‘Then how do we separate our suspects? What can we do to force them to open up? If our killer thinks like Punch, he’ll keep going, getting rid of anyone who gets in his way.’
‘I have a few ideas. The sheer volume of suspects constitutes some kind of a clue. The killer is trying to cause anarchy, trying to break everything apart. And we are expected to watch. It’s an act of bravura from someone with nothing to lose.’ Bryant opened his mobile and rang Longbright’s direct line. ‘I have to be quick,’ he told her. ‘I think there are tunnels coming up. Did you do anything about Anna Marquand or did you forget?’
‘I got thrown in a swimming pool,’ said Longbright.
‘Well, when you’ve finished messing about, could you go and see Judith Kramer? She’ll probably respond better to you.’
‘We’ve been trying to get hold of you. Your phones are off.’
‘No, John’s battery is flat and I put mine in the wrong pocket and got caramel fudge all over the aerial.’
‘Gregory Baine is dead. He was found hanging from a noose under Cannon Street Bridge this morning. There was a Hangman puppet left beside him with one of our cards attached.’
‘Baine? Are you sure it’s him?’
‘Of course we’re sure. Why?’
‘If there was to be another murder I would have expected it to be someone else. Judith was the obvious candidate, but I wondered about what’s-his-name, the fat theatre critic who upset everyone.’
‘Alex Lansdale.’
‘Yes, him. Scaramouche, you see—the artful clown, usually described in the commedia dell’arte as “sly, adroit, supple, and conceited,” although that would be favouring him with praise.’
‘I don’t understand. Why?’
‘Oh, simple. In the play, Mr Punch stretches his neck.’
May had been listening. ‘There’s that song by Queen,’ he said. ‘You know, Scaramouche, and something about fandangos.’
‘That’s right,’ said Bryant. ‘Traditionally, the hanged man dances a jig as he dies. But now you’re telling me it was the producer. Pity there isn’t one in the Punch story.’
‘He’s more of an accountant,’ Longbright pointed out.
‘Well, there is one of those,’ said Bryant. ‘You realise we gave PCU cards to everyone who was interviewed after the Kramers’ party? That’s why one was attached to the Hangman puppet. The killer wants us to know he’s part of the group.’
‘But that makes no sense at all. Why?’
‘Because if we’re unable to make a prosecution even with the help we’ve been given, Punch will have proven his point. We’ll be back soon. Get the kettle on. It’s going to be another long night.’
Judith Kramer sat at her dressing table patting powder beneath her dark eyes. Dressed in a loose-fitting black V-neck sweater and jeans, she looked thinner and older than she had at the party. She had tied her hair back and donned plain silver earrings. The effect was severe and unflattering, like that of a New York hostess attending a charity function for want of something more useful to do.
‘I’m expected to be presentable,’ she explained, noting Longbright’s watchful gaze. ‘Robert likes his surfaces nice and smooth. He’s very conscious of his image.’
‘You don’t approve?’ Longbright asked, seating herself beside her.
‘I support him.’
‘That isn’t what I asked.’
‘That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? To make him look good?’
‘Mrs Kramer, I don’t know you and I can’t judge.’
‘Oh, but everybody else does. They see the younger second wife come in and watch her struggle to be part of the actors’ conversations. They’re a likeable crowd, you know, but insular. If you didn’t see Helen Mirren in Phaedra or Vanessa Redgrave playing Prospero in The Tempest they’ll happily leave you on the outside. I’m afraid I only know Sir Ian McKellen from Lord of the Rings. I never saw him in Waiting for Godot, so apparently I’m not worth talking to.’
She sat straight and studied her skin in the mirror, as if suddenly realising who she was. ‘It seems odd not having to check on Noah every few minutes. Since last July he’s occupied nearly every moment of my day, and now—emptiness. It’s suddenly so quiet. I wasn’t much of a mother. Didn’t have the temperament for it.’
‘Not everyone does. It’s no sin.’
‘I’m keeping Gloria on for a while, even though there’s nothing for her to do. Robert blames her for taking the night off. And me, for letting the baby alarm turn itself off in my pocket. He has a long list of people and things he wants to blame, but Gloria and I are right at the top. He can’t bring himself to look me in the face. It will always be like this from now on, and I suppose it will break us up. The guilt, the recriminations. I see Noah’s face when I close my eyes, but it’s already changing. Just a crying baby’s face, you see, no real features. Like the horrible little wooden puppet of Punch’s Baby. I never wanted them in the nursery, but they were put there because the room was lockable. Insurance. It’s always about money with Robert.’