'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.
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.