The Circle

'A walk — just for exercise?'

'I don't visit public houses, if that's what you're implying. Exercise isn't the main purpose. I'm taking stock of the day. The streets are pleasantly quiet.'

'How late is this?'

'Oh, it can vary. At my age you don't always feel ready for sleep before midnight.'

'Don't you feel unsafe on the streets at night?'

'In Chichester? No. I don't go far. I'm always within sight of the cathedral spire.'

Humphreys thought of Miss Snow's house in Tower Street, only a stone's throw from the cathedral. But what about Blacker's place, out in the country?

'I was wondering if you went for a drive some evenings. You have a car, do you?'

'Yes, but I don't use it much, and certainly not at nights. If you're thinking I drove out to Mr Blacker's cottage and set it alight, you're mistaken. Why should I wish to kill him? He called my book of tips rather clever. He said he liked it very much. A fine idea.' She had the quotes right, but was silent about Blacker's other comments.

'But you do have a car? An old car?'

'Why do you want to know?'

'You said you don't use it much. I got the impression it was old.'

'It's perfectly legal to have an old car if it has a certificate.'

This was like handling a hedgehog. 'I'm not bothered what state it's in.'

'It's about twenty years old, a Mini Metro.'

'So it still uses leaded fuel, I expect.'

'Yes, and I'm aware that it causes pollution, but I do very little driving these days, so I'm not adding much to that hole in the ozone layer.'

'Where do you keep it?'

'In my garage. We all have garages out of sight of visitors to the cathedral. Why are you so interested in my old car? I told you I wasn't using it that night. I just went for my usual walk about half past ten.'

In another interview room, Stella Gregson was trying to get straight answers from Tudor Thomas. She'd been warned that he would keep wanting to tell her about his friends in high places. Already he'd spoken of 'my old chum Paul', meaning Sir Paul Condon, the former commissioner of the Met, a not too subtle way of reminding Stella how low she was in the chain of command. But the follow-up was clever. He'd done enough homework to know that Sir Paul had served as Chief Constable of Kent and set up the arrangements for policing the Channel Tunnel. Details like that left open the possibility that he was speaking the truth.

'You work in insurance,' Stella said, 'and I believe Edgar Blacker was a client of yours.'

'Briefly,' Tudor said, for once downplaying a contact. 'And unmemorably. I barely recognised him when he came to speak to the circle.'

'I heard you insured him for quite a large amount.'

'Not him. An item of his property. And I wouldn't say large. I could tell you about policies far bigger than that one.'

'But there was a claim.'

'The item was stolen and we paid. That's what insurance is all about, officer.'

'Twenty grand, for an unpublished Wodehouse book, is that right?'

His eyebrows shot up. 'You know, then?'

'It's our job to make enquiries. This claim Came under a lot of scrutiny at the time. Some of your superiors weren't happy.'

He made a dismissive gesture. 'It's always the way when we have to pay out.'

'Is it fair to say it blighted your career? There you are, the up-and-coming agent bringing in any amount of new business. A promotion to branch manager looked certain, but it didn't happen.'

'I'm still in the job. If there was any evidence of wrongdoing I'd be out'

'No evidence. Suspicion.'

His face had turned a shade more pink. 'Who have you been talking to?'

'Blacker seems to have launched his own publishing business with the money he got from that claim. It all happened within a year.'

'We had two expert valuations for the manuscript. There's no question that it was genuine.'

'But was the theft genuine? I've seen the case notes. There were questions about the timing of the break-in and the absence of any traces of the thief.'

'A professional. He knew when to strike and how to get clean away.'

'Our people weren't so sure.'

'They'd say that, wouldn't they, if they found nothing?'

Stella smiled. 'They found something all right, a large chunk of rock from the garden, used to smash a panel of the window. A professional wouldn't rely on picking up a handy rock. He'd have his tools with him.'

'A clever opportunist, then.'

'You've been over this before, haven't you?'

'Yes, and I don't see what it has to do with the killing of Blacker or Miss Snow.'

'If you and Blacker had some arrangement and he reneged on it, or even if you felt he owed you something, you'd be pretty incensed when he showed no interest in your book.'

He turned a shade more pink. 'You know about that as well?'

'There was a video of his visit to the circle. I've looked at it. He refused even to discuss your script in front of the others. This — from a man who'd netted a small fortune thanks to you.'

'I expected no favours.'

'You got none. There was just a "see me afterwards" as if he was dealing with a schoolkid who hadn't done the homework. Humiliating for a man like you who's rubbed shoulders with the great and the good.'

'That's true, anyway. But it doesn't make me a murderer.'

'Big blow to your self-esteem.'

'It wouldn't be the first time. As my old friend Roger Moore once remarked to me, I have more bounce than any Bond girl he ever met.'

'Anything of note?' Hen said, finding Stella and Humphreys making tea.

'Warmington-Smith runs a Mini Metro on leaded,' Humphreys said.

'Does she, indeed?'

'And likes a walk late at night.'

'She wouldn't need to walk far to Miss Snow's.'

'And she's doolally as well. Sees things.'

'What things?'

'Like Joan of Arc, she says.'

'We'll take a look at that car, and the fuel. How's it going with Tudor, Stella?'

'Slow progress, guv. I'm pressing him on the insurance angle. He's as good as admitted his career went pear-shaped when Blacker made his claim on the missing Wodehouse script. I've yet to tackle him about Miss Snow.'

'Keep with it, then. Anton's going to be a long haul, too, as I expected. Teflon-coated, that man.'

'Try the blowtorch, guv.'

'I intend to.' First, she went to look at the circle members still waiting to be interviewed. No one was complaining at the delay. Maurice McDade's calming presence was a definite help. Even the volcanic Naomi was in a dormant phase, deep in some magazine article about the internet.

DI Johnny Cherry had drawn Sharon, the blonde, in this game and she wasn't the picture card she seemed. He'd already run through his limited knowledge of hairdressing and failed to spark a response. Writing seemed to interest her even less. She chewed steadily and watched him with her big, dark-lined eyes.

'Why did you join the circle, then?'

'Dunno.'

'You must have thought it would help your career.'

'Yeah?'

'Is it helpful, what they do at the meetings?'

A shrug.

'But I expect you get something out of it.'

'Dunno.'

'I mean, through talks and things. You went to the talk Edgar Blacker gave.'

'Did I?'

'The man who was murdered.'

'Oh, got you.'

'You didn't know him already, then?'

The eyes slid upwards in denial. How could she, young, blonde and gorgeous, possibly have entered the same orbit as an old fart like Blacker?

But Johnny didn't give up. 'I've seen the video, and you're on it. You seemed to be drawing — doodling really — while he was discussing the stuff that people had handed in. You didn't hand anything in yourself, I noticed.'