The Circle

The Circle Page 21

by Peter Lovesey

  'The van? Does she drive the van?'

  'On occasions.'

  'Did either of you go out on the night Edgar Blacker's cottage burned down?'

  'I didn't.'

  Andy waited.

  After a pause Basil said, 'I can't speak for Naomi.'

  'You'd know if she went out at night.'

  'I wouldn't. We sleep in separate bedrooms and I take tranquillisers for my nerves. Get into bed and I'm out like a light. I have to set the alarm.'

  'What for?'

  'My morning swim at the Westgate Centre. I like to be in the water by seven. I need to keep fit. I'm quite a bit older than Naomi.' The logic wasn't clear. Basil may have needed to keep fit to pleasure Naomi, but escape seemed a more likely explanation.

  'I see. It seems your wife has been taking an unusual amount of interest in Mr Blacker's cottage.'

  'You'll have to ask her about that. Look, I may be her husband, but I'm not her shadow. I have my own life to get on with.'

  This might be clever stonewalling. It came across like evasion. Whoever was interviewing Naomi was likely to turn up some fascinating secrets.

  'Let's talk about Miss Snow,' Andy said. 'A friend, would you say?'

  'No more than any of the others,' Basil said. 'She was a quiet lady, unlike some I could name. Always courteous. There wasn't anything you could dislike about her, if that's what you're hinting at.'

  'Did she visit your house?'

  'I don't think so.'

  'And you didn't visit hers, in Tower Street?'

  'Why should I? No.'

  'I've got to ask this. Did you go out on the night Miss Snow's house was burned down?'

  'Certainly not.'

  Andy had run through the list. He was about to end the interview when he had an inspiration. 'How is your garden laid out?'

  A frown from Basil. 'Do you really want to know?'

  'I wouldn't ask if I didn't.'

  'It's the narrow strip that most suburban gardens are. I've tried to introduce curved shapes in the flower beds and the path for interest, and there's a small pond and some fruit trees. I like roses, so I have a pergola with trellis work. Oh, and a gazebo.'

  'A lawn?'

  'Certainly.'

  'Do you mow it yourself?'

  He said with pride, 'I do all the gardening myself.'

  'What kind of mower? Hover?'

  'No, I prefer the cylindrical sort that gives me those beautiful stripes. Mine is a Ransom.'

  'Petrol-driven?'

  'I'm not out of the ark.'

  'So you have a supply of petrol, leaded petrol?'

  'Of course. A couple of cans in my shed.' He hesitated. 'Oh, I see what you're getting at, but you'd be wrong, quite wrong.'

  Hen felt as if she was still on the dry outer layer of onion skin with Anton. While others were getting dramatic results, she might as well have gone to the canteen for a coffee and a doughnut.

  'I've given this some thought,' he said when she returned.

  'Good.'

  'What time of the night does this arsonist choose?'

  'The small hours.'

  'You can't be more precise?'

  'Around four a.m., in the case of the latest fire.' She added, 'I'm supposed to ask the questions.'

  'So if I can prove I was at home between three thirty and five, am I in the clear?'

  'I reckon you would be.'

  'Excellent.' He felt in his pocket and dangled a house key in front of her. 'You have my permission to send one of your officers to check my computer.'

  'We've been over this,' Hen said with a sigh. 'The fact that your computer was switched on is no proof you were there.'

  He nodded. 'But if you look in my e-mail facility you'll find a record of the messages I sent and received that night, and each one has a time beside it. I'm very busy at that hour because I have friends across the world who share my interest in virtual architecture and it's a good time for an insomniac like me to communicate. When you look at the messages you won't need much convincing that they were mine. And you can do the same for the night of the first fire.'

  She took the key. 'If you're right about this, I'll take back what I said. I'll get someone to drive you round there.'

  She came out with mixed feelings. It would be good to get a result, yet secretly she'd rather fancied Anton as the arsonist. His calculating manner and his contempt for the rest of the circle had made him a prime suspect in her eyes.

  When she came out of the interview room young Shilling was waiting in the corridor with a photo in a plastic folder. 'Guv, I've got it'

  Her mood lightened up. 'Good lad.'

  They went into her office and examined the black and white shot of two grinning men, one recognisable as the young Edgar Blacker, the other, with yellowish hair, unknown to her and unlike any of the men in the circle. The pair looked similar in age. Both wore striped shirts, but no ties. They were holding beer cans. Their free hands were over each other's shoulders.

  'What do you think?' she asked Shilling. 'Family or friend?'

  'They don't look like family to me.'

  'Nor me.'

  She turned it over and found the writing. '"Innocents, Christmas 1982". Over twenty years ago. What do you make of it?'

  'The "Innocents" bit? Could be, like, a joke, guv.'

  She turned it over to look at the front again. 'You mean they look well plastered?'

  'A couple of lads on the beer isn't most people's idea of innocence.'

  'Can you see what's in the background? It's been taken with a flash and there's some heavy shadowing, but that looks like a coffee machine behind them.'

  Shilling studied it. 'And maybe the corner of a notice board.'

  'Suggesting it's an office. The office Christmas party? Let's do a computer scan on this. Take care of it, will you? See if we can get the background enhanced. If there are clues here, I want to see them. It may have no bearing on the case, but I can't take the chance.'

  She went back to where the remaining members of the circle were waiting. That stalwart character Maurice McDade was still there with the three who hadn't yet been seen: Bob Naylor, Dagmar Bumstead and Naomi Green. They all looked up.

  'Almost ready for you,' she said to them as a group. 'You've been extremely patient.'

  Bob looked at his watch in a pointed manner.

  'You're the Parcel Force driver? Are you working nights?'

  'Early mornings.'

  'It won't take that long. Stella Gregson will see you shortly. Miss Bumstead, you're with DC Shilling. That means you're with me, Mrs Green.'

  Naomi followed her like a lamb.

  'Is this a voluntary statement?' Dagmar asked DC Shilling.

  'You took the words out of my mouth.'

  'I work in a solicitor's office, you see.'

  Shilling gave a nod. 'We're doing this by the book.'

  'If you suspected me of an offence, you'd have to caution me and give me certain advice about my rights. But like the others I'm only here because the chief inspector asked for our help as witnesses.'

  No flies on this one. 'That's my understanding, ma'am. You're the romantic novelist, I believe?'

  Dagmar flushed deeply. 'I don't know about the - as if I was Danielle Steel.'

  'What I mean is that you're the only one in the circle.'

  'So far as I'm aware, yes.'

  You've written a lot of these - what do they call them? - bodice-rippers.'

  'You were right the first time. Romantic novels. Twelve altogether. And now you're about to ask me with a snigger where I get my ideas from.'

  'Actually, no.'

  She carried on as if he hadn't spoken. 'And I can't and won't answer.'

  'I wasn't going to ask,' Shilling said. 'I don't mind betting you get your best ideas at work.'

  'Why?'

  'Correct me if I'm wrong, but the books you write are all about women who go through a series of misunderstandings with the hell-raiser who in the end turns out to be Mr
Right. You must get more than enough inspiration for stories working in a solicitor's office.'

  She gave him a stare fit to impale him. 'The solicitors I work with are gentlemen through and through.'

  Shilling smiled. 'I meant the clients. All the problems that are brought in, divorce and separation and disputes between neighbours.'

  'That's all conjecture on your part.'

  Shilling nodded and smiled. 'Let's move quickly on, then. We'll talk about the publisher, Edgar Blacker. Whose idea was it to bring him to the circle?'

  'Maurice's.'

  'And did everyone agree?'

  'Most of them sent in their work for appraisal, so they must have.'

  'Nice word, "appraisal". Better than criticism.'

  'You mean we wanted to hear nice things? I'm sure we did.'

  'Coming back to the question: did everyone agree it was a good plan to invite Blacker?'

  'I didn't, for one. Maurice is a lovely man, but he doesn't know much about human nature. I could see it would raise unrealistic hopes.'

  'Did you tell him?'

  'Privately, yes. I was one of the original members, so I felt I had a right to protest.'

  'Protest? It was as strong as that?'

  'No, it was a civilised discussion. Maurice listened to me and then gave his point of view. He thought it would do us all good to get a professional opinion on our work. He really felt it was for the best. In the end he talked me into sending in my latest, saying it would show Mr Blacker that one of us at least was capable of finishing a novel.'

  Listening to this little lady speaking in her earnest tone, with never a hint of a smile, Shilling wondered how she had reacted to being rejected - for what, the twelfth time? - but in the presence of people she regarded as inferior writers. 'And did Blacker appreciate your work?'

  'He seemed to think it was all right, but when I pressed him about possible publication, he backtracked fast and said he'd have to show it to someone else.'

  'So did you let him keep it?'

  'No, and I'm glad I didn't. It would have been lost in the fire.'

  'You picked it up at the end?'

  'Yes, it was stacked on the table with the others.'

  'Did he say any more?'

  'He was busy with Tudor. I collected mine and Miss Snow's. She asked me to. She was busy handing out competition leaflets.'

  'You must have felt a bit down at the end.'

  'I'm used to it. There's no sense in building up your hopes.'

  'So with the benefit of hindsight you were right. It was a mistake inviting Blacker to the circle.'

  She nodded. 'But he'd still have pulled the rug from under Maurice.'

  'Ah, yes.' Shilling gave the smile that said he had a good card to play. 'You were one of the first to know about that, weren't you?'

  'What - the fact that he reneged on his agreement to publish?'

  'Is that why he was killed, Miss Bumstead?'

  Her voice shook a little. 'How would I know? I can't answer that question.'

  'Certain people heard how badly he'd treated Maurice the same day it happened, before the fire, and you were one of them. Thomasine O'Loughlin spoke to you about five that afternoon.'

  'You're well informed.'

  'How did you spend the evening?'

  'Doing some ironing and taking a bath. I was too troubled to write. You need to be in the right frame of mind.'

  'You did nothing about Blacker?'

  'What could I have done?'

  'You didn't go out later that night?'

  'Of course not.'

  'Do you have a theory as to who the arsonist was?'

  'If I did I wouldn't divulge it to you. My thoughts on the matter have no relevance whatsoever.'

  'I can't agree with that. I'd say you're a shrewd lady.'

  'Perhaps that's why I won't be drawn.'

  Shilling felt he was losing this one. Two nil down at half-time. 'I want to ask you about Miss Snow. I dare say you feel worse about her death than Blacker's.'

  'She was one of us, so I would.'

  'One of the founder members?'

  'Not quite, but she joined soon after.'

  'A valued member?'

  'She brought some organisation to our circle. She was a conscientious secretary and a treasurer we could all trust'

  'Functions you could have performed, with your experience.'

  'Possibly, but rather selfishly I wanted to participate fully in the meetings, not take notes and collect subscriptions. Miss Snow played only a muted part in the discussions.'

  'No one disliked her?'

  'How would I know that? I'm not a mind-reader. From my point of view there was nothing you could dislike about her.'

  'As secretary, did she have any secrets, anything on the members?'

  'I doubt it. She knew if anyone owed money, but the dues aren't excessive. We pay two pounds for each meeting we attend. When anyone is short, they can give an IOU.'

  'After the fire at Blacker's cottage, and Maurice McDade's arrest, you linked up with Thomasine O'Loughlin and Bob Naylor to try and prove Mr McDade was innocent.'

  'Certainly.'

  'Why those two?'

  'Because Thomasine shared my sense of outrage, and she's a good ally, very astute.'

  'And Naylor? He'd only just met McDade for the first time.'

  'Thomasine thought he would be a help. We needed a man, really, and none of the others were suitable. Tudor can't disguise his jealousy of Maurice, Anton has no tact, Basil is under Naomi's thumb and Zach is, well, a bit immature.'

  If she can sum up men as pithily as that, Shilling thought, she's probably got me pigeon-holed as well.

  'You'd had long enough to give Naylor the once-over.'

  'Thomasine said he was kosher.'

  'Is she Jewish?'

  'I don't think so. It's the way she talks. I knew what she meant and I respect her judgement. She and Bob did all the questioning.'

  'They didn't invite you?'

  'Three people on one's doorstep would have been too many.'

  'One is too many if you've got a guilty conscience.'

  At the end of the interview Shilling found himself thinking it was a smart move on the parts of Thomasine and Bob, taking it on themselves to question other people in the circle as if they themselves had no case to answer.

  Stella had already run through the set questions with Bob Naylor. He hadn't been present at the crucial meeting of the circle when Blacker addressed them, hadn't joined the circle at that stage, hadn't even heard of Blacker.

  He said.

  But hell's bells, had he made up for lost time! Borrowed the video from Miss Snow. Joined forces with Thomasine O'Loughlin and Dagmar Bumstead to try and establish McDade's innocence. Questioned Mrs McDade and just about everyone else. Gained the confidence of Miss Snow. Gone in her place to the boat house. Made a voluntary statement to DC Shilling. Got himself elected as press spokesman.

  A right busybody.

  'And on top of everything else you're a writer?' Stella said.

  'Trying to be,' he said.

  'Books, is it?'

  'Christ, no. I fool around with bits of rhyming stuff, that's all.'

  'Are you going to give me a sample?'

  'No way. It's pathetic'

  So he wanted coaxing. Stella only ever played the wheedling woman in the cause of duty. 'Go on, I'd really like to hear a sample.'

  He sighed. 'Don't know if you'll get this. I was playing about with some lines while I was waiting.' He fished in his back pocket and took out what looked like a cheap diary.

  'Eleven local writers

  Lead the cops a dance.

  Who's for an excuse-me?

  No chance.'

  'Not bad,' Stella said, 'but it dates you. Anyone under forty wouldn't know what an excuse-me is.'

  'Tell me about it. I have a daughter of fourteen. They should come with phrase books.'

  'What does your wife think of your writing?'


  'She died.'

  Whoops. A pause for respect. 'Sorry. Let's talk about what's been happening since you made your statement to DC Shilling. There was a meeting, right?'

  'Yeah, and I was dropped in it and made press officer. I'm not even a paid-up member and they want me as their spokesman.'

  'Which you do very well. What else was decided?'

  'Not much. Two of the party left early.'

  'Zach and Naomi.'

  'If you know it all, why ask me?'

  'So why did they leave?'

  'I do remember one thing we agreed,' Bob said, 'and that was not to slag off fellow members of the circle.'

  He could bat for England, this one. 'But you just told me you're not a member.'

  'Nice try, but I like these people - all of them. I've got to know them quite well, their hopes and fears.'

  'One of them is almost certainly a murderer.'

  'Okay - and ten of them aren't. Until I know which one, I'm going to respect them all.'

  You still see yourself as an amateur sleuth, do you?'

  He took in a sharp breath and it was no more than a stage effect. 'Bit sarky, that. I was only helping out, like. This was before you and your boss took over. No disrespect, but the police work wasn't up to much.'

  'They weren't getting cooperation from everyone. You didn't report the fire at the boat house.'

  'Did.'

  'Eventually - only after Miss Snow was dead. If you'd come forward earlier they might have saved her life.'

  'How?'

  'They could have warned her to be careful.'

  'That Inspector Cherry? He didn't give a toss when I tried to talk to him. He couldn't find his arse with both hands, that one.'

  She should have said something in Johnny's defence. Just couldn't find the words. All she managed was, 'Leave the sleuthing to us, Mr Naylor. We don't want any more people going up in flames.'

  Hen was glad she'd left Naomi to last. Thanks to young Shilling's good work, she had a trump to play and she used it straight away. 'What have you got to say about the photo of Blacker and the other man?'

  Naomi blinked and gave nothing away.

  'You've got yourself in deep shit, crossing a police line and going into that gutted building.'

  She was given one of Naomi's smouldering glares.

  'You won't have been told we recovered it from Zach's house.'

 

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