The Twist of a Knife

11 Star Quality

I turned on Hawthorne the moment we were back in the corridor. ‘You didn’t believe him?’ I demanded.

‘About his wife?’

‘About me!’ Before he could answer, I went on. ‘We were all upset by that review. We’d had a lot to drink and nobody was expecting it … not so soon, anyway. But he was the one who went crazy. He put a knife in the cake! Like he was stabbing it, not slicing it. And I didn’t nod. I was actually quite shocked.’

Did I think Jordan had killed Harriet Throsby? Despite what had happened that night, I thought it unlikely. He was a method actor. He’d mentioned Stanislavski. It seemed that some of the violence of the part had spilled over into his real life. But the murder had taken place at ten o’clock in the morning, long after the party had ended. I could see Jordan lashing out in a fit of anger, in much the same way that he had managed to hurt Sky, but premeditated murder was something else. It just didn’t fit with what I knew of his character. And there was another question. The killer had attempted to frame me. Why would Jordan have done that? We’d become quite friendly during the rehearsals and the out-of-town run. I was quite put out by what he’d just said.

It was as if Hawthorne had been reading my mind. He looked at me with those muddy, innocent eyes. ‘Don’t worry about Jordan Williams, mate. I’m on your side.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’

‘We’ll ask everyone who was in the room what they saw. And then we’ll know the truth.’

Well, I thought, that’s a vote of confidence.

We went downstairs. Dressing Room 6 was the first one we came to, a short way down a brightly lit corridor. The door was half-open and I could hear someone moving on the other side. I looked in to see Tirian Kirke wearing a sweatshirt but no trousers, getting into his costume for the performance, which was now about thirty minutes away. He saw me and smiled, unembarrassed. ‘Hi! I didn’t expect to see you tonight.’

‘I’m sorry to interrupt you, Tirian. Can we come in? This is Hawthorne. He’s a detective. He’s looking into what happened to Harriet Throsby.’

‘I don’t suppose he’s going to find anything here.’ Tirian grabbed Mark Styler’s trousers and pulled them on. ‘But sure. Come on in. I can make you some tea if you like.’

We made our way in and closed the door behind us.

The room was a little smaller than Jordan’s, but it was much less cluttered, which gave an impression of space. I noticed that Tirian had received just three good luck cards and a single bunch of flowers – much less than the older actor. These first-night offerings were looking a little sad, arranged on a single table with nothing else around them. Everything was very neat and tidy. No dirty clothes or dog-eared paperbacks here. The cushions on his sofa had been arranged at exact intervals and I noticed the towels beside the sink hanging with almost military precision.

As we sat down, he pulled off his sweatshirt, exposing a well-toned chest and shoulders that suggested a lot of time spent in the gym. There was something about him right then that reminded me of James Dean, who had become a cultural icon when he was just twenty-four and who had died the same year. Tirian had the same careless good looks combined with a sense of disengagement, the rebel without a cause. I was reminded that he had just been cast in a major Hollywood picture that might make him a household name and I could already see that he was halfway there. Star quality is hard to define, but I’ve met many young actors before they’ve become famous and they’ve all had it. It’s not exactly physical. It’s not even a force of personality. It’s just a sense of being different; the prescience that one day, quite soon, they’re going to be loved.

‘I couldn’t believe it when I heard about Harriet,’ he said. ‘It’s the most terrible thing to have happened. That poor woman …’

‘You feel sorry for her?’ Hawthorne sounded surprised.

‘Well, of course I do! She’s been killed!’ He stopped himself. ‘I know she said bad things about the play, and I have a suspicion she wasn’t exactly sweetness and light in real life either, but murder is murder and for what it’s worth, she was actually quite nice about me. She said I was one of the most promising actors of my generation.’ He couldn’t resist an approving glance in the make-up mirror. ‘You don’t think one of us did it, do you?’ he went on. ‘Is that why you’re here?’

‘It’s a possibility,’ Hawthorne replied.

‘Well, I think you’re barking up the wrong tree, if you don’t mind me saying so. I mean …’ he held up his hand and began to count the various names off on his thumb and four fingers ‘… Sky. She couldn’t have been kinder to me when I joined the company and she clearly doesn’t have a bad bone in her. Ahmet and Maureen. They’re just a joke. Do you think they’re having it away? I do. They really are the world’s worst producers, as witness those ridiculous daggers they gave us on the first night. I still have mine, by the way. The police came round to my place asking to see it. It was lucky I hadn’t put it in the skip. Funny, isn’t it. So many murder weapons. All identical.’

‘Not very funny,’ I muttered.

He touched another finger.

‘Ewan hated her. I get the feeling that the two of them have history, although he never talks about it. You saw how angry he was!’ This was addressed to me. ‘But I really can’t imagine him going round there and doing her in. He’s much too civilised. You should have seen him when he was having one of his hissy fits in rehearsals. Sometimes I was afraid he might stab me with his spectacles, but that’s about as far as it ever went.

‘Then there’s Keith on the door.’ Tirian counted him on his little finger. ‘He was here that night and I have a feeling he’s out of his head on dope half the time, but what reason would he have had to kill her? Revenge because she panned Mindgame?’ He sniffed. ‘If we close tomorrow, another play will open the next day. It makes no difference to him.’

He lowered his hand.

‘You’ve missed out Jordan Williams,’ Hawthorne said.

‘Oh. Yes. You’re right.’ Tirian’s face fell. ‘Well, we all heard what he said that night, so I’d imagine that makes him the prime suspect.’

‘He said she deserved to die.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Did anyone else in the room seem to agree?’

I could see where Hawthorne was going with that one, but to my relief, Tirian wasn’t having it. ‘I don’t think so. Nobody said anything. It was all a bit embarrassing.’ He shook his head, dismissing the thought. ‘It’s no secret that Jordan and I don’t get along. But – hand on heart – I don’t think he had anything to do with Harriet’s death. The thing about him is that he’s always sounding off. It was the same during rehearsals. But it was all just a lot of hot air.’

‘Why did he have a problem with you, do you think?’

‘Why don’t you ask him?’

‘It’s your perspective that interests me.’

‘All right. But let me start by saying that I don’t dislike Jordan. My rule in life is to try and get on with everyone. Why not? You’re only in this world once, so you’ve got to make the best of it.’ Satisfied that he had made this clear, he continued. ‘I think he was jealous. That’s the only way to explain it. From the moment I joined the show, he was on my case. I haven’t learned my lines. I’m upstaging him. I’m not giving him what he needs when he’s doing his big soliloquies … you know, like I should be hanging on every word.’

‘He’d heard about your part in Tenet?’

‘Oh, yes. I don’t know why it pissed him off so much. I mean, he had some big parts in American TV before he came here. He could have stayed and had a Hollywood career. Maybe it’s just because I’m so much younger than him. Some of the old-school actors are like that. They think you’ve got to spend years doing walk-on parts in the provinces and bit parts on TV before you get your big break. It’s happened to me faster, that’s all. And he doesn’t like it.’

‘You didn’t go to drama school.’ This was something that Jordan had told Hawthorne. He certainly hadn’t been happy about that.

‘Actually, you’re right. That’s definitely something Jordan resented. I never “learned my craft”. But it wasn’t my fault! I never even wanted to go into acting. The whole thing was as big a surprise to me as anyone else.’ Tirian had a little travel alarm clock on the table beside him and he twisted it round to check the time. ‘It happened when I was twenty-two. It’s funny, really. I just walked into it.’

‘Tirian is a Welsh name …’ Hawthorne said. It was one of his habits, throwing in observations that seemingly came from nowhere.

Tirian smiled. ‘Yes. I was born in Chepstow, in Monmouthshire. My mother called me Tirian because it means “kind”, which is what I always try to be.’

‘She must be very proud of you.’

His face fell. ‘She’s dead. I lost both my parents when I was very small. They were in a car accident. Their car was hit by a delivery truck just outside London.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I was only five years old. I hardly even remember them really. I moved up to Harrogate in North Yorkshire. I was brought up by an aunt.’

That explained the sense of otherness I’d felt when I was with Tirian, and perhaps the absence of many cards or flowers in his dressing room. He had no family and I’d never seen him go out with friends.

‘My parents were very ordinary people. My father was a doctor. My mother worked in the same surgery – she was the receptionist. I was an only child and they weren’t sure what to do with me after the accident. I’d probably have ended up in an orphanage or something except that my dad had an aunt, my great-aunt May, and she stepped in and said I could live with her. She was on her own and she was quite well off. She was everything to me growing up. She’s still close to me now.’

He reached out and picked up one of the three cards he had been sent. It showed a cartoon of a man reaching down to pick up a four-leaf clover … just missing an old-fashioned safe that was plummeting down from a building behind him. The words GOOD LUCK were printed in silver foil. Hawthorne opened it and we read the message, written in a cramped, almost childish hand. Hope the first night goes well. All my love. AM.

‘Nice of her to remember,’ I said.

‘She’s got dementia,’ Tirian replied. ‘She’s in a care home now and the nurses will have helped her with the card because she doesn’t remember anything very much.’ For a moment he was sad, but then he smiled. ‘I had a wonderful time living with her. She had a beautiful house, a two-up-two-down on Otley Road … just opposite the tennis club. I used to go there all the time. I wasn’t crazy about the sport, but mixed doubles was definitely my thing. That’s where I had my first kiss. And my first cigarette.’

‘Did you go to school in Harrogate?’

‘Yeah. I got into Harrogate Grammar School. It was only five minutes away from where I lived. I was there until I was sixteen. Funnily enough, there was a teacher there – Miss Havergill – who was always trying to get me interested in drama. She put me in The Pied Piper, playing the king of the rats. I enjoyed that. Maybe it should have told me something, but I was a lazy little sod. I didn’t do A levels. I couldn’t wait to start work.’

‘What did you want to do?’

‘I didn’t really care. I just wanted to have enough money to have my own place, a fast car, travel … that sort of thing. Aunt May managed to get me a job with the National Trust in York. I started as a programmes manager in the event-management department. Twelve thousand pounds a year – that was my first salary. It was pretty boring, to be honest with you, and I wouldn’t have stuck it very long, but then one of those weird coincidences happened and it sort of changed my life.’

He was talking faster now, aware of time ticking away.

‘They were shooting a TV series called Heartbeat in one of our properties near Leeds. You must remember it. It was a cop show set in the sixties. I was sent down there to act as a liaison officer – to make sure that everything went all right – and they asked me if I’d like to be an extra, just for a lark. I ended up playing a stable boy. The episode was about a farmer who shoots someone’s dog or something. Anyway, I was up to my knees in mud, hanging on to a horse, which terrified me because I’d never been near one before, and I loved every minute of it.

‘I can’t explain it to you, really. The moment I went on the set I felt I’d sort of arrived. I’d never realised that so much work and so many people went into the making of an hour’s TV. I was amazed by all the equipment – the cameras and the dollies, the catering trucks, the lights. It was massive. And then there were the stars. There was no “them and us”. They were really nice. I watched them doing their stuff, not once but lots of times, doing the same scene from lots of different angles, and I thought – I can do that! Maybe I remembered doing that play with Miss Havergill. I wanted to do it. She’d been right. I had it inside me. I was an actor!

‘And what happened that first day was really amazing. As it happened, the casting director happened to be on set. He was a guy called Malcolm Drury and after we finished filming, I went over and asked him if he could help me … you know, get into the business. I was actually quite nervous, but he couldn’t have been nicer.’

The strange thing was, I’d met Malcolm Drury myself. He’d worked on a TV play for children that I’d written at the end of the eighties. I’d liked him too.

‘We had a long chat. I was freezing cold and stinking of horses, but he took a liking to me and said he’d let me know if anything came up – and he was as good as his word. I got a few lines in Spooks and Little Dorrit – more horses – and after that I packed in the National Trust and got an agent and it all took off. There are lots of people who are a bit snooty, like Jordan, because I never went to drama school or anything like that, but I love what I’m doing and it seems I got lucky.’ He stopped. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t helped you very much, have I – and now I’ve got to get ready. I didn’t kill Harriet Throsby and I hope you find out who did. Let me know! But if you don’t mind …’

Hawthorne and I stood up.

‘Can I ask you one thing?’ I asked. Hawthorne glanced warily in my direction. He was always warning me not to intrude. But there’d been something on my mind from the moment I’d met Tirian and although this probably wasn’t the best time to mention it, I might not get another opportunity. ‘Do you remember a TV show called Injustice?’ I asked.

‘A cop show, wasn’t it? About a lawyer …’

‘I wrote it. You were going to play Alan Stewart, the young man who takes his own life in jail. You’d agreed but at the last minute you backed out. I’ve always wondered why.’ Even as I spoke, I realised that I was being ridiculous. I was in the middle of a murder investigation! But it was too late now. ‘I just wondered …’ I added, apologetically.

‘Yes. I remember that.’ Tirian looked uncomfortable. ‘It wasn’t my decision. I thought the part was great. It was my agent who advised against it. There were lots of offers on the table and she didn’t think it was right for my career at the time. I know that sounds a bit rubbish, but I always listened to what she said and she just didn’t think it was right. I’m sorry.’

‘I think he killed Harriet Throsby,’ I said, as soon as we were outside.

Hawthorne looked at me curiously. ‘Really?’

‘Why didn’t you ask him where he was on Tuesday morning when she was killed?’ It was the first time I had ever challenged Hawthorne, but I was tired and irritable. I’d had no sleep the night before and I’d been on my feet almost the whole day. I’d been in prison! My nerves were in shreds.

‘There was no point, mate.’ To my surprise, Hawthorne hadn’t taken offence. He sounded completely reasonable. ‘He’s an actor. He got home late. He was probably in bed until mid-morning.’ He paused. ‘Like you.’

‘Well, he was definitely lying.’

‘How do you work that one out?’

‘When he said his agent didn’t want him to do Injustice – I know for a fact that’s not true. He had the same agent as one of the other actors and I met her quite a few times. She was really angry he turned the part down. It was the exact opposite of what he just said. She told me she thought it was perfect for him.’

‘Maybe she was the one who was lying.’

‘I don’t think so. She dropped him a short while later … or maybe he dropped her. Either way, she would have told me the truth.’ Hawthorne didn’t seem convinced so I went on. ‘I know this isn’t about my work, and I’m not angry with him because he didn’t want to do my series. I’m just saying that you shouldn’t believe everything he says.’

‘I never believe everything anyone says.’

‘Including me?’

He smiled. ‘Why would I believe someone who spends his entire life making stuff up?’

I had an answer for that, I was sure. But before I could come up with it, he had already set off down the corridor, on his way to the third and last dressing room. Shaking my head, I fell in behind.