The Circle

by Peter Lovesey

  'Yes. I've watched the video you made. It was you behind the camera, wasn't it?'

  'If you saw it, you know what he said. He wasn't comparing me to Tolkien. He said I might pick up some of Tolkien's readers.'

  '"Millions of readers" was what he said. He went overboard for your work. He was ready to sign you up straight away.'

  'It's academic now, isn't it?' Zach said. 'The guy's dead.'

  'Did he follow it up in any way?'

  'What, after the talk was over? Said he'd be getting in touch. Not much use to me now, is it?'

  'A lucky escape, then. You can show the book to another publisher. By all accounts, Blacker didn't treat his writers too well.'

  'I didn't know that at the time.'

  'So you must have been gutted when you heard what happened to him.'

  'That about sums it up.'

  'Of all the people in the circle, you're the one with least motive.' That went down well. Shilling watched the face relax a little. 'Do you have any theories who'd want to kill him?'

  Zach ran both hands over his head and clutched the ponytail. 'Not my thing, naming and shaming.'

  'That isn't what I heard.' Shilling said in a sharp accusing tone, 'My information is that you and Naomi Green have been doing some detective work.'

  Now he flexed his legs so hard that his chair slid back. 'Who told you that?'

  'You're not going to deny it, are you?'

  He was silent for some time, deciding what to say. 'It's not what it seems. It's a writing project.'

  'Oh, yeah?'

  'Yeah. Research for writing. Writers do research all the time. It's not just imagination. You have to find stuff out.'

  'I thought your thing was fantasy'

  'It is mostly.' He looked away, wanting to be anywhere but here. 'Igot talked into this. She wants us to do a book together.'

  'About the circle?'

  'The murders.'

  'And have you found out anything of interest?'

  No response.

  Shilling repeated the question.

  'I haven't. She did. Well, she may have.'

  'What's that, Zach?'

  A pause. 'You'd better ask her.'

  Shilling leaned forward, and being so tall he could lean a long way, his forehead almost touching Zach's. 'We're not playing hunt the slipper here. There's a killer at large. If you know something, sunshine, spill it out, or I can do you for obstructing us.'

  He exhaled sharply and cried out, 'She scares me rigid.'

  Shilling waited.

  With an effort at control Zach said, 'She got into Blacker's cottage - after it was burned, I mean - and found a picture, a photo.'

  'Of Blacker?'

  'Right, and another guy.'

  'It was Naomi who nicked the photo?' Any pleasure in the discovery was undermined. Shilling was furious with himself for failing to make the connection.

  'Yes, but she hasn't got it now. She unloaded it on me. I've got it at home.'

  Shilling stood up. 'You and I are going to your place right now to collect this picture. It's evidence.'

  'She'll go ballistic'

  'You won't say a word to her or anyone else. Understood? Sit here while I tell my boss where we're going.'

  Johnny Cherry was almost through the list of questions Hen had supplied.

  'Something else, Sharon. We're trying to track everyone's movements on the night Miss Snow died in the fire. What were you up to?'

  'The Friday?'

  'Right'

  'I was out of it.'

  'Meaning what?'

  'Took the weekend off, didn't I?'

  'Right out of it, you mean? Some other place?'

  'You can ask my boss.'

  'Where were you?'

  'Harrogate.'

  Getting on for three hundred miles away.

  'What were you doing in Harrogate?'

  'Conference.'

  Now it was Johnny who went silent, dumbfounded at the idea that Sharon would enrol for a conference, let alone travel there. 'Can you prove it?'

  'S'pose.'

  'What sort of conference?'

  'Books and stuff.'

  Johnny rubbed his eyes and said, 'Let me get this straight. You went to a literary conference?'

  'Fantasy'

  There was an awkward interval as Johnny grappled with the answer. 'What are you saying now, Sharon? You made it up?'

  'British Fantasy Convention.'

  Another pause.

  'You're not having me on? Fantasy isn't your thing at all.'

  'Who says?'

  He was forced to accept that she was speaking the truth. 'All on your own?'

  'Got a lift, didn't I?'

  'Who from?'

  'Who d'you think?'

  Johnny was all attention now. What he'd just learned would throw Hen Mallin's theories into confusion. If this was true about the trip to Harrogate, Sharon was out of it, and so was Zach.

  19

  Anyway, [poetry] is not the most important thing in life, is it? Frankly, I'd much rather lie in a hot bath sucking boiled sweets and reading Agatha Christie, which is just exactly what I intend to do as soon as I get home.

  Dylan Thomas, quoted by Joan Wyndham in Love is Blue.(1986)

  Hen said she was going to hang Naomi out to dry. 'I should have realised she's the interfering witch who's given us the runaround. Who does she think she is, breaking into a sealed building and pilfering evidence? Yes, Duncan, go now, and tell Zach Beale from me that he's just as culpable as she is in the eyes of the law. He's up to his neck, right? Make him suffer.'

  'He's bricking it already, guv.'

  'Only because Naomi scares him. I want him scared of me.'

  After Shilling had left the room, Hen said to Stella, 'Between you and me, none of this would have happened if Johnny Cherry had done his job right. I should put him and Naomi together in a tank like two Siamese fighting fish. Let 'em tear each other to bits.'

  'Looking on the bright side, we've found the picture, guv,' Stella said.

  'Yes, this exercise is bringing dividends. It's the onion-skin principle. You peel off a layer and find a different one underneath.'

  Stella had heard from Hen before about the onion-skin principle, but valued her job too much to say so.

  'First we had all these would-be writers with their hopes dashed by the obnoxious Edgar Blacker. We were looking at anger and frustration as a motive. But now we find other stuff underneath. Tudor sold this insurance policy to Blacker and lost his company a heap of money and put his career on the skids. Naomi climbs into a dangerous, burnt-out building to nick that photo. Sharon goes off for the weekend with Zach and, bingo, they both have a lovely alibi.'

  This was the first Stella had heard of Sharon and Zach. 'Get away.'

  Hen explained about the British Fantasy Convention. 'She's going to show us a photo. It was taken up there on the Saturday morning with someone dressed up as Gandalf and it has a time and date.'

  'Why didn't Zach tell us this?'

  'He didn't get the chance yet. He's been off home with DC Shilling to pick up the picture of Blacker and the other guy'

  Stella couldn't get over that pairing. 'I wouldn't have put those two together in a million years.'

  'Why not?' Hen said. 'His head is full of dumb princesses.'

  After a moment's thought she returned Hen's smile. 'Now you put it like that . . . '

  'They went up north on his motorbike. He paid for the room, so presumably he can show us the receipt.'

  'I hope she was worth it. She strikes me as rather dull.'

  'Darling, he wasn't after conversation.' Hen shifted back to the business in hand. 'So we seem to be narrowing the field. What else have we learned about our suspects?'

  'Jessie goes for late night walks.'

  'Yes, and runs an old car on leaded petrol. There's more to come, I'm certain. I haven't finished with Anton yet. He thought his telephone statements gave him an alibi. Looked sick when I pointed
out that they proved nothing.'

  This seemed to be as far as the onion-skin principle went for the time being, so Stella said, 'Some of us are ready to start more interviews, guv.'

  'Hint, hint. I'm taking too long over Anton, am I?'

  'I didn't say that.'

  'Well, there's no reason why you shouldn't start with someone else. Have you finished with Tudor?'

  'Definitely. I'm due for Bob Naylor next.'

  'The man who stood in for Miss Snow and nearly lost his life.'

  'Or so he claims.'

  'Right. Take nothing for granted, Stell. Go for it.'

  One thing you could say in Thomasine's favour: she was willing to talk. After being stuck with Sharon for over an hour, DI Johnny Cherry felt he deserved a talker. This lady appeared relaxed and ready to treat the interview as a chat instead of the inquisition.

  'You're a poet, then,' he said when the preliminaries had been got through. 'Saw you on the video.'

  'Funny word, "poet",' Thomasine said. 'Visions of pasty-faced women in round glasses and sandals talking to themselves. I don't want to be one, thanks. "Writer" has a better ring to it'

  'But that's not the day job?'

  'No. I teach.'

  'English, I suppose.'

  'Mainly. Bit of everything in my time, filling in for colleagues.'

  'Hard work, teaching.'

  'Satisfying, though.'

  'Your poems are hot stuff - right?'

  She grinned. 'You wouldn't think so. Some of the circle lead sheltered lives.'

  'Mr Blacker seemed to find them saucy.'

  'That bullshitter. I wouldn't believe a thing he said.'

  'Some of them did.'

  'Taken in by his flattery.'

  'He talked about publishing you.'

  'Didn't offer me a contract, did he? Said he "envisaged" some slim volumes. That could mean anything.'

  Johnny was secretly amused. None of these writers claimed to have taken Blacker's comments to heart, yet each of them could quote him verbatim. "You weren't disappointed, then?'

  'No, I didn't pin my hopes on him. Mind if I smoke? An interview room is one of the few places it's allowed, if The Bill is anything to go by. Keep the witness sweet.'

  'Be my guest.' He was glad of the chance to check his notes. Hen had given everyone a sheet with the key questions. 'Did you know Edgar Blacker before he came to the circle?'

  'I know o/him, from Maurice, our chair.' She paused to light the cigarette.

  Johnny didn't need telling about McDade. He'd arrested the rat. He still believed he was heavily implicated.

  Thomasine said, 'Blacker was supposed to be publishing Maurice.'

  'But you hadn't met him outside the circle? He was local, so you could have done.'

  'If I did, it made no impression.'

  'Let's talk about McDade, then. You're very loyal to him.'

  'No more than anyone else.'

  'Don't be so modest. When he was pulled in for questioning, you led the protest.'

  'I wasn't alone. It was obvious he was innocent.'

  'He's a popular chairman. Popular with the ladies, for sure.'

  She stared at him for a moment. 'What exactly are you getting at?'

  'Put it this way. If one of the other men had been under suspicion - Anton, say, or Tudor -I can't imagine you ladies would have made such a big deal of it.'

  'Which ladies?'

  'Miss Snow and Miss Bumstead and you.'

  'Bob Naylor was with us.'

  'Only after you asked him for help.'

  Thomasine frowned. 'You have made a study of this. What does it matter now whether we lobbied for Maurice's release?'

  'It matters because Maurice McDade was let down badly by Blacker, told he wouldn't be published unless he stumped up most of the money. If he didn't set light to Blacker's house that night, then it's just possible one of his female admirers did, outraged by what happened.'

  She gave him a look he could have lit a fire with. 'That's twisted thinking.'

  'It's a twisted crime. Do you mind telling me where you were the night Blacker's house was torched?'

  'At home, like most people.'

  'Any way of proving it?'

  'None that I can think of. I was asleep.'

  'Did you have any contact with McDade on the day Blacker made his demand?'

  She drew a line along the table with her fingertip. Her relaxed manner was just a memory now.

  'Did you?' he said again.

  Now she took a long drag on her cigarette and blew the smoke upwards. 'I happened to meet him in town that same afternoon. I was with my first form doing a survey in East Street. I saw Maurice and he looked drained, dreadful. It was obvious something was wrong. I asked and he told me about his meeting with Blacker. Poor man. Anyone would have sympathised. If I hadn't been on school duty I'd have suggested a drink.'

  Johnny Cherry glanced at the female officer sitting beside him. She wouldn't appreciate the stunning significance of what had just been said, but she'd have to give him credit for his interviewing style. He'd just made a breakthrough in the investigation.

  'This was hot news,' he said.

  'Unpleasant'

  You're a sociable person.' He wished Hen were sitting in on this. He couldn't have been more tactful. He didn't say the word 'gossip', or even hint at it. 'Did you pass on the news to anyone else in the circle?'

  She cleared her throat. 'I did speak to one friend -Dagmar.'

  'Miss Bumstead? What time was this?'

  'After I got home from school. About five.'

  'What was said?'

  'I told her what Maurice had told me and we agreed that Blacker was a total scumbag and a few other things I'd rather not repeat'

  'Did you agree to do anything about it?'

  'No. There was nothing we could do except feel sympathy for Maurice.'

  So a matter of hours before Blacker was killed, two more people had found out what a conman he was. Johnny decided to suspend the interview at this point and pass this crucial information on to Hen. She'd better be impressed. And someone would be interviewing Dagmar, and it was essential they followed it up.

  After the hard time he'd had with Jessie Warmington-Smith, DC Andy Humphreys was finding his next witness easier.

  'I'm just in the circle to make up the numbers,' Basil said. 'You see, my wife Naomi was one of the founders and she didn't know if they'd get enough members to make a go of it, so I was roped in. I've often thought of sliding out now that they're up to numbers. I'm not really a writer.'

  'I thought you did gardening articles.'

  'Not from choice. The vicar needed a volunteer to take over a page of the parish magazine. If I could find someone else to do the job, I would.'

  'It sounds as if you're the kind of bloke everyone turns to for assistance.'

  'A dogsbody,' Basil said and added with uncharacteristic force, 'A bloody yes-man, that's me.'

  'So is it fair to say you weren't bothered by Blacker's comments at that talk he gave?'

  'No,' the yes-man said. 'I was bothered all right. He had a ridiculous suggestion about opening our garden to the public. I didn't want that and neither did my wife.'

  'I expect it's a lovely garden.'

  Basil cocked his head and looked defiant. 'But it's private.'

  It seemed easiest to move on. 'Did you know Blacker at all before he came to the circle?'

  'No.'

  'Did your wife?'

  'Naomi had better speak for herself. I'll be in the doghouse if I say things behind her back.'

  'All right. Let's concentrate on you. You're retired, I take it. What was your line of work?'

  'Fire officer.'

  'No - really?'

  'I wouldn't mention it if I didn't mean it. Thirty-three years' service, most of it in Chichester. From a boy it was what I wanted to do. The glamour thing of riding the engine with the bell going and wearing a shiny helmet and shinning up ladders to rescue people . . . well
, pretty girls in their nighties if I'm honest. I didn't include confused old men in my plans, or car crashes, or floods, or kittens up chimneys, but once I'd joined I found the comradeship to my liking, so I stayed on. The team thing, only it wasn't a game, so it meant more.'

  'You'll have seen cases of arson before.'

  'Plenty. But not so often with loss of life. Fire-raisers attack property usually, not people.'

  Andy remembered Hen's instruction to get these people talking about themselves. 'You could write some good stories with all your experience of fire-fighting.'

  'I told you, I'm not a writer. Some of the things that happen are best forgotten. You'll know that, with the job you do.'

  'Did you ever rescue a pretty girl in a nightie?'

  Basil managed a wistful smile. 'Not a single one in thirty-three years. The nearest I came to romance was when I met my wife. And that was a head-jam job.'

  'A what?'

  'She was a line supervisor at Shippam's and she had a suspicion that two of her team were not only skiving off, but up to naughties in the yard. She went to the little room and stood on the seat and tried to look out of the window. There were iron bars and that's why her head got stuck. They had to call us out to prise them open and set her free. Some of her fellow workers found it funny, but I didn't make anything of it. She must have suffered mentally because I've never known her so grateful as she was that afternoon. It was most unlike her. She invited me round for tea on Sunday and we were married inside six months.'

  'Nice.'

  Basil weighed the comment for a long interval. 'I suppose. What I just told you is confidential, right?'

  'Right.' Only the entire CID team would hear the tape replayed. Andy returned to his list of questions. 'Happen to remember where you were on the night of the fire at Blacker's cottage?'

  'At home, same as usual. I don't get out much in the evenings.'

  'Do you drive, Mr Green?'

  'Not if I can avoid it.'

  'Spreading pollution?'

  'No, just driving. I'm not much good at it. I use the bike for short runs.'

  'But you do own a car?'

  'Van.'

  Another key question. 'What kind of fuel do you use? Unleaded?'

  'Diesel. How does that come into it?'

  'It doesn't,' Andy said with a barely concealed sigh. 'Diesel doesn't come into it. Does your wife drive?'

  'She can at a pinch. Like me she prefers cycling. There I go again, talking about her. You'd better not quote me.'