The Circle (8 page)

'And she didn't recognise the voice?'

'He would have disguised it, wouldn't he?'

'Are you thinking it's one of the men in the circle?' She hesitated, then said with certainty, 'Tudor.'

'Why Tudor?'

'You must have said something that panicked him.'

'Last night, at his flat?'

'He was bricking it when you got onto the insurance deal he'd done with Blacker. He admitted he sold him some insurance a while back. Is that the key to all this, do you think?'

'A reason to kill me?'

'The reason is that you got too close to the truth. He thought he was getting away with murder.'

'Tudor killed Blacker?'

'And you're the fly in the ointment'

'Thanks.'

'That's my reading of it, anyhow.'

Bob wasn't convinced. 'If Tudor wanted to set me up as a victim, why go to the trouble of calling Miss Snow? Why not make the approach to me direct? I'd still have fallen for it. I'd still have gone to the boat house.'

'Are you in the phone book?'

'No.'

'Sweetie, it's as simple as that. He calls Miss Snow, who does have your number because she's the secretary.'

'.If it comes to that,' he said, 'not one of the men in the circle knows my number.'

You think the caller wasn't Tudor?'

'I'm thinking I'll check the others out.'

'Who?'

'Apart from Tudor? There's Zach, Anton and Basil.'

'Okay,' Thomasine said, 'let's find out what they were doing at eight this morning.'

'You're going to join me?'

'You need a minder, obviously.'

Zach was going to be the easiest, so they started with him. On a Saturday morning you'd expect to find him serving in the MVC shop in South Street.

They agreed to meet outside.

'Disappointing,' Thomasine said when she saw Bob. You look normal.'

'What did you expect?'

'Singed eyebrows at the least.'

'I wrenched my ankle jumping off the roof if that's what you want to hear.'

'But you're not on crutches.'

'I'm toughing it out.'

They went in. Zach was easy to spot with his long hair tied up in a ponytail. He was helping a customer in the country and western section. The discs were displayed in long racks and the place was busy, as you'd expect on a Saturday.

Zach spotted them approaching and gave a nod of recognition. He didn't have the look of a guilty man - even though the shop was less than ten minutes' walk from the boat house. They let him finish with his customer. Then he greeted them and said he was due a coffee break.

Thomasine suggested they went across the street to the Cafe Rouge. Zach said he would need to square it with his manager.

'Ten minutes, maximum,' he told them presently. 'All the kids come in on Saturdays. It's hell.'

'Or paradise, if you're a teacher like me,' Thomasine said.

'Here's the toughest question we have for you,' Bob said when they'd found a table. 'Filter coffee, or cappuccino?'

He didn't rise to a smile. He was nervous. 'Black, no sugar.'

Bob ordered, and wasted no more time. 'We're trying to get Maurice released and I hit a snag this morning.'

'That's the understatement of the year,' Thomasine said. 'You're lucky to be alive.'

Zach looked indifferent as to whether Bob lived or not. He was staring out at the street as if he hoped the cavalry might arrive in the nick of time.

Bob told Zach all he knew about being trapped in the boat house. 'And in confidence,' he said at the end. 'I haven't reported any of this to the Old Bill. The guy who did it must be a member of the circle, and I'm going to find out who.'

'Starting with me?' Zach's eyes were not friendly.

'You're not the first. I've already spoken to Tudor,' Bob said, without mentioning when it had been. 'No offence, Zach, but where were you at eight this morning?'

'In bed.'

'Where's that?'

'Selsey.'

South of the town, like the boat house.

'Do you live with anyone?'

'I can't prove where I was, if that's what you're asking.'

'How do you get to work?'

'Motorbike.'

'What time did you get in this morning?'

'Five to nine.'

The coffee was brought, forcing all three to lean back in their chairs and behave like other customers discussing the trivia of their lives. For Bob, the conversation up to now had felt like one-way traffic. Every answer had to be worked for. A change of tactics was wanted.

When the waitress had gone, he threw in a grenade. 'On the face of it, you've got no reason to kill me. We only met a matter of days ago.'

This drew a complete blank. Bad to worse.

'The same could be said for all the others.' Bob was forced to struggle on. 'They had no reason to kill me either. It's because I'm making a nuisance of myself that I was attacked. Thomasine calls me a fly in the ointment. The person who did it wants Maurice to take the rap for Blacker's murder.'

Zach said in a flat tone, 'You want to know if I killed Blacker?'

Now Bob went silent.

'He liked my book. Basically he said it was hot-shit, wicked.'

'I know,' Bob said. 'I saw the video you took.'

He was impassive. 'So you know I thought I was on a good thing with Blacker. That he would have given me a contract.'

'That's true,' Thomasine said. 'He said you were up there with Tolkien.'

'A bit OTT,' Zach was forced to admit.

'Raised your hopes, though,' Bob said.

Zach shot him a hostile look. 'That's it, is it? You think I found out later he was shooting a line? Got my hopes up and had them dashed? I'm not so green as I look. I could see he was stringing us along, myself and those sad old wannabes.'

Thomasine could have taken offence. To her credit, she let the comment go by. 'He was a crook, but it was wrong to murder him.'

'I agree with that. I'm a pacifist.'

'Your book is full of violence,' she said.

'So is the Bible.'

In Bob's opinion this was a blind alley. 'We don't have much time. What can you tell us about Blacker? Had you met him before he came to the circle?'

'Met him? No.'

'Knew of him?' Bob said, picking up the note of reserve in the answer.

'Not much. A couple of days before he came to the meeting he phoned me one evening. My number was on the typescript I sent in. He said he was still reading it, but he liked what he'd seen so far. Wanted to know more about me, like how old I was, if I'd been published before, what my job is. I got a buzz out of all the interest so I told him everything I could. The questions got personal. Did I own the place I lived in? Were my parents alive? Things that didn't have much connection with the script.'

'But might tell him if there was money behind you.'

'Spot on. I sucked up to the man and answered his questions. My parents are alive and my dad owns a string of antiques shops. It was only later I found myself wondering why stuff like that interested him.'

'You heard about Maurice being asked to pay for being published?' Thomasine said. 'Blacker would have done the same to you.'

'Right, but I'm telling you I only sussed later, after he was dead.'

'The night of the fire, do you remember where you were?' Bob asked.

'At home, same as everyone else.'

'Everyone else except the killer.'

'I guess.'

'You don't seem to have much respect for the other people in the circle, calling them wannabes.'

'True, isn't it? I've had to listen to some shit at those meetings. You wouldn't believe how low the standard is.'

'Why join them, then?'

'They're a captive audience. I read out my latest chapters and they listen. Where else can I go? I tried an evening class - creative writing - and it was useless. The lecturer wasn't interested in fantasy. All we did was compose haiku.'

'A Japanese form of poetry,' Thomasine said for Bob's benefit. 'Stripped to the bone.'

Zach said, 'The meetings fuel my creative engine.'

Bob tucked that away for future use, if he could only find something to rhyme with
engine.
Might not make the grade as a haiku, but he would enjoy playing with it.

'We can always depend on a reading from Zach,' Thomasine said, poker-faced. The man demanded to be taken seriously.

'You must have been disappointed when Blacker died,' Bob said to him. 'All dressed up and nowhere to go.'

'There are plenty of places to go,' he said with a glare. 'Right now I'm going back to work.'

End of interview. He downed his coffee and went.

'Funny how wrong you can be,' Bob said. 'When I first saw that young guy, I liked the look of him. He was the reason I plucked up the courage to come into the circle.'

'He's got an inflated opinion of himself. That's his problem,' Thomasine said.

'Is that all?'

'He suffers from overblown prose, and we're all too polite to tell him.'

'Hang on a minute.' He closed his eyes.

'Are you okay?'

He nodded. He was making up one of his rhymes.

'Trying to think of something?' Thomasine said.

'Getting there slowly.'

'Getting where, exactly?'

'Here.' He trotted out his latest:

'Fantasy writer, Zach by name,

Lights us up with his sacred flame,

Author in the superclass,

Arsonist, or just an arse?'

'Hey,' she said, clapping. 'That's neat! You're a poet.'

9

Show me a man or woman who cannot stand mysteries and
I will show you a fool, a clever fool
-
perhaps
-
but a fool
just the same.

Raymond Chandler in
Casual Notes on the Mystery Novel
(1949)

O
ne 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.'