The Circle

12

Bob stared at the TV screen. He'd just switched on, as he did most mornings while he shuffled around the kitchen making coffee and toast. The breakfast programme was supposed to get him going, encouragement that other people were already on their feet and doing a job. He didn't expect to listen to what they were saying until after his second coffee.

They were running a clip of a burnt-out house, blackened, with wisps of smoke still escaping from what was left of the roof. The style of commentary told him this was the local news slot, and he heard the name of his town. '. . in Tower Street, Chichester, in the early hours of this morning.' Now the newsreader's head and shoulders filled the screen. 'The fire service were at the scene close to the town centre within a short time of receiving the call, but the station fire officer said it was too far advanced for them to enter the building. It is feared that a middle-aged woman lost her life. And now your local weather.'

'Jesus,' Bob said. He'd recognised the house.

He scraped his hand through his hair.

'Yesterday's weather system has passed across the country now and we can look forward to a brighter day.'

'Oh my God!'

'What's up, Dad?'

Sue had just come down in the faded Robbie Williams T-shirt she slept in, her face still puffy from sleep.

'Dad?'

'Another fire. A woman died and I know who she is.' He kicked off his flip-flops. 'I'm going out.'

You haven't had your toast.'

He was out of the room already.

At the scene, the entire street was closed. The end was taped off and two policemen were preventing anyone from crossing the line. Bob's portable TV had given him a better view. All he could make out from here was the back of a fire tender. The only other clue as to what was happening were the acrid fumes hanging in the air, making his throat and nostrils smart.

'Which house is it?' he asked one of the cops.

'Sorry, chum. This is as far as you go.'

'Which house?'

'Why — do you live here?'

'Someone I know does.'

'The fourth along. Gutted. No one inside stood a chance.'

'Number seven?'

'It would be, yes. It's a wonder the place next door didn't go up as well.'

'Listen. Who's in charge? I need to speak to them.'

'And who might you be?'

He gave his name. 'I know the woman who lives in that house. I don't think this was an accident.'

'Okay.'

'Are you listening? I want to see the man in charge.'

'Hold on.' The officer spoke into his personal phone. After getting a response he lifted the tape enough for Bob to duck under. 'Ask for DI Cherry.'

'Dai Cherry?'

He was given a long look.

'Detective Inspector. Ask nicely.'

Ask nicely. The stupid things people say, Bob thought, as he stepped around bits of blackened debris and pools of water. Firemen were disconnecting hoses, chatting to each other, just doing their job. An ambulance and three fire tenders were still in attendance, but the main action was over. The small house was tragic to behold, every window smashed and soot stains spread across the front. A fragment of charred carpet lay on the pavement. Bob recognised the carpet pattern and felt his stomach churn.

Ahead, a fire officer with more silver on his shoulders than the others was in conversation with a tall man in a leather jacket and jeans. Bob went right up to them.

'Inspector Cherry?'

The two continued their dialogue.

'Can I have a word?'

The fire officer finished what he was saying and walked off.

The detective's gaze was on the building. He didn't even turn to look at Bob. 'You've got something to say to me?' Either he wasn't expecting much, or he was playing it cool.

'Bob Naylor, yes. The woman who lives here is called Snow, Miss Amelia Snow.'

'And?'

'Have you found her?'

No answer. This casual attitude was getting to Bob. There still wasn't eye contact. 'Because someone was out to kill her.'

'Oh yes?'

As off-hand as that. How was he going to break through this wall? 'They did their best to trap her last Saturday. You know the boat house that burned down? She was supposed to be meeting someone there. She had a phone call. Now this. It's got to be murder.'

He could have been talking about the weather for all the reaction he got. 'You're from round here, are you?'

'What?'

'Local?'

'From Chichester, yes. Did you hear what I just said? It's murder.'

'What are you then — a friend?'

'I met Miss Snow a few times in the past two weeks, that's all. Through the writers' circle. She's the secretary. Was she in there?'

'So you belong to this circle?'

'I've been to one meeting. Look, this isn't about me. I'm not important. I'm telling you Miss Snow was under threat, for God's sake.'

'I heard what you said, Mr Taylor.'

'Naylor.'

'When you've calmed down we'll take a statement. Can you call at the police station later today? Give your details to the officer over there before you leave.'

With that, DI Cherry strolled off towards a police response car.

'Bloody hell.'

Shaking his head in disbelief, Bob went over to pass on his name and address. If this was the level of interest from the police, he wasn't surprised poor old Maurice was still in custody.

'Bob!'

He turned to look at the taped-off area where the shout had come from, and his spirits had a lift. Thomasine was there waving, with Dagmar at her side. As soon as he'd passed on his name and address he went over to them.

'Was she in there?' Thomasine asked.

'Seems so. They're saying bugger all.'

'Poor little soul! It wasn't an accident, was it?'

'They're not saying. My guess is that someone torched the house, like they did Edgar Blacker's.'

Dagmar said, 'Who in the world would want to harm Miss Snow?'

He shook his head, at a loss for an explanation. 'I need a coffee. How about you two?'

The Costa shop in West Street was the nearest place open at this time. They carried their coffees upstairs, where they had the space to themselves.

'They'll have to release Maurice now,' Dagmar said. 'They will, won't they?'

Maurice wasn't high in Bob's thoughts right now 'If it's up to the dipstick I just met, I wouldn't hold your breath.'

'Someone else will be in charge,' Thomasine said. 'If it's a murder investigation they use detectives.'

'He was a detective. Does anyone know what time this happened?'

'Some hours ago. I saw it on TV. If it's anything like the fire that killed Blacker, it was started at night when no one was about.'

'What a wicked thing,' Dagmar said.

'She was a sweetie,' Thomasine said.'I can't understand this.'

'Have they got her out?' Dagmar asked.

'There can't be much left of her to get out,' Bob said. 'From what I could see, the fire got a grip before anyone arrived. It burned like a furnace inside. The place is just a shell now.'

'It's appalling,' Dagmar said. 'And you're right, Tommy. She was a lovely person, always helping people in trouble. All the work she did for the women's refuge, working in the charity shop. They're going to miss her.'

'So are we,' Thomasine said. 'She did great as the circle secretary. Don't know why she took it on. It's not a job I'd want, with people like Anton ready to jump on any mistake you make.'

'She was glad of the chance to work with Maurice,' Dagmar said, and added at once, 'I don't mean that unkindly. She was very high-minded, and so is Maurice, but there is some satisfaction to be got by a single lady linking up with a nice man in a worthwhile enterprise.'

There speaks the romantic novelist, Bob thought. He'd always thought of Dagmar as the one who fancied Maurice the most.

Thomasine's mind was elsewhere. 'Is it safe to assume the killer is the person who phoned Miss Snow and tried to lure her to the boat house?'

'That's my reading of it,' Bob said. 'Same m.o., basically.'

'M.o.?'

'Latin, isn't it? Same method. Killing by fire. Dead simple and not much risk. They must have stuffed some inflammable material in the space under the boat house for it to go up like it did. A fire doesn't take that quickly without paraffin or something.'

'Do you think they realised it was you inside and not Miss Snow?'

'I shouted plenty. They heard me.'

'What you're saying is that it was a trap meant for Miss Snow and when you walked into it they decided you'd better go instead?'

'Abso-bloody-lutely. I knew too much already.'

'And for a time they must have thought they'd succeeded, unless they watched you climb out on the roof.'

'I sensed they'd gone by then. Light the blue touch paper and run.'

There was a silence between them for a short while, as if no one wanted to make the dread conclusion that united them. At length it was Thomasine who spoke it.

'Let's face it. These fires all have a connection with the circle. None of us is safe any more.'

'But why pick on us?' Dagmar said. 'We're no threat to anyone, a harmless group of writers. We're not the mafia.'

'Dag, one of us can't be harmless,' Thomasine said. 'Someone in the circle is a killer.'

'It could be an outsider.'

'I don't see it. Three fires, all linked to the circle. They know who we are and where we live.'

'But why? Where's the sense in it?'

'I think we've got to consider pyromania.'

'Come again?' Bob said.

'Pyromania. People with a thing about starting fires. A mental illness. They have this need to see places go up in flames.'

'I've heard of that,' he said, 'but you're wrong. Our fire-raiser is picking on people, not buildings.'

'Maybe.'

'No maybe about it. This was murder, Thomasine, murder the easy way. You don't even have to look your victim in the eye. You sneak up to the house, shove a firebomb through the letterbox and run.'

'Horrible,' Dagmar said.

'Is that how it was started?' Thomasine said.

'No one is saying yet, but the fire at Blacker's house started in the front hall. That's the method.'

'So what can we do — leave it to the police?'

He rolled his eyes. 'Right now, I have zero confidence in that lot. You and I know more about the members of the circle than the police do. Who have they interviewed? Only Maurice.'

Dagmar spread her hands in appeal. 'And he's innocent. No one can dispute that any more.'

'You think we can take this on?' Thomasine said to Bob.

Before he answered, Dagmar took a deep breath. 'It's a huge risk, isn't it? You're the two who have been asking questions and we know what happened to you, Bob.'

He said, 'Bugger that. I'm angry.'

'Me, too,' Thomasine said. 'I want to nail this bastard, whoever it is.'

Dagmar looked from one to the other. No question: they were in earnest.

'So why was Miss Snow killed?' Thomasine said.

'She got things going in the first place,' Bob said. 'She got onto me and asked me to do whatever I could to get Maurice released. She was dead worried that the police were going to stitch him up.' He stared into his coffee. "Well, she told me something in confidence, but I think this is the time to share it with you. Maurice did a short spell inside.'

The colour drained from Dagmar's cheeks. 'What?'

'There was trouble with a neighbour and Maurice overreacted.'

'This doesn't sound like Maurice,' Thomasine said.

'I'm not kidding. The neighbour was an arsehole. He made Maurice's life a misery. Two of his rottweilers took over the garden and Maurice flipped his lid and shot them. But the worst of it was that Maurice made a bonfire of some wood the neighbour had heaped against his fence. The fire got out of control and burnt some property including a boat that was under repair.'

'Now I understand,' Thomasine said. 'Maurice has form as a fire-raiser.'

'You said the fire was accidental,' Dagmar stressed, as if it was Bob's fault.

'That's what I was told, love, but there are two things you don't ever do in this country. You don't sit down during God Save the Queen, and you don't shoot somebody's pet animal. He shot two. A jury won't ignore that. He was sent down for a few months.'

'Dreadful,' Dagmar said.

'Let's keep our eye on the ball,' Thomasine said. 'Who do we think is on the shortlist for this?'

'The four fellows we've already spoken to,' Bob said.

'Basil?' Thomasine said, dubious.

'On his own I wouldn't rate him, but with Naomi breathing down his neck. . '

She gave a nod. 'True.'

'Then there are the women, present company excepted.'

'Why?' Thomasine said with a half smile. 'Why exclude us? We could have done it, Dagmar and I, the same as anyone else. And, come to think of it, we haven't ever considered you as a suspect, Mr Bob Naylor.'

'I only joined the circle after Edgar Blacker was dead.'

'Ha!' she said, pointing an accusing finger, but still smiling, 'and how convenient, coming among us and putting us through the wringer, one by one. What if you were Blacker's killer for some reason none of us has yet discovered and all this is a smokescreen to throw off suspicion?'

He weighed Thomasine's theory, allowing that it was meant in fun, yet forced to admit that it had something going for it. She was so bright. 'Let's have a truce,' he said finally. 'For the time being we'll focus on the others. If we eliminate them all we'll go head to head, right?'

'Righty.'

'Righty,' Dagmar said. Bob had almost dismissed her from his mind, such was the force of Thomasine's personality.

'And here's a suggestion,' he said. 'Why don't we call a meeting of the circle and bring them up to speed on what's going on? See them as a group and find out their reactions to what happened this morning.'

'Isn't that dangerous?' Dagmar said.

'More dangerous for the killer.'

'But we don't have the authority to call a meeting. It's up to the chair and the secretary to decide about that.'

'The chair's in the slammer and the secretary's dead. If someone doesn't make a move we'll never get them together. Who else is on the committee?'

'Dagmar and me,' Thomasine said. 'Oh, what the hell, let's go for it. What do you say, Dag?'

He did a day's work before calling at the police station to make the statement. From the cool reaction he'd got in the morning he guessed the rozzers wouldn't be too worried if he forgot the whole thing, but he had his own agenda. He was going to find out if they knew anything he didn't.

He was seen by a friendly plain-clothes man the shape and size of a shot-putter.

'Mr Naylor, I'm glad you came. We already spoke to your daughter.'

'What's she been up to?'

'We were looking for you, to make this statement.'

'Funny. No one gave a monkey's this morning.'

'It's a full-scale murder inquiry now. There was a body in the house.'

'The lady who lived there. I told your inspector.'

'It's got to be identified. We're not even certain yet if it was male or female.'

'Amelia Snow.'

'We don't take anything for granted. The fire really took off, as you would have seen. Do you want to tape this statement or write it down?'

'Tape sounds like less work.'

'I'll see which room is free.'

When they were inside an interview room and seated, the officer said, 'This is Chichester police station.'

'I know,' Bob said.'I live here.'

'That was for the tape.'

He smiled and gave a shrug. 'Sorry, squire.'

'Twentieth of July, two thousand and five. I'm DC Shilling, the interviewing officer-'

'And I'm Bob Naylor.'

'Right. Would you read out what's on this card?'

'"I make this statement of my own free will. I understand that I need not say anything unless I wish to do so and that what I say may be given in evidence." Right?' He went over the salient details of the last few days, starting with the call from Miss Snow asking for the return of the video. 'She said someone from the police had asked for it and she was going to bring it here.'

'She did. It was handed in,' DC Shilling said.

'So it wasn't lost in the fire. Thank God for that.'

'You can thank DI Cherry, my boss. He got in touch with Miss Snow and asked her to bring it in.'

'Is he in charge of the case?'

'Was. Someone else is taking over now. A DCI from Bognor. Two suspicious deaths is a bit much for one DI to handle.'

'Plus the fire in the boat house,' Bob said.

'If it was related.'

'You bet it was related,' Bob said, and launched into his account of the mysterious phone call to Miss Snow offering information that would get Maurice out of jail. Then he explained how he took Miss Snow's place and turned up at the boat house and was nearly barbecued.

'You saw no one?' Shilling said.

'He kept out of sight, whoever he was. Or she.'

'Pity you didn't report this at the time.'

'You found out soon enough, didn't you?' Bob said. 'You could see the blaze from here.'

'But we didn't know about you.'

'If you had, you might have thought I was the arsonist.'

'Fair comment. We've only got your word that you aren't.'

Bob held up a finger. 'Hold on. Get this straight. I volunteered to tell you all this.'

'Noted. Have you got any enemies, Mr Naylor? Anyone who might want to harm you?'

He glared back, 'I told you this was meant for Miss Snow, not me. I took her place.'

'I follow that, but answer the question, please.'

'Well, I shoot off at the mouth more often than I should, but I can't think of anyone who feels that sore about me.'

'What about these people in the writers' circle?'

'What about them?'

'Anyone taken a dislike to you?'

'That'd be quick. I've only been to one meeting. They're friendly so far. When are you going to release Maurice, the chairman? There's no way he could have started this fire.'

'He's being held on a separate charge.'

'The fire at Edgar Blacker's place. Don't you think it's got to be the same guy?'

'When the forensic report is in, I'm sure the SIO will compare the two incidents and form a conclusion.'

'They're both arson, aren't they?'

'The first was a deliberate act. The fire investigator found that it started in the front hall, from something pushed through the letterbox. This one may appear similar but it's got to be confirmed.'

'Everyone says you're wasting your time on Maurice.'

'It's not up to me,' Shilling said. 'We'll see, we'll see.'

An hour later, two beers and a mushroom pizza to the good, Bob thought about what he'd learned. The fuzz were in no hurry to release Maurice. The new chief honcho needed to get up to speed with the case. They were waiting for the forensic results from the fire investigation. With so little action, the killer would be thinking this was easy-peasy.

He recalled Miss Snow's jitters about the call the killer had made. At the time he'd thought he'd solved her problem. He'd felt quite pleased with himself, doing his knight-in-shining-armour bit. Even when things went wrong at the boat house, he'd told himself he'd saved the lady from a bad experience. The thought hadn't crossed his mind that the killer would try something else.

Miss Snow was on Bob's conscience now. He was fully committed to finding the killer.

He just wished his hands wouldn't shake so much.