The Circle (22 page)

22

T
hat night another fire was started in Chichester.

For the arsonist, the stakes were higher. Just getting to the scene was high risk. The city was nervous. The papers and television were already talking of a serial fire-raiser. The police were under orders to look out for suspicious behaviour. Everyone on the streets at night was a potential suspect.

So every parked car might contain someone on watch. Behind every curtain could be a detective, or one of those amateur snoopers who make a call to
Crimestoppers.

But the planning took account of the risks. The arsonist picked a route that gave plenty of cover and made sure each stretch of the way was safe to use, once waiting in a shop doorway for ten minutes for some lone walker to pass right out of sight.

At the chosen house, it was the same
modus operandi.
The rags, the fuel, the flame. Then a quick exit from the scene, quick, but not obvious, leaving behind a fire that would take and spread, devouring everything combustible. We fill our homes with wooden furniture. Usually the floors, doors and staircase are of wood. Most curtains and blinds catch fire readily. Paper in the form of newspapers, magazines and junk mail is shoved through the door every day and often left in the hallway. No wonder so many domestic fires cause maximum destruction and death before the firefighters arrive.

This one was quick and deadly. It happened in Vicars Close.

23

It was a maxim with Foxey — our revered father, gentlemen
-
'Always suspect everybody.'

Charles Dickens,
The Old Curiosity Shop
(1841)

T
he first Hen Mallin knew of it was at six thirty, when she stepped out of the shower. She could never hear the phone when the water was going. Didn't want to. She grabbed a towel and her mobile. I don't need this, she thought.

'Another? . . . Vicars Close? That's . . . Oh God. And is she . . . ? I'll be there shortly.'

Grim-faced as she drove from Bognor, she tried to get a grip on what had happened and what it meant. A third death by fire in Chichester. Another of the writers' circle murdered, and by night, the victim at home, in bed, at her most vulnerable. This would panic the rest of them. And give the press a field day. Proof positive that a serial killer was at work. She could hear the questions already. Why hadn't the police given twenty-four-hour protection to the members of the circle? How many more fatal fires would have to take place before the arsonist was caught?

Pick a number, she thought from the depths of her despair.

Fire engines, two of them, were drawn up in Canon Lane, on the south side of the cathedral, the closest they could get to the fire. A mass of pipes snaked up the narrow lane that fronted the terrace. There was barely room to put her feet down. But at least Vicars Close was cordoned off at each end, barring the gawpers.

Wisps of smoke still rose from the smashed windows of the burnt-out, saturated house. The fire had been contained in the one dwelling. The rest of the nicely maintained row appeared to have escaped, even the adjacent houses. White fronts and cared-for gardens made the contrast more poignant.

Hen lit a cigar and took a fortifying drag.

Stella Gregson was standing in a bed of purple irises in the trampled remains of the garden. 'Seems to have happened around four thirty this morning, guv, just like the others.'

'Witnesses - or is that too much to hope?'

'None so far. Uniform are knocking on doors.'

'Who reported it?'

'A shop window-cleaner, name of Meredith. He saw the smoke from South Street and came to investigate. That was just before six. The fire had ripped through the place by that time.'

Hen stepped over some of the hoses to speak to the senior fire officer. 'Any conclusions yet?'

'It was started at the front, I can tell you that.'

'Like the others. Petrol through the letterbox?'

He hedged a little. 'The investigation team hasn't been through yet.'

'But you have.'

'All I can give you is a personal observation.'

'Like I said, petrol through the letterbox?'

He smiled in a way that confirmed it.

'You took the decision to remove the dead woman?'

'We had to. The floor was starting to go. It's a wonder we contained it to the one house. These old buildings had solid walls. Fifteenth century.'

'Is there much left of her?'

'It's not pretty, but she isn't ash, like the last one.'

'Just the one victim?'

'Please God, yes. That's all we found. She lived alone, according to the neighbours.'

'That's our information, too.'

He scratched his unshaven face. 'Do you think the point of this was to kill? Who'd want to—'

'Thanks,' Hen cut him off. Speculation had its purpose, but not now. 'Appreciate your help.'

She returned to Stella. 'Not much we can do here until it cools off, Stell. We've got to move fast on this. I want to know where each member of the circle spent the last twelve hours. See if anyone spoke to Jessie late yesterday, in person or by phone. Look for signs of guilt, examine their hands, ask to see their shoes, clothes, vehicles, garages, outbuildings. Check for fuel, evidence of it, the smell of it.'

'We'll need warrants for all that, guv.'

'Sod that. They owe us their cooperation. If they refuse, we know who to focus on, and they'll be aware of that. Get the team working on it pronto, will you, before the press start badgering them.'

'The entire circle?'

'The whole boiling lot of them. Even the ones we think are in the clear. This is an inside job, Stell. We've met the killer, so we're ahead of the game. We don't know why the bugger is doing this, but we've got to nick him before he does another.'

'Him, guv? You said "him".'

'I take it back. Him or her. While you attend to that, I'm calling a press conference. They'll be screaming for a statement and they can have one, so at least I'll know they're sitting in front of me while you guys are doing the business.'

She was right about the media interest. She called the conference for ten thirty and it was standing room only. Some of the nationals - papers, TV and radio - were represented. From this point on, the pressure would be intense.

She was good at this and she handled their probing without once losing her grip. The questions were predictable, fishing for the quote that she refused to give, the admission that she was at a loss. On the contrary, she told them, a number of promising leads were being followed up.

Then she did four television interviews. As if that wasn't enough, she was summoned immediately after by the assistant chief constable and asked - in a roundabout way - if she was up to it. This time she did snap back. She told him she knew what was being hinted at and, no, she didn't need the Regional Crime Squad muscling in, and what was more she took it as insulting that it was even being considered. Her clear-up rate was second to none in West Sussex and she looked to her superiors for support in the shape of a generous overtime budget.

He huffed and muttered things about headquarters, and Hen came out knowing she was on limited time, but she knew that already.

She drove to the mortuary for a look at the body, a necessary duty, however distasteful. Fire is a great concealer. The possibility always had to be kept open that injuries had been inflicted first.

Just before the sheet was drawn back she reminded herself that the likely cause of Jessie Warmington-Smith's death was smoke inhalation. She would not have felt the flames. Horrific as the flesh injuries were, they were postmortem burns.

Standing beside the body she reflected on the irony that the killer is never forced to view his victim on a mortuary slab, as the investigator must. You would need to be callous indeed not to be affected by the spectacle of the fire-damaged corpse in those clinical surroundings. The nearest a murdering arsonist comes to the consequence of his crime is a glance at the photographs in court.

She saw enough to confirm Jessie's identity, then went in search of fresh air and a smoke.

In theory it was lunchtime, but she wouldn't be able to face food for a long while. She called the team to the incident room for a briefing and began by sharing the sparse information she had. The fire fitted the pattern of the others. It had started in the front hallway, by the door. There were no signs of a break-in, so concealing a theft wasn't the reason for the fire, as is sometimes the case. The victim had died in bed, probably from smoke inhalation. The fire chief was suggesting a likely time of origin between four and five in the morning. No witnesses had yet been traced, for all the door-to-door enquiries.

'So run it past me,' she told her team. 'What did you discover?'

Silence. No one wanted to go first.

Then Stella said, 'Do you want a summary from me, guv? There are ten surviving members of the circle and we've talked to nine of them this morning. The odd one out is Bob Naylor, and he left home early for work. He's a Parcel Force driver and he's on a long-haul job to Bristol. We've made contact and I'm seeing him tonight. Of the others, we had good cooperation from everyone.'

'But nothing helpful?'

'I didn't say that'

'Get to it, then,' Hen said. 'Who are you talking about?'

'Naomi Green admits she went out during the night, she thinks at about three a.m.'

An avalanche of new possibilities crashed into Hen's brain. 'What on earth for?'

Stella turned to Andy Humphreys. "You'd better explain.'

He pulled out his notes. 'I interviewed them both - the Greens, I mean. They'd heard about the fire on local radio, so it didn't come as a surprise to them. I spoke to Naomi first and she was very straightforward in her answers.'

'Was Basil present?'

'No, guv. He went out to do something in the garden.'

Johnny Cherry said, 'Like disposing of an empty petrol can?'

Typical bloody Johnny.

Hen said without even a glance in his direction, 'Andy, tell us what Naomi had to say to you.'

'The first time round she didn't admit to anything. She claimed she was working at her computer, entering stuff on her website until well after midnight. She keeps late hours apparently'

'Website?'

'It's some kind of diary she and Zach are writing.'

'An insider's view. We know.'

'Only Zach isn't pulling his weight, so it's all down to her, she says.'

Johnny said, 'He's shagging Sharon instead.'

'Shut up, Johnny. Naomi was working till late, you said?'

'Basil went off to bed about one a.m. and she went - I'm quoting her - "some time after". They don't sleep together.'

'Yes, we established that before. She didn't say precisely when she got to bed? You asked, I take it?'

'She wasn't sure. Didn't check the time.'

'Unlikely, but go on. Did you look at her hands, shoes and so on?'

'She showed me them without any fuss. I thought I was doing well, getting so much cooperation out of her. I didn't pick up any petrol smell. At that stage she had the all clear as far as I was concerned. Then I interviewed Basil.'

'Alone?'

He nodded. 'Naomi went off to do some more writing. Basil confirmed he got to bed around one, like Naomi said, while she was still using the computer.'

'And?'

'I asked him if he would have heard Naomi going to bed and he said no.' Humphreys put in a personal observation. 'They're a funny couple. If they were in this together they could give each other alibis easily.'

'But they don't,' Hen said, 'so we assume they aren't.'

'Then he added something that really dropped her in it. He said he heard the front door go when she went out. He said this in a matter-of-fact way as if we both knew all about it. I said, "She went out?" And he said, "Yes, doing research." I asked what time it was and he said it must have been between two and three. He said he knew she was going because she'd told him not to lock up.'

'Did he hear her come in?'

'No, he fell asleep. This morning they both got up late.'

'I'm not surprised. So you spoke to Naomi again?'

'I did, and she didn't turn a hair when I said she'd not told me the whole truth. She said she hadn't lied. She just didn't think it was important.'

'Oh, that old applesauce. Did you ask what she was up to?'

'She said she was' - Humphreys quoted from his notes -'"getting a sense of what it must be like on the streets at night". She's trying to get into the mind of the arsonist, she says. I said she'd better come up with something better than that and she turned quite stroppy. She said I was incapable of understanding how a serious writer worked and a lot of stuff like that.'

'So how did you handle it?'

'I asked where she went and what sort of research she did.'

'Good.'

'She took the van and drove into town and parked in North Street in one of those spaces at the top end.'

Hen pictured North Street: the paved walkway ended halfway up, north of the red-brick Council House, and traffic could approach through St Peter's and park at the side. 'Did she say why?'

'Research.'

'I know. Researching what?'

'She didn't explain, guv.'

'And you didn't press her?'

Stella came to his aid. 'You know who lives in North Street, above the building society? Tudor.'

'So he does,' Hen said. 'Did she mention Tudor?'

Humphreys said, 'No, guv.'

'What happened, then?'

'Nothing, according to her. It was all about atmosphere - the city at night.'

'Atmosphere, huh? The action was in Vicars Close. Are you sure she didn't go there?'

'She was very clear about that, guv. She stayed where she was.'

'Imbibing the atmosphere?'

'I suppose.'

'How long for?'

'About an hour. Then she reckoned she'd got what she wanted and drove back home and went to bed.'

'She says.' Hen was silent for a while, brooding on what she'd heard. 'I wonder what else wasn't important enough to mention. It's all right, Andy. I'm not taking a swipe at you. You did good, lad.' She turned back to Stella. 'And what else did we glean? Were the rest of our beauties all tucked up in their little beds by three a.m.?'

'Pretty much, guv. Some went later than others. Anton was online on his computer, and can prove it. Tudor was writing a new chapter of his life story until late, but reckons he was in bed by two.'

'Anyone away from home?'

'Not this time.'

'And that's the sum of this morning's interviews?'

'The bits worth mentioning.'

'Statements on my desk before you leave tonight. Wait.' Hen put up a restraining hand. 'I haven't finished. I want to pick your brains. Here we are with a third death by arson. One rather unpopular man and two inoffensive women. We had a few theories as to why Edgar Blacker was murdered. Fewer for Miss Snow. And I can't think of any reason at all why Jessie had to go. Can you?'

'She was an easy target,' DC Shilling suggested. 'Like Miss Snow.'

'Lived alone, you mean?'

'And in the centre of town.'

'That's risky, surely?'

'Plenty of escape routes, plenty of cover.'

'Fair enough, but you seem to be assuming they were killed for no other reason than convenience.'

Shilling gave a shrug. 'If the idea is to pick off members of the circle one by one, it makes sense to start with the easy ones.'

Johnny Cherry said as if to a child, 'Blacker was the first to go, and he wasn't in the circle.'