The Circle

by Peter Lovesey

  'At the refuge, you mean?'

  'Yes, she took it upon herself to help them in whatever way she could. It wasn't just a matter of raising funds in the charity shop. She was often at the refuge itself, trying to counsel the clients, or whatever they're called. It did cross my mind that if one of those people confided in her, told her about a crime, for instance, and later panicked, they could have decided killing her was the only remedy.'

  'We're looking into that, Mr McDade, but thanks for mentioning it. Did you hear anything from Miss Snow after your arrest?'

  'Only at one remove. My partner mentioned on the phone that Miss Snow was doing all she could to secure my release. She and Dagmar and Thomasine.'

  Hen played ignorant. 'Let me get these names clear in my head. Dagmar was one of the founders?'

  'Yes, with Naomi.'

  'Which one is Thomasine?'

  'Thomasine O'Loughlin. A splendid woman, salt of the earth. She contributes so much, and in a positive way. Writes some rather good erotic poetry as well. I'd expect her to take the initiative.'

  'Is that typical of erotic poets, then?'

  'The initiative in proving my innocence.'

  'It's all right, Mr McDade. I was being flippant. You also mentioned Naomi. Is she one of your supporters?'

  'Naomi? She's more of a lone wolf. No, that's unkind. Her intentions are good, I'm sure, but she has an off-putting manner. I can't see her teaming up with anyone else, not the women, anyway.'

  'Off-putting in what way?'

  'Hard to explain. I always feel there's a mountain of resentment behind Naomi. She knew straight away that Blacker was bluffing when he said he'd read her book on the Sussex witchcraft trials and it was timed just right for the current fascination with the occult. She asked him straight out if he'd actually read it. Believe me, if you're eye to eye with Naomi you back down. He moved on rapidly to someone else.'

  'Tell me about Dagmar, then.'

  'Little Dagmar. A delightful person. Very serious, very earnest. Of Austrian or German stock, I would think. But she has this other side you'd never dream of until she mentions she's written twelve steamy romances as Desiree Eliot.'

  'Written and published?'

  'Not published yet, but I'm sure her chance will come. They could be a goldmine for an enterprising publisher, all those novels written already.'

  'Are they good?'

  'Who can tell, except the kind of person she's writing for? Romantic writers, more than any others, have to hit the spot, if you understand me.'

  Hen thought she did, and managed to keep a straight face.

  'It's a huge market,' he said, 'and to my admittedly inexpert ear, Dagmar's writing is equal to the challenge.'

  'Did Blacker agree?'

  'He said he'd shown her script to a friend who devoured it at a sitting. He was sounding very bullish about it until she mentioned she had eleven more that she'd been hawking around the publishers.'

  'Without so much as a nibble?'

  'Not up to now.'

  'When Blacker heard this he went into reverse?'

  'Well, yes.'

  'Disappointing for Dagmar.'

  'Shattering - but I must tell you she's a gentle soul. It wouldn't enter her mind to turn to violence.'

  'You're being very helpful.' And Hen was being very arch - considering she'd looked at the video of Blacker's talk only a couple of hours before. 'There's an even more delicate flower in your little bunch, and I'm trying to think of her name.'

  'Jessie Warmington-Smith.'

  'That's her.'

  'The widow of the archdeacon. Writes letters to The Lady. She's spent many years compiling a book of useful hints for everyday living. It had the working title "Tips for the Twentieth Century", and of course she had to update it after the millennium, but unfortunately some of the tips are more suitable for the nineteenth century than the twenty-first.'

  'How to water your aspidistra?'

  He grinned. 'I must give Blacker some credit here. He dealt with her gently. He suggested including tips on text messaging and suchlike. She wasn't impressed.'

  'Struck him off her visitors' list?'

  'Very likely.'

  'And she'd be capable of lighting a fire. It's got to be in the chapter on household hints.'

  No smile this time. 'I can't see Jessie on the streets at night with a can of petrol.'

  'Why not? What was it Shakespeare said about a woman scorned?'

  'I understand you, but I think it was Congreve, not Shakespeare.'

  'All right, darling, have it your way. If being relaxed on the streets at night is a factor, I guess we have to look at the blonde bimbo.'

  'Young Sharon?'

  'What did Blacker say to her?'

  'Nothing. She didn't submit any work.'

  'The least likely, then?'

  He frowned. He'd missed the point.

  She said, 'In my job, they're the ones you're supposed to suspect the most. What brought Sharon to the circle in the first place?'

  'She just turned up one week. She does day release at the local tech, I think. Maybe the tutor sent her to us. She wants to be a fashion writer, she says. She's quite a good artist, going by what she does in her notepad.'

  'Does she join in the discussions?'

  'Hardly at all. I do my best as chair to draw her in. It's early days. It's good to see young people joining, so we don't want to put her off.'

  'I wonder what she gets out of it,' Hen said. 'When she first came, had you already programmed Edgar Blacker to give you a talk?'

  He thought for a moment. 'We must have. We publish our programme in January. Sharon joined in the spring.'

  'So she could have heard about it?'

  He shrugged. 'It's no secret. The programme is on the notice board at the New Park Centre and in the library. That's how a lot of our members find out about us.' He looked across the vegetable patch towards the man with the hose, who was built like a gorilla. 'I ought to get back to the watering. It's not a good idea to impose on the other inmates.'

  'I won't keep you much longer. There's a lady you haven't told me about.'

  'I thought we'd been through them all.'

  'Your partner.'

  'Fran?' He looked away again and passed a hand through his hair. 'She isn't in the circle.'

  'I know, but she's in my circle.'

  He frowned as her meaning got home to him. 'You don't have to worry about Fran. She's incorruptible. Please leave her alone.'

  'She has as much reason as you to have been angry with Blacker.'

  'She didn't know him at all.'

  Not knowing him could have made killing him easier, but Hen chose not to point this out. 'You don't mind me saying, I hope: there's quite an age gap between you.'

  'So?'

  'I wondered how it came about.'

  'I was unhappily married for years. We separated and things went from bad to worse. That business with my neighbour, and the spell inside. The divorce was . . . horrible. When I met Fran her gentle personality, her honesty, was like a revelation. She understood what I'd been through. She helped me put my life together again.'

  'We know about Fran's first marriage, Mr McDade.'

  'Oh God, spare us that! She made a mistake and got hitched to a criminal when she was just eighteen. He was put away with the rest of the gang almost forty years ago. You've got nothing on Fran.'

  'True,' Hen said. 'Nothing at all.'

  'She could have said I was at home on the evening of the fire, but she didn't. You get the truth from her. If she'd gone out that night and started the fire herself she'd tell you. You wouldn't even have to ask. She'd be round at the police station and telling you all about it the same night.'

  'Remarkable,' Hen said. 'I wish there were more like her.'

  'She's unique.'

  She dropped the butt of her cigar and flattened it with her shoe. 'Better get back to your hosing.'

  His face creased in disappointment. 'Aren't you going to let me
go?'

  'Not so simple,' Hen said. 'There are formalities. You were sent here by a magistrate. I'll have to explain what the hell the police were up to, and I'm not sure I know. I only started in the job this morning.'

  15

  I never came across a situation so dismal that a policeman couldn't make it worse.

  Brendan Behan on New York's Open End TV Show (1959) and quoted in The Sayings of Brendan Behan, ed. Audrey Dillon-Malone (1997)

  Pressganged into being spokesman for the circle, Bob had no chance to prepare. He spent the rest of that day and next morning fielding questions from national and local papers, as well as radio and TV people. It was jaw-dropping what some of these journos asked. Did Miss Snow have children? Affairs with clients? Was she gay?

  Miss Snow?

  The hardest part was giving the impression that he knew all about the poor woman. By the third or fourth interview he'd worked up a routine that seemed to satisfy them. Yes, she was a quiet, conscientious lady who doubled up as secretary and treasurer of the circle, and would be hugely missed. She was a chartered accountant. Even after retirement she'd continued to audit the books of several Chichester businesses. She was very committed to helping the women's refuge, serving in the charity shop and helping out at the house the refuge used. Any spare time was devoted to the book she was writing about famous Snows.

  He didn't mention that call inviting her to the boat house. Up to now the press hadn't fully grasped the link between all three fires, and he was damned if he wanted to be put through the grinder about his own adventure.

  Just when he was thinking of taking no more calls, Thomasine phoned.

  'You're a star,' she said. 'No one else could have done it. I heard you on the car radio when I was driving out to Zach's. Writers' circle ten, nosy interviewer nil.'

  'More like one all and playing extra time,' he said. 'What's the dope on Zach?'

  'He was uncomfortable about leaving the meeting halfway through. I've got my suspicions. Anton was probably right. Those two are up to something.'

  'Zach and Naomi? It's an odd pairing.'

  'I know, but if she wants to use Zach, he's putty in her hands. She terrifies most men. Terrifies me sometimes.'

  'Use him for what?'

  'What Anton was on about. Recycling all this drama as the raw material for storylines.'

  'I didn't think Naomi wrote stories. She does facts, doesn't she, the truth about witchcraft and such?'

  'Yes, but Zach is the storyteller. He can wrap anything up in words and make it sound exciting.'

  'Do you think so? When he read out bits of his novel I was turned right off.'

  'He's the best we've got.'

  'Do Zach and Naomi know anything we don't?'

  'I get the feeling they do. There's something going on, Bob.'

  'So what next? Do we tackle Naomi?'

  'She's next, yes.'

  He gave an insincere sigh. 'What a pity I'm so busy with all these press interviews.'

  ***

  DI Cherry was a foot taller than Hen and showing resentment that she'd taken over this investigation, but in her philosophy the bigger they came, the easier they were to shoot down. 'What do you mean, "it's missing", Johnny? It was on the video.'

  He shrugged. 'I checked all the evidence bags, and it isn't among them.'

  'Was it ever?'

  'Pardon?'

  'Was the picture of Blacker and the other man ever removed from the bedroom and bagged up?'

  Now he looked over her head, as if the strip lighting had a fascination for him. 'I thought it was. Can't be a hundred per cent certain.'

  'Didn't it interest you as the senior investigator?'

  'I was focusing on the seat of the fire downstairs.'

  'The front door?'

  'Yes.'

  'And when you finished focusing downstairs did you look in the bedroom?'

  'Sure, and we collected a lot of stuff, like his sleeping tablets and the clothes he'd been wearing.'

  'They were hanging over the chair?'

  'Right. You can see them on the video. It was taken before we disturbed anything. You can see the clothes if you want. His wallet. His credit cards.'

  'Are we on the same wavelength, Johnny? Just now, all I want to see is that photo.'

  'I get you. I'm not being stroppy. I was at my desk at eight this morning.'

  Hen had shown up closer to nine thirty. 'Early riser?'

  'No. I need the alarm to wake me at six thirty. I fit in my swim before I get here. I've always believed in leading by example.'

  She ignored the taunt. 'Is it possible it's still hanging on the wall in what's left of the cottage?'

  'I suppose it could be.'

  'Then I suggest you retrieve it pretty fast and bring it here.' After he'd gone she turned to Stella. 'What a bullshitter. I asked him earlier if we had it and he told me we did.'

  'In fairness, guv, he wasn't quite so categorical as that. You asked him if it was bagged up and he said it must have been.'

  'Shifting the blame. He'll come down like a ton of bricks on some hapless scene-of-crime officer. Leading by example. So far, I'm not impressed with our Mr Cherry.' She called across the incident room, over the heads of the civilian staff entering data into computers, 'DC Humphreys.'

  A startled face surfaced. 'Ma'am?'

  '"Guv" will do, thank you. How many of the writers' circle have you contacted about the meeting?'

  'All but three . . . guv.'

  'And who are they - the ones you haven't reached?'

  'Zach Beale. He hasn't turned up at work yet. And Naomi and Basil Green. I left a message on their answerphone.'

  'Everyone else is signed up?'

  "Yes, guv.'

  'Chase up the Greens, then. And Zach.'

  Another officer called. 'For you, guv.' He held up a phone. 'Forensics.'

  Hen put it to her ear. 'You've got results for me?'

  'Is this DCI Mallin?'

  'It is.'

  'Pauline Cooper, forensic odontologist, concerning the remains found in the fire in number seven, Tower Street.'

  'Yes?'

  'I was asked to compare the teeth of the deceased with the dental records of Miss Amelia Snow.'

  'And?'

  'As I'm sure you're aware, the skull recovered from the fire was severely burned and disintegrating in places but the jawbones were intact. Teeth withstand intense heat better than any other parts of the body. These were in good enough condition for me to make a comparison. I'm satisfied that we have a match with the records of Miss Snow. The number and positioning of the fillings - and there are eight - and two extractions, are more than sufficient statistically to establish identity beyond reasonable doubt.'

  'I can't tell you how grateful I am,' Hen said. 'There wasn't much else to go on.'

  Ms Cooper wasn't the chatty sort. It seemed to be a point of pride in the Forensic Science Service that they never revealed satisfaction in work well done, but this was a human being on the end of the line, not a cipher, and she deserved her pat on the back.

  But whatever she privately thought, Ms Cooper was unemotional to the end. 'I'll send you the written report shortly and a copy will go to the coroner. Someone else wishes to speak to you now. Hold on and I'll transfer you.'

  Hen put her hand over the mouthpiece and said to Stella, 'What did I do to deserve this? Two forensic reports in one call.'

  This one announced himself as the gas chromatographist, but for Hen's purposes he was the ash man, the fellow who'd sifted through the remains at the seats of all three fires. He started to explain how he went about separating components of hydrocarbons, but Hen asked him to cut to the chase.

  'You want to know if the fires appear to have been started using the same materials?'

  'In a nutshell, yes.'

  'Fire number one, at the cottage on the Selsey Road, employed a liquid accelerant and saturated rags, and this appears to have been the case with the second and third fires, at the bo
at house and Tower Street. The agent was gasoline in all three cases, leaded gasoline. So the answer - in a nutshell - is yes.'

  'Petrol?'

  'Of course it vaporises quickly, but the fact that it was leaded was useful. You have a chance of measuring the lead content. We recovered enough through seepage to make comparisons and there's no doubt all three fires employed a similar grade with a good correspondence of the lead.'

  'So we have a serial arsonist?'

  'I just report our findings, chief inspector.'

  'Okay, and it's up to me to interpret them. We have a serial arsonist.' After she'd thanked him, Hen turned back to Stella. 'You heard my side of it? Let's start getting this mess unscrambled, Stell. The guy on remand, Maurice McDade, has to be released a.s.a.p. and we'll need a magistrate's order. He's the only one of the circle who can't be the arsonist.'

  Naomi had arranged to meet Zach in St Martin's tea rooms, a low-beamed seventeenth-century building reached from North Street by way of a passage called the Crooked S. Most patrons came for the tea, coffee and pastries, pricy but prizewinning, and unequalled in the city. Some may have been drawn by the beautiful waitresses, also unequalled. Naomi, however, had picked the place for its dimly lit interior and honeycomb layout, ideal for people not wanting to be observed. She'd chosen a table screened by tall settles and she and Zach sat close to the wall and facing each other. The secrecy suited Zach. He'd told his boss in the record shop that he was down with flu.

  'What we've got now,' Naomi said, 'is a classic murder plot.'

  'I guess,' Zach said,

  'There's no guessing about it. Two deaths and a near death all connected with the circle. You and I are wonderfully placed.'

  'I'm not so sure of that.'

  'You're not so sure of anything this morning.'

  'Wonderfully placed to get murdered.'

  He could have been Basil, talking like that. Naomi didn't care for it. 'Get a grip, man. I'm talking about our e-book. Imagination and investigation striding side by side. You've started work, I hope?'

  'I put down a few ideas.'

  'Not on the website, you haven't.'

  'I'm not ready for that yet'

  'Work in progress, man. It doesn't have to be perfect. I'll hear these ideas, anyway.'

  He fingered his earring. 'Like you suggested, I'm trying to draft a story that begins in the past, with Blacker and the guy in the photo, his gay lover - as we assumed.'