'When he came to speak to the circle?'
Yes, after nearly twenty-five years. Normally I'd have made the arrangements for a speaker, but this time Maurice did it all, because he knew Blacker personally. So when he walked in I had the most dreadful shock. He was older and had spectacles and his hair was coloured, but the face was the one I'd seen in a thousand nightmares grinning at me from behind a camera.' She paused and bit her lip, reliving the memory. 'I can't describe my feelings. I wanted to dash out of the room, but everyone would have asked why. So I kept my head down, taking the minutes. Even when he talked about my script I didn't speak.'
Hen nodded. 'We've seen the video.'
'Then you'll know what he said towards the end, that his house was filled with photos from years back and he was starting to write his memoirs. I died when he said that. My life ended.'
'He must have photographed scores of girls,' Hen said. 'Why should he pick you out from the rest?'
'He was going to keep coming to the circle, wasn't he? Through his friendship with Maurice he was forging a link with us and he offered to come back and they accepted. They wanted to encourage him, some of them, at least. To have a publisher in their pocket was too good to be true.'
'You could have left the club.'
'Impossible. I was treasurer and secretary, remember. I had all the files at home. Maurice wouldn't have let me drop out. He'd have made it his mission to keep me aboard.'
'You couldn't see any closure?'
'Exactly. I had to do something about that beast and his house full of pictures. It wasn't enough just to get rid of him. The cottage and all its contents had to go as well. So a fire at night seemed the only remedy.'
'You didn't waste much time.'
'I was desperate. I had a spare can of petrol for my old car. I knew his address because it was my job to send him his fee for the meeting. I drove out there the next night and pushed oily rags through the door and poured in some petrol and put a match to it. The place soon caught alight.'
Hen was listening intently. She needed to know why. 'You're a quiet, respectable woman leading a useful life. Couldn't you think of any other way of dealing with it?'
'I thought I'd explained. He'd visited me in my thoughts almost daily for years. I had nightmares. He was my personal demon, leering at me when I was at my most vulnerable. Nothing short of destroying him would do.' Her intensity left no doubt.
'Let's move on,' Hen said. 'The next development is what foxed us all. How on earth did you think of faking your own murder?'
'It was a build-up of events I hadn't planned. I thought I'd got away with the burning of the cottage. Well, I think I had.'
'Just about,' Hen said.
'Then, to my horror, you arrested Maurice and charged him with it'
Stella said, 'That wasn't DCI Mallin. That was DI Cherry.'
The finer points of the chain of command didn't interest Miss Snow. 'And it came out that Maurice had once been sent to prison for some incident involving burning his neighbour's garden fence.'
'And boat,' Stella said.
'It was looking certain that Maurice would be put on trial for my crime. He's a good man, truly good. I couldn't allow that to happen. First of all, I thought of letting it be known that you were wrong about Maurice, that the arsonist was still at liberty. I couldn't just make a phone call to the police station or I'd give myself away. And I couldn't tell anyone. So I decided to demonstrate that the fire-raiser was still at liberty by starting another fire. I made use of our new member, Bob Naylor.'
'With his agreement?'
'No, no. He didn't know what I was doing. How could I confide in anyone? He's a strong man, willing to help. I made up a story telling him someone had offered to hand me the proof that Maurice was innocent. I'd been invited to the boat house early Saturday morning to collect it. I asked Bob to go in my place.'
'And then you nearly killed him.'
'No, that was never going to happen, and it wasn't my intention.' The firmness of the answer gave an insight into Miss Snow's resolve.
Hen started to say, 'He had to break out-'
'Through the roof, yes. I'd been to the boat house before. I often walk along there. I'd looked inside. The boat racks reach right up. Any fit man could climb up and make a hole in the roof. I knew he'd find a way out. He's strong because of the work he does.'
'According to his account, he was lucky to escape.'
'But the fire had to be convincing. Basically I used the same method, except that the petrol and rags were stuffed underneath the boat house. I kept out of sight when he arrived, but as soon as I'd closed the door on him I lit the rags. Then I left, before the fire was obvious.'
'Lovely burn-up, but all to no purpose because it didn't succeed in getting Maurice McDade out of the remand centre.'
Miss Snow's eyes moistened.
Hen could imagine the desperation. 'All right,' she said, 'let me try and see it your way. Everything was going pear-shaped. You had a great affection for Maurice and he was still being blamed for your crime. Bob Naylor and Thomasine had set themselves up as amateur sleuths, going round asking questions. Naomi was doing much the same on her own account. Soon enough someone was going to find out you were the arsonist. It was then that the solution came to you: faking your own death by fire.'
After a moment's consideration she gave a nod.
'A huge step to take,' Hen said. 'It could only be justified if it achieved that closure you needed so much because not only did it mean wiping away your life as Amelia Snow, the well-respected Chichester lady, but it meant killing someone else. A second murder, the murder of someone who had done you no harm at all.'
Her lips tightened, but she didn't deny it.
'This is how things got out of proportion, isn't it?' Hen said. 'Your freedom was paramount. You needed an out. You'd found a way of killing that was well within your capacity, hard to detect and simple to carry out. You didn't see the victim choke and burn to ashes so it was all at one remove.'
Miss Snow was listening intently. She hadn't challenged any of Hen's version yet.
'I think you must have read about fire victims being identified by their teeth. Am I right? In a serious fire, that's often all we have.'
This was rewarded with a nod so slight it might have been a nervous twitch.
'Thanks to your charity work at the refuge you had access to women who would not be missed if they disappeared. Foreign immigrants, asylum seekers, some of them illegal, in that trap where they can't ask for asylum unless they're already here, and they can't get here except illegally. Non-persons.'
On Hen's right, Stella gave a little intake of breath as she anticipated what Hen was going on to say.
'You decided one of these women should die at a fire in your house in Tower Street. You sometimes had them there for meals and to stay overnight. I don't know what method you used to subdue her. Sleeping tablets crushed up and mixed with the food? Something that ensured she would be out to the world when the fire started. She died and was reduced almost to ashes, but the teeth were preserved well enough for identification purposes. When they were checked by the forensic odontologist against your dental chart, the match was perfect. How was it done?' She turned and addressed the question more to Stella than Miss Snow.
Stella shook her head.
'Crucially,' Hen said 'these people's dental records were kept at the refuge because the dentist only came there as an act of charity. The women weren't registered with the National Health Service. I've been to the refuge and seen where the records are kept. I've seen the security, or lack of it, the key kept under the carpet.' She paused. 'On the back of the brown folder is a chart recording the patient's fillings and extractions. It was simply a matter of making out a new folder with your victim's dental chart and putting your name at the top. Right?'
Miss Snow nodded.
'And how was it possible to switch your victim's dental chart for yours?' Hen put the question in a tone suggesting she k
new the answer, and she supplied it. 'You still did the bookkeeping for your dentist.' With a half smile at Stella she said, 'Say "Ah".'
Stella said, 'Oh.'
The attention shifted back to Miss Snow. 'Who was she — the woman found in your house?'
Nothing could be gained from evasion any more. 'Her name was Nadia. She helped me in the shop sometimes. She was about my age.'
'How could you do this to someone you knew?'
'You may not believe this, but it's true. Nadia wanted to die. She'd suffered badly in Bosnia, although she never went into the details. The memories were torture to her. She told me more than once that if she had the courage she'd kill herself.'
'That eases your conscience, does it?'
'No. Nothing can ease my conscience.'
'Did I get it right, about the dental records?'
'Yes.'
'And did you drug Nadia on the night of the fire?'
A nod. 'She was well out. I didn't want her to suffer.'
'After the fire, you had to disappear. Where did you go?'
'Into lodgings in Petersfield. I was planning to get right away, to start a new life abroad, but I still had some things to attend to in Chichester. I needed to remove all the evidence that Nadia had existed. Her passport and other documents were still at the refuge. She'd never have left without them. Questions were sure to be asked. It worried me so much that I decided to take the risk of a night visit to the refuge.'
Hen said, 'That's how you were spotted by Jessie Warmington-Smith, on one of her late-night walks.'
She tensed. 'You know about that?'
'As she told it, she saw something supernatural, the proof of life after death, or some such phrase.'
Stella quoted from the interview with Andy Humphreys that had given so much amusement to the team, '"The afterlife, the journey of the soul." She thought you were a ghost'
'We frightened each other,' Miss Snow said. 'I saw the look of recognition and I thought she was sure to give me away.'
'Is that why you killed her?'
'Yes.'
Stella said, 'But I don't think she would have given you away. When she was interviewed she didn't mention your name.'
'I know. I looked at the website.'
'The police website?' Hen said.
'Naomi's. She was reporting everything that happened.'
'Yes, you're computer-literate, being a writer.'
'I designed the circle website,' she said with a glimmer of pride.
'So you came to the opinion that Jessie hadn't told us about seeing you?'
Yes, but there was no certainty she'd keep silent for long. I couldn't take the risk after all I'd done already.'
'Which was why she had to go? Your third murder.'
'Each one was out of necessity.' She was still playing the little woman driven by events.
'You drove in from Petersfield at night. Where did you leave the car?'
'Behind the Bishop's Palace. I wasn't seen. I set light to Jessie's house and got clean away and that should have been the end of it.'
'Until you looked at Naomi's website again and saw that we were talking to Lord Chalybeate. The whole scandal you'd tried to bury was resurfacing. Chalybeate was under suspicion of killing Blacker — and you — to wipe out his sordid past. He would insist he wasn't personally involved in taking pictures of you and all the other women. He'd make it clear that Blacker was your real enemy. The suggestion was bound to arise that you killed Blacker.'
Miss Snow took over the narrative in a flat voice. 'And then everything would unravel. As soon as it was suggested I murdered Blacker you'd be asking yourselves what I did to cover up the crime. You would have worked it out. So I decided Chalybeate had to be silenced as well. And I walked into your trap.'
'You didn't baulk at another murder?'
'I thought it would be the end of it. Each time I believed that.'
Hen let the statement stand unchallenged. No doubt Miss Snow was sincere, just as all serial killers promise themselves the next one will be the last. You had to have some sympathy for this pathetic little woman. If she had never met Blacker her life would have developed along quite different lines. Whether she would have lived happily ever after was an open question, but she wouldn't have ended up on trial for murder.
'Can I ask you something?' Miss Snow said.
'What's that?'
'When I'm in prison will they let me write my book?'
'I'm sure of it,' Hen said, thinking she'd have the time to write a shelf full.
On the second Tuesday in October the circle had its regular meeting at the New Park Centre. The attendance was well down. Maurice, as chair, announced that the membership had dropped by two. Jessie Warmington-Smith had died tragically and Amelia Snow's new situation meant she had, in effect, resigned.
'What are you talking about — "new situation"?' Tudor said.
Anton said, 'Euphemism.'
Tudor said, 'Euphemism, my arse. She's banged up, as she ought to be.'
Dagmar said, 'That wasn't necessary, Tudor.'
'Don't waste any sympathy on Miss Snow,' Tudor said. 'Some of us were put on the rack because of what she did. I was virtually accused of murder. Maurice went to prison. Jessie's dead. And look at what she's done to the circle. How many are we? I make it eight.'
Anton said, 'Seven.'
'What do you mean, seven? I can see eight of us.'
'One is not a member officially.'
'That's me,' Bob said.
'Only seven members, then,' Tudor said. 'Who else is missing?'
Naomi said with a strange smile, 'Basil says he has a prior engagement. He had a load of manure delivered this afternoon.'
'And Sharon has resigned,' Maurice said.
'That's no surprise,' Tudor said. 'She wouldn't have become a writer in a million years.'
'Owing to pressure of work,' Maurice said and took a letter from his folder. 'She sent this. I'd like to quote a little of it, in view of Tudor's opinion. "I heard this week that my strip has been picked up by some American guy to be syndicated (how do you spell that?) in four hundred newspapers right across the world. I won't have to do no more shampooing. I've made it, big time."'
Thomasine said, mocking Tudor's accent, 'Chew on that, boyo.'
Tudor was lost for words.
'She left a message on my answerphone about a success,' Bob said. 'I didn't think it could be this good.'
Thomasine said, 'It's nice when someone strikes it rich. Good for the circle.'
Maurice agreed. 'What do you think, Bob? Are you going to join us now?' His eyes flicked briefly towards Thomasine and then back to Bob. 'You could get lucky, too.'
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