The Circle (14 page)

'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)

P
ressganged 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 boat 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.'

'You can assume anything,' she said. 'You don't have to bother with the truth. It's up to me to unearth the facts and write them down - as I'm doing, on the website - and you'd better start soon. The killing of Miss Snow gives this a dimension I hadn't dared to expect, definitely a serial arsonist at work.'

'Seems so.'

'Come on, Zach. Don't tantalise. How does your story go?'

'I had a good look at that photo,' he said. 'The writing on the back says it was taken in 1982, over twenty years ago. It would have been neat if the other guy turned out to be a member of the circle, but I can't see any resemblance.'

'There's such a thing as artistic licence.'

He shook his head. 'I've already headed in another direction. In this version, he's the second son of a duke. I've called him Jason. The family are rich, but rich, filthy rich.'

She gave an approving nod. 'That's always good in a book.'

'A castle, a house in Belgravia and a place in the South of France. Edgar Blacker - may I call him by his real name?'

Now she gazed down at her coffee. 'Maybe not. We'll think about that.'

'For the time being?'

A pause, then, 'All right.'

'He asks to use one of the family homes as the background to a photo shoot for a magazine feature, and that's how he gets to meet Jason.'

Naomi nodded again, liking it. 'They are attracted to each other and . . . '

'Jason invites Blacker to share his penthouse in London. They're very close, those two. The next thing is, Jason's older brother - the heir to the dukedom - is killed in a boating accident'

'Lovely. Drops overboard?'

'On a sea trip off the coast of France.'

'Is it murder?'

'Of course. Blacker is responsible. While the yacht was anchored in a big marina and everyone was sleeping, he came aboard and chloroformed the brother and dragged him out of the cabin and heaved him overboard. The body isn't recovered for several days. No one suspects Blacker. No one knows he was anywhere near the boat.'

'This is more like it,' Naomi said, reaching out to put a hand over Zach's. 'You have such a fertile imagination.'

'It never sounds so clever just describing the plot,' Zach said. 'It will grab you when I get it on paper.'

'On the web,' she corrected him. 'It grabs me now. Does he tell Jason what he's done?'

'Not yet. But of course Jason is now the heir. Blacker does all he can to cultivate the relationship. For a time everything is cool. Then there are problems. Blacker is taking too much for granted, bringing clients back to the flat to impress them. There's a suspicion he's pocketing money that Jason leaves around. They fall out, big time. Jason shows him the door. Blacker goes apeshit and tells Jason what he did to ensure he inherited. He says if the murder ever gets known he'll swear he was acting under orders from Jason. He demands a big pay-off, and gets it. Do you see now? That's the back story. It's all set up for the murder of Blacker some years later.'

'By Jason?'

'Yes. Maybe Blacker has surfaced again and wants a big handout to finance his publishing venture. Jason can see this blackmail going on indefinitely.'

Naomi's eyes glittered. 'So he goes out to the cottage one night and sets it on fire? This is where our two stories touch base at a point of reality. Mine will be a faithful account of all the known facts about the fire while yours has soared away into fantasy.'

Zach nodded. 'But I'm still not clear how this will look on a computer screen. What's the reader going to make of it?'

'We'll use different fonts to avoid confusion. Mine will be in bold.'

'Why not mine?' he said, challenging.

'Because reality has to be paramount. The reader needs a structure and I'm providing it. You can be in italics if you want.'

'No, I'll stay upright. It's easier on the eye.'

With that settied, Naomi got him back on track. 'Where does the story go next? Have you thought of a reason why the other fires are started?'