The Circle

19

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.'

'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.'

The eyes narrowed. 'Who told you? Basil?'

'Your accessory, Zach Beale.'

Now it was raw disgust that registered. 'Wimp.'

'He's not very happy with you, either. He could be facing a prison term.'

'What for?'

'Concealing evidence. Conspiracy to obstruct the course of justice.'

'Oh, come on,' Naomi said. 'It's only a photo. Your people would have picked it up if it was any use to them.'

'They didn't want to disturb the scene,' Hen said with the licence her position gave her. 'But you did. I haven't yet decided what we'll throw at you, unlawful entry, theft. Why did you do it?'

After some thought, Naomi said, 'It was there.'

'Like Everest, you mean? The difference is that you crossed a police line to get to it. The place was taped and sealed.'

'It was something that belonged to him. A point of contact.'

Hen found herself frowning. This was a strange woman. 'What are we dealing with here — messages from the dead?'

'No.'

'"A point of contact", you said.'

'I'm a writer. I'm treating what happened as a project.'

'Writing about it?'

'A murder inquiry from the inside. I went to the house to get a sense of the place, and the man.'

'Don't give me that horseshit, Naomi. I think you went there to clean up.'

'What?'

This thought had just come warm and unintended to Hen. 'You returned to the scene to remove evidence that might incriminate you.'

An impact at last. A look of panic. You think I'm the arsonist?'

'The more I listen to you, the more likely it becomes.'

'You're wrong. Listen, you couldn't be more wrong. I went out of curiosity. The picture was hanging there, so I took it.'

This chimed in with what Zach had said. 'Okay,' Hen said, with a deliberate shift from blame to consultation. 'Let's have your views. What did you learn from the photo?'

'It's guesswork,' Naomi said, but she was deeply serious. The threats had shaken her. She knew her best chance was to make herself useful.

'Carry on.'

'If he kept it on his bedroom wall, the other man in the picture must have been important to him. They had their arms around each other.'

'Buddies?'

'Possibly. I don't recognise the man. He isn't one of the circle.'

'Agreed.'

'And something was written on the back.'

'"Innocents, Christmas 1982".'

'Yes, I didn't know what to make of that. My first thought was that Blacker and the other man had got into something shady at a later date, and the comment was written later.'

'Something shady?'

'A relationship, maybe. Twenty years ago we were less open about gays. It can't have been too much of a disaster or he wouldn't have kept the picture on his wall.'

'You said that was your first thought. Was there a second?'

'That they later got involved in some criminal act.'

'Do you have any evidence of this?'

Naomi shook her head. 'It's only a guess, but it would account for the "innocents" comment. A scam they both got into.'

Hen said, 'If they did, we have no record of it. Blacker was clean.'

'I've got another theory, then. Suppose they both fell for some confidence trick. A third person duped them. That would give another meaning to "innocents", wouldn't it?'

'Sure would. Any idea who this third person might be?'

'The killer,' Naomi said. 'The arsonist.'

'Covering up old crimes? You've obviously given this a lot of thought. Who do you suspect?'

'Is this in confidence?'

'Of course.'

'That pain in the arse, Tudor.'