Stagestruck

22

Lew Rogers was still in the Accident and Emergency waiting area.

‘What’s the latest?’ Diamond asked.

‘She’s going to be okay. They’re keeping her overnight as a precaution, but there’s nothing seriously wrong.’

‘Can we see her?’

‘She’s being moved to another ward as we speak, and we can talk to her there. Two of the local traffic guys are waiting to interview her as well.’

‘Where are they?’

‘Grabbing a coffee while they can.’

‘Let’s beat them to it.’ He called to a nurse.

They found Kate in a room of her own in a white dressing gown seated in an armchair beside the bed. Her forehead was bruised and she had a bandaged arm. She produced a smile fit to fill the royal circle and said, ‘Hi, darlings.’

‘You’re so lucky,’ Diamond told her while Rogers was collecting chairs from the stack outside. ‘We saw the state of your car.’

‘Is it a write-off?’

‘Total. Do you know what caused the accident?’

The smile surfaced again. ‘I got into one almighty skid coming round a bend and hit a tree. Simple as that.’

‘Going too fast, then?’

‘Story of my life.’

‘Was anyone else involved?’

‘Did I hit anyone?’ Her own words took a moment to sink in before the amusement stopped and she scratched her head. ‘I’d have noticed, wouldn’t I?’

‘I meant were you trying to avoid another vehicle? Someone trying to overtake, perhaps?’

The giggle returned. She was in a strangely playful mood. ‘Are you offering me an alibi, my love? I appreciate that. But I was a Girl Guide once and promised always to tell the truth. The crash was down to me entirely, driving too fast with my little mind on other things.’

‘Like being sacked from the Theatre Royal?’

‘God, no, that’s water under the bridge. I was daydreaming about all the gorgeous fellows I’d like to sleep with.’

At this point, Rogers came in with two chairs, heard what was said, and dropped one of them. Diamond used the interruption to turn to him and mutter, ‘Was she breathalysed?’

Rogers nodded. ‘At the scene, I was told. Negative.’

Kate’s light-minded talk had to be put down to shock, or a side-effect of medication.

She called out to Diamond, ‘Were you asking if I was breathalysed? Christ, yes. They asked me to blow into something as soon as they dragged me out of the wreckage. I’m not stupid. I don’t drink and drive.’

‘That’s all right, then,’ Diamond said, finding it hard to believe.

‘But they rescued my handbag as well, and luckily I keep a small pick-me-up for stressful situations.’ She patted her hand against the pocket of the dressing gown and Diamond saw the glint of a silver flask.

‘Do the hospital staff know you’ve got this?’

She winked. ‘You bet they don’t. No need to look so disapproving, ducky. It’s brandy. It’s medicinal.’

The good thing was that the drink hadn’t taken over entirely. She was speaking coherently even if the delivery was overblown. Maybe a few extra truths would come out.

‘So were you on your way home?’

‘Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like it, yes. What with this week’s show closing, today was my last in the Theatre Royal. I collected my few possessions and walked.’

‘Feeling depressed?’

‘Positively murderous. Is that what you want to hear?’

‘We want honest answers.’

‘Well, you’re getting them. There are sod-all wardrobe jobs in these parts.’

He took the chair Rogers had brought in and moved it so close he caught the brandy on her breath. ‘Why did you let it happen, Kate? You were inviting trouble. You can’t deny that the wardrobe room is in a mess. Even I can see it isn’t meant to be like that.’

‘It wasn’t until lately. I ran it like Buckingham Palace for two years. No complaints and oceans of praise and I dressed some spectacular productions in that time, I can tell you, gents. Imagine all the costume changes in a musical, not just a handful of actors, but twenty or more dancers with about nine changes. Wardrobe has to run like mission control to stay on top.’

‘What went wrong, then?’

‘Sabotage by a certain member of my team.’

‘Denise?’

She rolled her eyes upwards. ‘I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but I will. That bitch was out to get me. She’d worked in this theatre longer than anybody and wanted to queen it over us all backstage. She was only a dresser, bugger it, the senior dresser, I admit, but she was supposed to be under me. She saw I was running my wardrobe superbly and she hated it.’

‘Jealous?’

‘And some. Then things started going wrong. Clothes went missing mysteriously, the washing machine kept flooding, the irons overheated and scorched things. One morning I came in and found my button collection, thousands of them, all over the floor. You’re thinking these are silly little glitches, but they ruined my system. Actors would come complaining about their costumes and I’d find the labels had been switched or seams had been loosely tacked and wouldn’t stand any sort of use. I was forever trying to catch up. I stayed late, lost sleep, had to take tranquillisers. In the end, I thought what the hell and just did the minimum. I can’t tell you the snide remarks and the gripes I endured from that woman on a daily basis. She could have run wardrobe so much better, in her opinion.’

‘Had she put in for the job when you applied?’

‘No – or she would have been handed it on a plate, according to her. She was one of those people – I expect you have them in the police – who won’t take responsibility but are the first to slag off anyone who does.’

‘I thought she held down some high-powered jobs before coming to Bath. You were telling me about them when we first spoke.’

‘I wouldn’t call putting cosmetics on corpses high-powered. I’m talking about heading a key department in a major theatre.’

‘Didn’t you say she ran a drama group in Manchester?’

‘The prison. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if she was an inmate.’

‘Manchester is men only.’

‘Anyway, it must have been voluntary work, not professional. And when you say ‘ran’ it, I’m sure the screws were there to make sure no one stepped out of line.’

Kate wasn’t giving an inch in her demolition of Denise’s CV.

‘She also toured Bosnia, you said, with some theatre group. Presumably they were professional?’

‘It was only a road show, darling. They all fitted into a minibus – cast, crew, costumes, scenery and all the props. That’s not theatre. That’s busking.’

‘Did you ever accuse her of undermining you?’

‘Frequently, and she laughed in my face and dared me to take it up with the management. She had a line into the board room, didn’t she?’

‘Francis Melmot?’

‘Yes. Every time I had a crisis in wardrobe, his lordship would hear about it and come gunning for me. Bloody Denise was running a campaign to get me fired and eventually she succeeded.’

‘Was she friendly with him?’

‘You mean sleeping with the shitbag? I doubt it. She may have dangled the bait, but he’s an odd fish, very odd. More like a jellyfish. And she was a stingray.’ She giggled again. ‘I shouldn’t be talking like this. You’ll be thinking I topped her. Actually I didn’t. I wouldn’t risk a life sentence for that creepy dame.’

‘Was she telling tales about anyone else?’

‘I couldn’t tell you.’ She smiled. ‘Well, I expect she told Melmot about Hedley and me, just more proof that wardrobe had gone to the dogs.’

‘How long have you and Hedley Shearman been…?’

‘Having it away? Not long. Hed’s a serial flirt, I know, but he’s sweet and does his best to fight my cause with Melmot.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t think he has much influence really. He was outgunned when they hired Clarion to play Sally Bowles. What a disaster that was. I could have told them.’

‘Did you?’

‘No, but Hedley did, and they ignored him, poor lamb. They regret it now. The chickens came home to roost with a vengeance.’

‘If Clarion was such a risk, I’m surprised they gave her the part.’

‘It was the glamour thing, wasn’t it? She was a sleb and Melmot was acting like a teenybopper. She stayed at his house. Men are so transparent, but I bet nothing happened. You can be sure his old mum was stalking the corridors all night. Have you met her?’

Diamond let it pass. There were more critical matters to explore while Kate was being so expansive. ‘On the evening Clarion was killed, you and Hedley were together in the wardrobe department.’

‘Having a five-star shag. You don’t have to be coy. Hed was over the moon because the theatre was saved. I was in a great mood, too, thinking I might get a reprieve and get my job back.’

‘This was when he told you Clarion was actually in the theatre?’

‘Bless her little cotton socks, yes.’

‘Did anyone else backstage know that she was in the box?’

‘Melmot, of course. And the security man.’

‘Binns.’

‘Yes, he’s a waste of space, that one. I much prefer old Basil, our regular stage doorkeeper. I hope they don’t sack Baz.’

‘Binns has the freedom to move around the theatre, doesn’t he?’

‘Part of his job. He should be the last to leave. He checks round and makes sure it’s safe to close up at night.’

‘Can the staff get in after hours? Say you left your handbag in wardrobe and needed it, could you go back and collect it?’

‘No problem. I know the security codes. I could go back tonight if I want and burn the whole place down.’

‘But you won’t, because you’ll be here.’

Her mouth curved upwards. ‘Unless I discharge myself. I have a right, you know. I could bum a lift back to Bath with you.’

‘No chance,’ Diamond said at once. ‘You’ve got an interview coming up with the accident investigation team. They have a lot to ask you about.’

On the way back to the car, Rogers said, ‘You decided not to arrest her, then? Is she innocent?’

‘That isn’t the word I’d choose for Kate,’ Diamond said, ‘but I doubt if she killed anyone.’

‘She had motive, means and opportunity.’

‘In spades, Lew, in spades. But there’s a clear brain and cool planning behind these killings, someone confident enough to think ahead and pass off the murder as something it wasn’t. Attention to detail, timing, method. Kate is capable of managing a wardrobe department if everything goes well, but under pressure she lost it. She was outfoxed by Denise. Her system collapsed into chaos. These killings aren’t hotheaded crimes. They’re planned and followed through with precision. We’re not looking for someone who bonks the manager and runs her car into a tree and gets half-pissed in hospital.’

He grinned. ‘Now you put it like that, guv, I’ve got to agree.’

CID wasn’t exactly buzzing when he walked in about 9.30 p.m. Leaman had his feet up. Paul Gilbert had found a football match on the internet. Halliwell was eating a pasty. Ingeborg was texting.

‘Okay, people,’ Diamond said.

Order was restored. Paul Gilbert replaced the football with a screen saver. ‘Hi, guv.’

‘I thought you were out and about testing printers.’

‘I’ve checked more than twenty. The theatre, of course, Melmot Hall, Shearman’s flat, Binns’s security firm, Titus O’Driscoll’s house. I even went round all the city copying shops in case it was done there.’

‘No joy, then?’

‘None at all.’

‘What about the actors – Barnes and the rest of them?’

‘They’re in digs. They don’t have printers.’

‘Their landladies do.’

He blushed.

‘Tomorrow morning,’ Diamond said.

Ingeborg, keen to show she, too, had not been idle, said, ‘I checked with the lab and they’ve detected significant levels of Rohypnol in Denise’s blood.’

‘That ties in nicely. And are we any further on with our major suspects? Keith, you were marking Shearman’s card.’

‘He’s a bundle of nerves, as you saw,’ Halliwell said. ‘I got a CV out of him. Bath was his first big job as theatre director. He’s been through the hoops of assistant stage manager, front-of-house. Worked in any number of provincial theatres. Wants desperately to hang on to this job, so he kowtows to Melmot. If he planned these murders, I can’t work out why. His reputation is in shreds.’

‘And Melmot?’

‘Inge did the digging on him, with some help from me,’ Leaman said, feet now under the desk instead of on it. ‘He’s all front. Likes everyone to think he’s the money behind the theatre, but in reality his only asset seems to be the house, and that’s too expensive to keep up. I checked with the land registry and it’s owned by his mother.’

‘So he’s not all he seems, but does that make him a murderer? What would he have gained from killing Denise and Clarion?’

‘He’d be better off killing his mother,’ Ingeborg said.

There were some smiles. Not from Diamond. ‘Is that it? Is that where we are at the end of the week, reduced to making tasteless jokes about old ladies?’

Ingeborg turned scarlet.

‘How about Binns?’ Halliwell said, always the man to steer everyone into calmer waters. ‘Fred Dawkins made some notes before he left for the Sweeney Todd walk-through.’

‘Decent of him. Fancy going to all that trouble,’ Diamond said with sarcasm even he regretted after speaking it. His mood was bleak. ‘I was told his findings didn’t amount to the proverbial hill of beans.’

‘Those weren’t my words,’ Ingeborg said, still smarting from the putdown. She got up and handed him Dawkins’ notes. ‘Fred worked hard on this before he had to leave.’

He put up a hand in conciliation. ‘I’m sorry, team. It’s been a bloody long day. Let’s draw a line under it. See you in the morning.’

They didn’t need any persuading. Desks were cleared, computers put on standby. In two minutes only Ingeborg and Diamond remained.

‘About Melmot’s mother,’ she said. ‘I wish I hadn’t said that. It was a cheap remark.’

‘Forget it, Inge,’ he told her. ‘I’ve said plenty cheaper than that, as you well know. You caught me at a bad time.’

‘This case must be the toughest ever,’ she said.

‘Yes, and I’m trying to deal with a personal issue as well. I thought I could settle it today and I didn’t.’

‘Anything I can help with?’

He shook his head. ‘Like I said, it’s personal. You get home. I’ll read these notes Fred made.’

After she’d left, he took the notes into his office, but he didn’t read them. He closed the door and called Paloma.

‘Are you still there at this hour?’ she said.

‘Winding down. It wasn’t one of my better days.’ He told her about his visit to Flakey White. ‘I came away feeling a bully and an idiot. He appears to have led a blameless life since he got caught.’

‘I wouldn’t waste sympathy on him,’ she said. ‘Those underage girls he had sex with won’t have forgotten or forgiven.’

‘I know, but it’s different from abusing small boys. He never touched me.’

‘Are you certain? Do you know about paedophiles? Do they make a distinction or do they just prey on children because they’re vulnerable?’

‘In this case I am certain. I saw the surprise in his eyes when he realised what I was on about. That was genuine.’

‘So you’re left in uncertainty again?’

‘I asked him if any of the others might have touched me and he pretty well convinced me it didn’t happen.’

‘Something happened to you. Something deeply upsetting,’ Paloma said. ‘Let’s get this clear. After the play finished you went directly on holiday at the farm in North Wales.’

Her desire to help was well meant. He suppressed the sigh that was coming and repeated the salient facts. ‘Where my sister had her eleventh birthday and for a treat we were taken to the Arcadia Theatre at Llandudno and I refused to stay in there. I kicked up a fuss even before the show started.’

‘You were in your seat?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you hadn’t objected to going into the theatre? Whatever this upset was, it happened when you were in there. Do you see what I’m saying, Peter? It wasn’t the idea of going inside.’

‘It is now. I damn near throw up when I approach the entrance.’

‘But the first time it happened, you didn’t. I was thinking this over last night. You told me your theatre phobia – you don’t call it that, I know, but let’s give it a name for clarity’s sake – you said it didn’t affect you some time later when you were taken to the Mermaid Theatre.’

‘For Treasure Island. I was fine. Loved it. Can’t tell you why.’

‘Yet Julius Caesar at the Old Vic made you ill.’

‘I walked out before it started. My teacher only found out later. Are you going to tell me the choice of play makes all the difference?’

‘No, I’m not. It’s obvious that the theatre does.’

He stared unseeing across the empty CID room. ‘But why?’ Paloma’s reasoning seemed to be circular. He had no expectation of a breakthrough.

‘Can you remember any other theatre where you weren’t aware of the phobia and just enjoyed the show?’

He didn’t have to dig deeply in his memory. His theatre-going didn’t amount to much. ‘Once when I was in Chichester with Steph we saw a comedy by some guy from somewhere up north, Scarborough, I think.’

‘Ayckbourn.’

‘Was it? You know better than me. Anyway, there were no alarms for me. It was very funny.’

‘Chichester,’ Paloma said. ‘Now that’s interesting. Chichester has a thrust stage. It projects out into the audience, with the seating around it. And the Mermaid was open stage as well.’

‘Does that make a difference?’

‘You’re the one who can answer that. There’s no curtain in an open-stage theatre.’

‘True.’

‘No curtain, Peter, and no problems for you. Do you follow me?’

‘Are you saying I have a fear of curtains? I’d never go anywhere if I did.’

‘Theatre curtains. Bath has curtains. So does the Old Vic. And no doubt the Arcadia at Llandudno. As soon as your family were seated, you couldn’t get out fast enough. Am I onto something?’

‘Search me. Curtains.’ But he tried to give it more serious thought. He couldn’t deny that he’d gone to some lengths to avoid looking at the Theatre Royal curtain – the treasured house drapes donated by the Chaplin family. ‘That would narrow it down for sure.’

‘Did something unpleasant happen with the curtain in that play you were in as a child?’

‘Nothing I can remember. I’ve no memory of the curtain. I suppose they had one. It was just a church hall.’

‘They surely would. Give it some thought. It may yet come back to you.’

Enlightened? In truth, no. He’d said the right things to please her. She cared about him, and he appreciated that.

After putting down the phone he picked up the notes Dawkins had made on Charlie Binns, the security man. As a piece of research, it was all he could have asked for. Fred was a pain in many ways, but give him a job like this and he was as reliable as anyone on the team. Binns, aged thirty-six, was a Londoner, born in Stepney to a couple who managed a dry-cleaning shop, a poor scholar who failed most of his GCSEs, joined the army as an apprentice and served until 1996, ending as a corporal. He’d had a series of jobs in the building trade, followed by two years as an assistant undertaker. He had then started in the security business as a part-time bouncer for various pubs and nightclubs. Twice divorced, he had a child by the first marriage and had defaulted a number of times on the maintenance payments. Over the last three years he’d held down a regular job with his current security firm and resumed the payments. He was living alone in a rented flat in Twerton, to the west of Bath. He belonged to a martial arts club and was a black belt in judo.

Below, Dawkins had written:

FOR FURTHER INVESTIGATION

Possible links to Denise

1. Army experience. Bosnian War? Check if his regiment was there when she was touring.

2. Employment in undertaker’s. A long shot, but where did she work?

Possible links to Clarion

Bouncer at clubs. Pop concerts? Protection?

This was better than a solid piece of research, in Diamond’s estimation. There was enough in the end notes alone to show Dawkins was thinking outside the box. Even if none of these potential links matched up, the analysis was intelligent and thorough.

Was Charlie Binns rising up the scale as a suspect? The motive wasn’t clear, but there was enough to keep him in the frame. If he and Denise had crossed paths in Bosnia or even some funeral parlour, and got into a spat and then chance brought them together again at the theatre, maybe there was a motive. Old enmities could have triggered the violence.

He decided to take another look at Denise’s original statement about the Clarion scarring episode. Fred Dawkins had put it on the computer, but Diamond liked reading things on paper and he’d got the printed version in a folder along with the pages of speed-writing from Dawn Reed’s notebook. Did Denise mention the trip to Bosnia, or had that come up later? He thought he’d heard it first from Kate. And now, on checking, he confirmed he was right. Nothing about the previous work experience was there in Denise’s words.

How reliable was Kate’s memory?

A sound in the office outside disturbed him. He got up and opened the door. Fred Dawkins had walked in looking untypically svelte in his rehearsal gear of black top, trousers and black trainers.

‘How did the walk-through go?’ Diamond asked.

‘You gave me a shock, guv,’ he said, clapping a hand to his brow as if still in theatrical mode. ‘I was starting to think CID had closed down, at least for tonight. The walk-through? Pedestrian, in more than one sense of the word. However, we’ll persevere. I keep reminding myself that they are all amateurs, even the Assistant Chief Constable. Do you mind if I check my voicemail? I’m hoping for an answer to an enquiry I made about Mr Binns.’

‘Go ahead. I was trying to understand Dawn Reed’s speed-reading. I’m getting good at it.’ He returned to his desk. He hadn’t been there long when Dawkins reappeared, as pleased as if he’d just hoofed the umbrella dance from Singin’ in the Rain.

‘A development, guv.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I asked Alert Security, Binns’s employers, how he came to be assigned to the Theatre Royal and they said he volunteered. They have the contract for the security system and he’s been on duty in and around the theatre before. After all the publicity over the first night he pointed out that the stage door was the one weak point, relying on human control, rather than the digital locks everywhere else. He offered to man it and was accepted.’

Diamond nodded. ‘So he volunteered. This is getting interesting.’

‘There is more. I asked my contact at Alert about Binns’s other duties in recent months and was informed that he is often on nightclub duty.’

‘As a bouncer?’

‘Indeed. I enquired what their duties consist of, and it seems they are there to deter undesirables, gatecrashers and any under the obvious influence of drink or drugs. In some cases they won’t admit people unless they submit to a search.’

Diamond’s patience was wearing thin. ‘Fred, I know what a bouncer does.’

‘Ah, but on a number of occasions they seize drugs.’

He raised his thumb. ‘Okay, I’m with you. I think I see where this is going.’

‘I asked for chapter and verse and that was the voicemail I just got back. They confirm that on two occasions in the past six months Binns confiscated a quantity of Rohypnol.’

‘Now you’re talking.’ And his own pulse was quickening. ‘They should have handed the stuff to us.’

‘I’m sure they did, or they wouldn’t have told me,’ Dawkins said. ‘But it’s not beyond the wit of a bent security man to pocket some pills himself and hand in a smaller quantity.’

Diamond nodded. ‘Mr Charlie Binns has some questions to answer. Where would he be right now?’

Dawkins glanced at his watch. ‘Normally, he’d still be at the theatre, but as the performances are cancelled I expect he’s at home in Twerton.’

‘A dawn raid might be timely.’

‘I can lead it if you wish.’

‘Thanks, but one of the older hands had better be in charge. Get a night’s sleep.’ He raised a finger. ‘One thing before you go, Fred. You were there yesterday with Ingeborg when we found the suicide note on the stage. Have you mentioned it to anyone in the theatre?’

‘No, guv. You asked us not to.’

‘Good. The killer will be getting nervous about that note, not knowing it was found. He or she will think it’s still tucked away in the German stove and doing no good there. In fact now that we’re saying openly that Denise was murdered, it’s a liability. The killer needs to go back and remove it before the set is broken up tomorrow. I’ve laid a trap in case this happens tonight.’

‘May I help?’

Diamond smiled. ‘Keeno, always volunteering. You’ll learn. No, two officers are there already waiting to pounce. You know them both: Dawn Reed and George Pidgeon. Anyone gets inside the theatre, he’s nicked.’

‘If I may put it succinctly, guv, that’s neat.’

‘I wish you’d put it succinctly more often.’

After Dawkins left, Diamond remained in his office until after midnight dissecting the case, every statement, each report the investigation had prompted. This was a useful time to be at work, when the phones were silent, the press had gone away and he could deal with the information in his own way, circling, underlining and adding question marks, all on paper, rather than a screen.

Methodically he went through the process of sorting fact from mere suspicion. Between documents, he paused and stared at the wall, deep in thought. Until recently the killing of Denise had seemed like a direct consequence of Clarion’s scarring. Now he was considering it in isolation.

He returned to the statement made by Denise about the scarring incident and read the opening words for the umpteenth time:

I’ve worked here six years and never experienced anything as awful as this.

Later developments had given this apparently innocuous document an importance he hadn’t grasped until now. Thanks to Dawn Reed’s speed-writing and Fred Dawkins’ thoroughness it was a virtual transcript of the words Denise had used, ranging over her admission that she’d applied the make-up using her own kit, on the instructions of the director, Sandy Block-Swell, who had flown to America – which had led into a typical Dawkins red herring about double-barrelled names, leading on to a discussion about Clarion’s stage name and other showbiz examples. Not all the conversational asides in the speed-written version were in the printed statement, but her testimony about the Clarion incident was entirely accurate.

‘Bloody hell.’

He held the witness statement closer and stared at it. He had the answer in his hand. He reached for the fake suicide note and re-examined that.

He was stunned, but there was only one conclusion. Both documents had been printed on the same machine.

He knew what he must do. He went back to the computer and accessed the personal files of his own CID team. Then he turned to the brief notes he had on Denise’s early career, the assortment of jobs she’d had, from undertaker’s assistant to touring Bosnia.

Manchester Prison interested him most. He phoned there and asked for the duty governor. The man on the end of the line had obviously been asleep. He sounded peeved to get a call at this late hour, but he soon understood the urgency and promised to check for the information Diamond was requesting.

Meanwhile there was more to check. Flying in the face of his prejudice against the internet Diamond went online to search for names on the death registers. Next he phoned the National Identification Service at Scotland Yard and challenged another unfortunate on night duty to come up with information. He was getting close to a result and the indications couldn’t have been worse. His reasoning was taking him into territory he hadn’t visited until tonight, moving from disbelief to inescapable fact to near horror.

A mass of information was faxed from Manchester. He leafed through it rapidly and with a heavy heart.

Then his mobile rang. It came as a shock at this hour. He delved into his pocket for it. ‘Yes?’

‘Guv, this is Dawn Reed, in the theatre.’

‘Speak up. It’s a poor line.’

‘Dawn Reed. I’m worried. Someone has got into the building. George and I heard noises. We separated, to cover both sides of the place. We arranged to stay in contact on our personal radios. Now his has gone silent. I can’t raise him.’

‘Where are you now?’

‘The front stalls, crouching down between the seats.’

‘Don’t move from there, whatever happens, do you hear me? I’m coming at once.’