Walking with Ghosts

good at his job, and eccentricity was a trait not unknown in his profession.
    Hopper was different. Charles Hopper never sent William a card, he came round to the house. The other people who used William’s services sent a cheque in payment through the post. Hopper brought it round by hand. He’d sometimes look over William’s shoulder as he stood at the door, really intrigued by William’s house, and how William lived. Charles Hopper would love to be invited inside, but William would never give him the satisfaction.
    As he approached along St Mary’s, William reflected that the Fulford Players didn’t owe him money, and they also, as far as he was aware, were not ready to begin a new production. So what could Hopper want?
    ‘William.’ Hopper extended his hand. He had a flattened nose. William thought that was funny, that a busybody, a nosey-parker, should have a flattened nose. Perhaps someone had given it to him. He’d stuck it in somewhere it shouldn’t have been, and got it flattened. But if that was the case he hadn’t learned anything from the experience. And you had to, or you were destroyed. You had to look long and hard at every single experience in life, find out what it meant, learn a lesson from it.
    William put his holdall on the step and gave Hopper his hand. The last few metres along the street he’d moved into sociable mode. He had a smile on his face, and he’d relaxed his shoulders, shortened his stride. ‘Charles,’ he said. ‘You were lucky to catch me. I’ve been to the launderette, and I’ve got to go out again, I’m afraid. Hope it isn’t something that won’t keep.’
    ‘It’ll only take a couple of minutes,’ Hopper said. ‘You might be able to help solve a murder.’
    William kept the smile on his face. The pace of his heart moved up a notch, and he increased the depth of his breathing to get it down again. ‘Murder,’ he said. ‘Sounds rather dramatic, Charles.’
    ‘Yes, doesn’t it. I had a call from a private detective last evening. A woman, would you believe? Working for an insurance company. About India Blake.’
    ‘What’s this got to do with me?’
    ‘Hang on,’ said Charles. ‘I’m getting there. You remember India Blake, the woman who was killed in the allotment. They found her—’
    ‘Yes,’ William told him. ‘It was in the papers, back in July.’
    ‘Good memory. I thought it was May, but yes, you’re right, it was in July they found the body.’
    ‘Charles, I don’t have a lot of time.’ William glanced at his watch. ‘Can you get to the point.’
    ‘Sorry, I’m rambling again. This woman, the private detective, was looking for someone who knew India Blake and had a connection with the theatre. Would that description fit any of our members? I said I’d enquire, but I’m sure if any of our members knew her we’d have heard about it.’
    William took his key out of his pocket and picked up the holdall. ‘I’m sorry, Charles, I’ve got to get on. I don’t know why you’re telling me all this.’
    ‘I’m telling you in case you knew the woman, or you know anyone else who might have known her.’
    ‘But why should I, Charles? Why did you choose to come to my house instead of any of your members? You said the detective was enquiring about your members.’
    ‘Yes, she was. But when I asked her what she meant by a connection with the theatre, she said she was looking for someone who knew India Blake who might have access to greasepaint.’
    William let his breath go. ‘And you told her that I did all the make-up for the group.’
    Charles shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t. I didn’t even think about you at the time. It was only later, when I got to thinking about it. That’s why I came round. I didn’t think you’d know her, India Blake, I mean. But you must know other people, the suppliers you buy greasepaint from, the other make-up artists. What I thought was, I should put you and this detective woman together. Maybe you can help solve the murder.’
    William unlocked his front door and pushed it open. ‘You haven’t told her about me already, Charles?’
    ‘No. Of course not. I wouldn’t do that without asking you first.’
    William turned towards Charles and gave him the warmest smile he could raise. He felt a trickle of saliva at the corner of his mouth and wiped it away with the side of his hand. ‘You’d better come up,’ he said. ‘This sounds more important than my other