was more than a century old, but still proved popular with South Londoners who loved the setting; a row of brightly coloured cubicles stood like nutcracker guards between rippling water and towering plane trees.
Longbright arrived at the entrance and flashed her ID card to the cashier, who was locking up.