The Circle

9

One of the maxims of murder investigation is that the first twenty-four hours are crucial. If you don't catch the killer when the body is still warm, you can resign yourself to months of doorstepping. Bob was not a professional, but he'd watched enough police drama on television to know it was important to see each of his suspects as soon as possible.

'Where can we find Anton?'

'On a Saturday morning? Probably at home doing the prize crossword in The Times,' Thomasine said.

It sounded possible. The champion of good English had to be busy with words. He lived in a Georgian terraced house in East Pallant, behind the council offices.

'If it was a Monday, we'd find him sitting in the public seats at a planning meeting,' Thomasine said as they walked up the narrow street. 'He likes to raise points of order.'

'I bet they love that.'

'He does, for sure.'

'He's the least likely, isn't he?' Bob said.

'Of our suspects?'

'Think about it. He's not really a writer like the rest of you. He didn't hand in anything for Blacker to read, and I can't think why he'd want to kill him — or me.'

'If you read Agatha Christie,' Thomasine said, 'the least likely is the one to watch out for.'

'But this sure ain't Agatha Christie.'

'I wouldn't dismiss him so easily. He's got a good brain. Had a top job in the civil service.'

'Doing what?'

'Don't know.'

'Writing ministers' speeches?'

'Winds of change and windows of opportunity? Not Anton's style,' Thomasine said.

'What else could he have worked on, then?'

'Ancient Monuments?'

'Not bad,' he said, smiling. 'Not bad at all. I could believe that.'

The brasswork on Anton's front door was polished to such a standard that they hesitated to touch it, but there was no bell, so they had to knock.

The sound of footsteps was followed by safety bolts being slid back.

'Ah, the inquisition,' Anton said when he opened up. 'I thought you would find your way to me in time.'

He was in a dark suit and striped shirt. Today's bow tie was navy with white spots. He invited them into a narrow hallway hung with engravings of casdes. Bob recognised Hever, Carisbrooke and the Tower of London. Noticing him pause in front of one of them, Anton said, 'They were my responsibility once.'

'Ancient Monuments?'

'Correct. How did you know?'

Unseen by Anton, Thomasine held up a finger.

'That was before English Heritage were brought in,' Anton said. 'If you see the word "heritage" walk fast in the other direction. It means someone in a poke bonnet is trying to sell you pot pourri.'

He showed them into his front room.

Thomasine said, 'Amazing!'

Bob said, Toytown.'

'That's what Chichester is, basically,' Anton said.

They were standing beside a table-top model of the city, every building to scale, tiny cars lined up in the car parks. Thomasine was in raptures. 'The market cross, the cathedral, and look, here's McDonald's. Did you make this, Anton?'

'A long time ago,' he said in a dismissive tone.

'It's beautiful. The detail. These little shop signs, the boot and the wishbone. No wonder you don't have much time for writing.'

'I haven't kept up,' he said. 'Hooper's has long gone and the Shippam's sign shouldn't be there any more. I've turned my attention to this.' He went to a computer across the room and switched on. A Screensaver showing the market cross lit up the screen before it switched to a map of the city. 'Are you familiar with a computer mouse?'

'If I answer yes, what's the pay-offline?' Thomasine said.

'It's a serious question.'

It had to be, coming from Anton.

'All right. Yes, I can use one.'

'Go for a virtual walk, then. See if you can find your hairdresser.'

'I don't believe this.' She used the cursor to locate Crane Street, off North Street. 'It should be here, on the left.' She left-clicked and a shop called Blinkers filled the screen. 'Yikes!'

'You can go in,' he told her.

'What?'

'Click on the door.'

The salon's interior came up, complete with altar-like counter and waiting area, basins, mirrors and chairs. 'Anton, I'm gobsmacked. That's it to the life. Perfect.'

'No, if it was perfect you'd be able to talk to your stylist and discuss what you want. That's for the next generation of software.' He said to Bob, 'Why don't you try?'

'For a hairdo?'

But Thomasine said, 'Keep off. I want to carry on playing. It's so amazing. I could do this for hours.' She found the library and looked in. Another click and she was upstairs in the reference section.

'My turn,' Bob said, and soon he was exploring the Butter Market, checking the accuracy of the places where he bought bread and fish. The controls let him turn corners and examine everything from multiple angles. 'Must be a top-class package to do this.'

'From Japan, and not cheap,' Anton said.

'So did you make the graphics yourself?'

'I had no choice. I don't think they've heard of the Chichester Butter Market in Japan.'

'How do you do it? You must have visited every shop and measured up.'

'I worked with plans all my life. Some of it has to be guesswork, but most is verifiable. Getting it right appeals to me.'

'What about private houses?' Bob asked. 'Are they in the virtual tour?'

Anton shook his head. 'One has to be discreet. I go no further than the front door.'

Hearing this, Bob found himself recalling that Edgar Blacker's killer had needed to go no further than the front door. 'How far out does this stretch?'

'The limits? It's quite modest actually. I've stopped at the ends of the four main streets, so the theatre isn't in yet and neither is the station to the south. I'd like to include them in time.'

Bob was exploring the cathedral, zooming in on the stained glass. 'Hours and hours went into this, I bet.'

'These days I get by with very little sleep.'

'How do I switch off?'

'You can leave it running. We'll go into the back room. It's more comfortable.'

He led them into a place lined with books, wall to wall. There were three armchairs and a low table.

'I'm willing to bet there's a section here on English grammar,' Bob said.

'To your right, above the dictionaries of quotations. Now, at the risk of being impolite, my time is precious. Why don't you take a seat and put me through the third degree? I assume that's what you came for?'

Thomasine said in a low voice, 'Did I spot a hanging participle?'

Anton managed a smile and said, 'Mm culpa.'

He listened in silence to Bob's account of his escape from the boat house. 'No offence,' Bob went on, 'but I'm seeing each of the men in the circle just to clear the air, so to speak.'

'Clear the air' was a cliche, and Anton was gracious enough to let it pass with no more than the lifting of an eyebrow. 'But why confine your enquiries to the men?'

'The phone call Miss Snow took last night. She said it was a man's voice.'

'Didn't she recognise it?'

'Disguised, she thought.'

'Far be it from me to complicate matters,' Anton said, 'but it wouldn't be a huge technical problem for a woman to make her voice sound like a man's. You can buy a simple voice synthesiser in a toy shop.'

Thomasine turned to Bob. 'He's right. My girls at school played tricks on me with one. Why didn't I think of that?'

'Okay,' Bob said, 'thanks for that, Anton, but would you mind telling me where you were this morning between eight and nine?'

'Here, doing the crossword.'

Another bullseye from Thomasine.

'How did you get on?'

Anton reached for the newspaper and held up the back page, showing the corner clipped out. 'It's in the post.'

'Finished already?'

'Come, come. I wouldn't send it incomplete.'

'So you've been out already?'

'A fair deduction, Holmes. The post office is only five minutes away. Oh, and you're going to tell me the boat houses by the canal are almost as near. I can't deny it, but the paper was delivered as usual at seven fifteen and I took just under an hour to complete the crossword — by which time you were limping home covered in soot by your account.'

'True,' Bob said, crushed.

Thomasine came to his rescue. 'We'd also like to ask about Edgar Blacker.'

'What about him?'

'Did you know him before he visited the circle?'

'No. Why should I?'

Bob said with more bounce, 'Well, if you're the killer, we have to find the reason. You didn't send in a piece of work for him to comment on.'

'True.'

'And one mixed metaphor isn't enough to justify murder,' Thomasine said.

'Possibly not.'

'So you'd need some stronger motive.'

'Such as a long-standing grudge because he bullied me at school?'

'That might qualify.'

'Or stole my girlfriend, or bumped my car?'

'Yes.'

Anton's eyes shone. He was well on top of this exchange. 'Sorry to disappoint, but I'd never set eyes on the man before that evening. If I were you, I'd try one of the others. You're wasting your time on me.'

'Why do you bother with the circle?' Bob asked. 'I was told you don't often read things out.'

He thought about that for a moment. 'I'm fascinated by people with creative minds. I don't have any imagination whatsoever. Give me a blueprint, a map, and I can work from it, but I can't start with a blank sheet. Most of them can, with varying degrees of success. That's a great gift, and I suppose I secretly hope it will rub off on me. It hasn't yet.'

'What you've done on that computer is creative,' Thomasine said.

'No. I only copy what exists already. Ask me to plan a new street of shops and I'd be stumped. The brain refuses to cooperate. So I envy anyone who produces original work.'

'Okay,' Bob said. 'How about giving us some advice? You go there to watch and listen, right? You know them all. What's your verdict? Is one of them a murderer?'

'I expect so.'

'Who is it then? Have you ever found yourself thinking this one or that one could do it?'

Anton had a pained expression. 'I don't look at other people wondering if they are murderers.'

Yes, but if one of them is. .'

'They're all capable. If it was a crime requiring great strength or coolness under pressure I'd say certain people could be eliminated, but this was the simplest of methods. Some inflammable material pushed through a letterbox and ignited. A little old lady could do it as well as a man.'

'Cherchez la femme,' Thomasine said.

'I wouldn't discount any of you ladies. That's all I'm prepared to say'

'Sitting on the fence.'

'Sitting on the fence was my profession.'

Afterwards, over their second coffee break — americanos, croissants and a smoke in the Caffe Nero — Bob and Thomasine took stock.

'Creepy, that computer programme,' Thomasine said. 'I mean, it was fun to try, but when you think about it, what kind of person wants to look inside every shop in town?'

'I'd say about half the population.'

'Chauvinist.'

'If it amuses him, I don't see the harm in it.'

'He's a weirdo, Bob, you've got to admit.'

'All right. He's a weirdo, but clever with it.'

She shook her head. 'I feel uncomfortable with him, as if he'd like to put us all in his computer and control us.'

'He was honest about why he joined the circle.'

'Because he likes to be with creative people?'

'Yes, I believed that bit,' he said. 'You're a mystery to him. He'd like to get some ideas of his own and turn them into words, and he can't. The best he can do is pick holes in what you come up with, find faults in the grammar and stuff. That makes him think he's superior in some way, but deep down he knows he can't hack it as a writer.'

Thomasine brightened up. 'Bob, have you got us all summed up so neatly? This is how you're going to get to the truth of this mystery.'

'Oh, yeah? All I've managed so far is to get myself trapped in a burning shed.'

'We're picking up clues. We found out that some of these guys had links with Edgar Blacker we didn't know about. Tudor sold him some insurance and doesn't want to talk about it. Zach was in touch with Blacker before that meeting, being sounded out for a vanity publishing deal.'

'It doesn't amount to much.'

'It's more than the police have got.'

'They'll have got the video by now. Miss Snow was taking it into the nick this morning. They could follow up, find out things, same as you and me.'

'But they won't, because they've pinned it on Maurice.'

He said with a smile, 'What they need is someone like you to crack the whip.'

She gave an even broader smile. 'But because I've got such faith in you, I'm going to crack it specially for you. Are you ready for Basil?'

'Basil I can handle,' he said. 'Naomi is something else.'

Basil and Naomi lived east of the city in Whyke Lane, beyond the scope of Anton's map. Fate decreed that it was Naomi who opened the door of their Victorian semi and said an unwelcoming, Yes?'

She had her hair scraped back from her forehead, gleaming black, as if she was in the middle of washing it in sump oil.

'Hi, Naomi,' Thomasine greeted her. 'Perhaps this isn't a good moment? We were hoping to have a word with Baz, if possible.'

She said, 'I won't have him called that. His name is Basil. He's extremely busy just now. What's it about?'

'Circle business.' Thomasine summarised the morning's events, finishing with, 'So it's only fair that we speak to Basil now that we've seen each of the other men.'

'He wouldn't harm a fly,' Naomi said. 'He's in the back garden spraying his roses.'

'Harming the greenfly,' Bob murmured.

Naomi hadn't heard. 'You'd better come in. I'll see if he can break off for a few minutes.'

They were shown into the front room by way of the hall. To Bob's eye it seemed dark and Victorian. There was an upright piano. Old photos in gilt frames, clearly of Naomi's ancestors, stood on top. The women all had eyes like hers that expected hostility and returned it fivefold. Yet someone must have got close, he found himself thinking, or they couldn't have passed on the gene that glared.

Naomi didn't leave them alone for long. 'It's not convenient,' she said, with another of those don't-even-think-about-challenging-me looks. 'He's wearing his spraying clothes.'

'Did you ask him?' Bob said.

'I don't need to ask him. I can see from the kitchen window.'

'We don't mind what he's wearing,' Thomasine said as if it was for them to decide. 'We can talk to him out there. Shall we go through?'

To Bob's surprise, Naomi stepped back to let her pass. Maybe it was all front with her. They moved into the kitchen, another dark room with dinner plates on wooden racks above an old-fashioned dresser.

Out of the window they could see Basil at work, dressed like a racing driver of the twenties in a red overall with goggles and leather helmet. His spray was just as antiquated as the clothes. It worked on the pump-action principle from a bucket. But the small garden looked to be thriving on the treatment. An arch of exquisite pink roses was formed by the weight of the blooms. A daisy on that lawn would have died of shame.

'You see?' Naomi said.

'He won't mind stopping for us.' Without asking, Thomasine opened the back door and stepped across the turf.

'Don't go too close. It's harmful to humans,' Naomi said, following her.

But Basil noticed them and lowered his spray and pushed his goggles above his eyes.

'Don't blame Naomi,' Thomasine said to him. 'She did her best to stop us, but Bob was nearly burnt alive this morning and we need to talk.'

Basil said, 'Oh my word. Are you all right?'

'I'm okay,' Bob said. 'I jumped off the roof and one leg is giving me gyp, but I'll survive.'

'Then you must come and sit in the gazebo.' He led the way up the garden towards a neat wooden structure painted white. Curved bench seats inside faced each other. Bob found himself opposite Naomi, exposed to the stare.

Thomasine gave her account of Bob's misadventure. Apart from another 'Oh my word' from Basil, she was heard in awed silence.

'So we decided to check on the movements of each guy in the circle,' she said. 'No offence, Basil. We've no reason to think you'd want to kill Edgar Blacker or Bob, but in fairness to the others, we must ask where you were about eight this morning.'

Naomi started to say, 'He was-' then stopped as Thomasine raised her hand like a traffic policeman.

'His own words, if you don't mind.'

'Eight?' Basil said, turning to face Naomi as if his memory had gone. 'I would have been taking my shower about that time.'

'So you didn't go out?'

'Yes, I was out.'

'What — taking a shower?'

'I was at the leisure centre. I go for a daily swim. I'm always in the water by seven, winter and summer.'

Unkindly, Bob found himself wondering if the hairpiece stayed on in the water. 'Breaststroke?'

'How did you guess?'

'And you never miss?'

'I can't remember a time when I did.'

'He's fitter than he looks,' Naomi said.

'Is there anyone who can vouch for you?'

'What do you mean — vouch for him?' Naomi said. You said a moment ago you had no reason to think he had anything to do with what happened.'

'But we're treating each of the men just the same,' Thomasine said.

'There are several other regulars like me at the pool,' Basil said, 'but we don't speak to each other. We just do lengths.'

'Don't you speak in the changing room?'

His lips formed a small circle, as if he was trying to whistle. 'It's not the thing to strike up a conversation with a fellow getting dressed. When I'm decent I might pass a few words.'

'They'd know you,' Thomasine said, 'so they ought to be able to give you an alibi.'

He still looked dubious. 'That may be so, but who's going to ask them?'

'You, initially. Then Bob and I would need to confirm it with them.'

'I don't care for that at all. I'd rather you treated me as a suspect if that's what this is about.'

'No, it's about eliminating you as a suspect.'

Basil gripped his gauntlet gloves. 'But I've no reason to harm you, Bob. I scarcely know you.'

'The way we see it,' Thomasine said, 'whoever set light to Edgar Blacker's house has reason to be worried that we're asking awkward questions. We think the arsonist set a trap for Bob.'

'I didn't kill Mr Blacker,' Basil said. 'He was perfectly civil to me.'

'I've seen the video,' Bob said. 'I think he was ready to offer you a contract.'

'Apparently.'

'But it was all a con. You know that, don't you? He'd have built up your hopes and then wanted you to put your hand in your pocket to fund the book, like he did with Maurice.'

'So I heard,' Basil said. 'It's deplorable. But I didn't know this at the time. I'm afraid I'm far too trusting.'

'You can say that again,' Naomi said.

'We didn't care for his ideas about publicising my book, opening our garden to the public,' Basil said. 'You can see the size of the plot. We're not equipped for visitors.'

And you don't even offer them a cup of tea, Bob thought. 'Had you ever met Blacker before he visited the circle?'

'He was a stranger to me.'

Naomi chose to come in again. 'It was obvious to me that he hadn't bothered to read my book on the witch trials. Even if he'd skimmed through the pages he should have realised where I stand on the question of witchcraft.'

You were disappointed?'

'Disgusted.' She pushed a lock of black hair away from her eyes. 'He had the idea I was a believer in occult practices. How anyone could be so mistaken is beyond me.'

'Witchful thinking,' Bob said, and immediately wished he hadn't. He got the fiercest glare yet.

Thomasine nudged the talk in another direction. 'You were one of the founders of the circle, Naomi.'

'What of it?'

'You and Dagmar and Maurice.'

'So?'

'How did you meet?'

Her features relaxed a little. 'On a coach trip to Stratford-on-Avon. Basil gets travel sickness, so he didn't come. I found myself sharing a seat with Maurice. Do you really want to hear this? It's rather gruesome.'

'How?'

'It turned out he was using the trip for research into one of his unsolved murders. He'd arranged with the driver to be dropped at a village called Lower Quinton, a few miles before Stratford. An old man was murdered there towards the end of the war and it was never cleared up. Maurice was visiting the scene.'

'For some local colour?'

Naomi shrugged. 'To be honest, I wasn't all that interested until he mentioned there were black magic associations. Warwickshire is notorious for that sort of thing. The man was found pinned to the ground by a hayfork through his throat, with the sign of the cross hacked into his chest.'

'Ugh!'

'I warned you it was gruesome.' Naomi carried on in a calm tone, 'It's a form of killing associated with the occult that goes back to Anglo-Saxon times. Any unfortunate suspected of having the evil eye was likely to be impaled in this way.'

'Ritual killing?'

'Yes. And there were local legends of a black dog. If the dog was seen, a death followed soon after. The victim himself saw it as a child on nine successive nights, on his way home from working in the fields as a ploughboy. On the tenth night his sister died suddenly — or so the story went.'

'Were there witches in the area?'

'Supposedly. The coven was said to meet at a stone circle nearby. Had done so for about three centuries.'

'And the murder was never solved?'

'Officially, no. But the policeman who investigated was certain he knew who did it. He was Bob Fabian.'

'The killer?'

Naomi's nostrils flared a little. 'The detective. Fabian of the Yard.'

'I've heard of him,' Bob said.

'Fabian believed a local farmer was responsible. Much of the talk of witchcraft originated with him. He was in trouble financially and he'd borrowed a large sum of money from the victim and couldn't repay it. He dressed the murder up to make it look ritualistic'

'Why wasn't he arrested?'

'There wasn't enough proof. He destroyed the receipts. No witnesses. He did everything he could to inflame the superstitions. After the killing, a black dog was found on his land, hanged, close to the scene of the crime. Fabian wrote in his memoirs that the case was unsolved, but he confided later that he was sure the farmer was the killer. The whole thing played to the local fears and legends, just as the persecutors of witches have done from time immemorial.'

'It makes a good chapter in Maurice's book, I reckon,' Bob said.

'I think he used it, yes. You were asking how we formed the circle. Maurice and I got talking about the books we were writing and what a happy discovery it is to find another author. On the drive home from Stratford we picked him back up at Lower Quinton and he sat with me again and the idea emerged of setting up a group. He already knew about Dagmar writing romances, and I said I could probably rope in Basil, so we agreed to meet Dagmar and see if she was interested. She was highly enthusiastic. I expect you noticed she idolises Maurice. The circle came into being over tea and cakes in the Bishop Bell tea rooms.'

'At the cathedral?'

'Yes. We had a table outside. It's easier to talk there without being overheard.'

'Good thinking,' Bob said. 'Mills and Boon, murder and witchcraft. Some ears would prick up.'

Thomasine smiled, but Naomi was unamused. 'Nothing of the sort was discussed. We talked about the practicalities of forming the circle.'

'Was Basil there?' Bob asked, slipping into Naomi's habit of discussing her husband as if he couldn't answer for himself.

'He joined later. There were just the three of us. Basil isn't so committed as I am.'

'The garden comes first,' Basil said. 'On the long summer evenings I don't often get to the circle.'

'And I can understand why,' Thomasine said. 'It's a joy to be here.'

Walking back towards the centre of town, Bob said, 'That's it, then. All the men in the circle except Maurice. I've looked each of them in the eye trying to think, Are you a murderer, chum?'

'And what have you decided?'

'They're all a bit iffy, aren't they? Basil seems the most harmless, but he's got a scary woman pulling his strings.'

'Lady Macbeth?'

'Could be. There's Tudor, as shifty as you like, with something to hide about an insurance deal. Zach, who thinks he's a genius, and Anton, who may be a genius, and I don't know which is more dangerous.'

'Writers are funny people.'

'Funny peculiar?'

'That's what I meant.'

He heard himself say, 'Be careful, Thomasine.'

'What?'

'Watch your back. Someone had a go at me. It can only be because I'm asking awkward questions. And if I'm being targeted, then you're at risk too.'