Showstopper

3

Despite his best intentions, Diamond was at it again. Paul Gilbert was such an easy foil. “Did you dive in and rescue her?”

“Me, guv?”

“You’re one of Bath’s finest. We don’t stand by when a life is in danger.” In truth he’d be horrified if Gilbert risked his life in the weir.

“They had a lifeguard there. It’s obligatory.”

“And the lifeguard earned his keep?”

Gilbert nodded.

The conversation got serious again. “The stuntwoman okay?”

“She didn’t look great. They called off the filming.”

“Your chance to question people.”

“I tried, but it was difficult. They were busy packing up and re-scheduling things.”

“How about the riggers? Did you see them as I suggested?”

“They don’t seem over-worried about Jake, as they call him. He hasn’t been long in the job, so they don’t know him well. Most of them have worked together before.”

“He must have some experience.”

“Not with this lot. They don’t even know who reported him missing. They say it wasn’t one of them.”

“Did you get a description?”

“Of sorts. Forty, thin, pale, dark hair going bald, with a moustache.”

“You need to question someone more senior. Is there a foreman?”

“That’s who I spoke to, Fergus Webster, the key grip.” The bit of jargon sprang easily from Gilbert’s lips and amused Diamond.

“Are they back tomorrow?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Same stuntwoman?”

“It’s her job, isn’t it, if she’s recovered?”

“They should ask the woman who plays Swift to do her own stunt.”

“I don’t think it works like that, guv.”

“What’s her name — the star?”

“Sabine San Sebastian.”

Diamond’s eyebrows gave their verdict on the fancy name. “And the stuntwoman?”

“Ann Bugg.”

“Probably the moniker she was born with, poor thing. I suppose if she stands in for Sabine she looks like her?”

“A dead ringer. I’m hoping to speak to her today.”

“She’s that good-looking?”

Gilbert flushed. “I mean as investigating officer.”

Diamond fingered his right ear lobe as if to check that it was still there. “You’re assuming there’s a traitor on the team?”

“Aren’t you, guv? You don’t believe in the jinx, do you? Someone may have bopped Jake Nicol.”

“True, but speaking to the stuntwoman isn’t the best idea you’ve had. More than likely, her fall was her own fault and she won’t welcome questions about it. We’re treading on eggs here. They’ll have read what the papers are saying and we don’t want to ramp up the paranoia. We were asked to investigate the missing rigger. That’s what you do.”

“I was thinking she might have some thoughts on how it happened.”

“This isn’t the time. Your best bet is to find out who made the call to our lot. We need to know who it was who went to the flat and what their connection is to Jake Nicol.”

Gilbert’s mouth formed a perfect O. The boss was right, as usual. “You’re still happy for me to handle this?”

“Full confidence.” Straight speaking from Diamond this time. The young man deserved his respect. He’d been tested many times over and proved his worth.

Alone in his office, Diamond spent some time thinking about the old saying that misfortunes never come singly. Then he picked up the newspaper and reread the report about the so-called jinx. He reached for the latest directive from headquarters, turned it over and used the back to make a list of the incidents by date:

After a moment’s reflection, he added one that wasn’t in the Post:

No, he didn’t believe in jinxes. Accidents to stunt people were nothing. Every crime show has action scenes, and some go wrong, like the chase across the weir. Daisy Summerfield’s sudden death didn’t impress him either. He’d seen her on TV. Old age, excessive weight and working long hours would have got her into the coronary club for sure. As for that idiot who went climbing in January, words failed him. He was more interested in the two who had gone missing. The rigger’s absence from work had been reported to the police after someone noticed signs of a disturbance in the flat, but how about the one from four years ago, assistant producer Dave Tudor? Had his non-appearance ever become a police matter? Was Tudor ever registered as a missing person?

In spite of himself, he was getting caught up in this story.

He knew which of the team to ask. The newest addition, DC Jean Sharp, lived up to her name as a researcher. “Try the missing persons unit first,” he told her, “and then our own case files. I can’t recall anything myself, so I’m wondering if Tudor’s disappearance ever got reported to us by his family or anyone else. He may have quit the job without telling anyone, in which case it may not be recorded.”

“The newspaper heard from somewhere, guv,” Jean Sharp pointed out. “Have we asked the TV company?”

“I want to check the official records first.”

“If he was the assistant producer, he must have been a serious loss for them.”

“I’m not so sure. Job titles in TV can be misleading. Ever heard of ‘best boy’? It can be a fifty-year-old woman.”

Jean Sharp started working her keyboard and read out what she found. “‘The assistant producer’s duties are assigned by the producer. An AP may provide editorial and logistical back-up for the producer and liaise with writers and the talent. AP is the next grade up from researcher and is an excellent opportunity for learning how a production functions.’” She looked up. “It sounds lower in the pecking order than I thought. So the loss of Mr. Tudor may not have been such a setback.”

“He’s still a missing person, however unimportant he was. Report directly to me, Jean. I’m not involving anyone else at this stage. Do you watch Swift?”

“I’ve seen it. I wouldn’t say I’m a fan.”

“Me neither.”

He left her to start the check.