The Circle

'Any way of proving it?'

'None that I can think of. I was asleep.'

'Did you have any contact with McDade on the day Blacker made his demand?'

She drew a line along the table with her fingertip. Her relaxed manner was just a memory now.

'Did you?' he said again.

Now she took a long drag on her cigarette and blew the smoke upwards. 'I happened to meet him in town that same afternoon. I was with my first form doing a survey in East Street. I saw Maurice and he looked drained, dreadful. It was obvious something was wrong. I asked and he told me about his meeting with Blacker. Poor man. Anyone would have sympathised. If I hadn't been on school duty I'd have suggested a drink.'

Johnny Cherry glanced at the female officer sitting beside him. She wouldn't appreciate the stunning significance of what had just been said, but she'd have to give him credit for his interviewing style. He'd just made a breakthrough in the investigation.

'This was hot news,' he said.

'Unpleasant'

You're a sociable person.' He wished Hen were sitting in on this. He couldn't have been more tactful. He didn't say the word 'gossip', or even hint at it. 'Did you pass on the news to anyone else in the circle?'

She cleared her throat. 'I did speak to one friend — Dagmar.'

'Miss Bumstead? What time was this?'

'After I got home from school. About five.'

'What was said?'

'I told her what Maurice had told me and we agreed that Blacker was a total scumbag and a few other things I'd rather not repeat'

'Did you agree to do anything about it?'

'No. There was nothing we could do except feel sympathy for Maurice.'

So a matter of hours before Blacker was killed, two more people had found out what a conman he was. Johnny decided to suspend the interview at this point and pass this crucial information on to Hen. She'd better be impressed. And someone would be interviewing Dagmar, and it was essential they followed it up.

After the hard time he'd had with Jessie Warmington-Smith, DC Andy Humphreys was finding his next witness easier.

'I'm just in the circle to make up the numbers,' Basil said. 'You see, my wife Naomi was one of the founders and she didn't know if they'd get enough members to make a go of it, so I was roped in. I've often thought of sliding out now that they're up to numbers. I'm not really a writer.'

'I thought you did gardening articles.'

'Not from choice. The vicar needed a volunteer to take over a page of the parish magazine. If I could find someone else to do the job, I would.'

'It sounds as if you're the kind of bloke everyone turns to for assistance.'

'A dogsbody,' Basil said and added with uncharacteristic force, 'A bloody yes-man, that's me.'

'So is it fair to say you weren't bothered by Blacker's comments at that talk he gave?'

'No,' the yes-man said. 'I was bothered all right. He had a ridiculous suggestion about opening our garden to the public. I didn't want that and neither did my wife.'

'I expect it's a lovely garden.'

Basil cocked his head and looked defiant. 'But it's private.'

It seemed easiest to move on. 'Did you know Blacker at all before he came to the circle?'

'No.'

'Did your wife?'

'Naomi had better speak for herself. I'll be in the doghouse if I say things behind her back.'

'All right. Let's concentrate on you. You're retired, I take it. What was your line of work?'

'Fire officer.'

'No — really?'

'I wouldn't mention it if I didn't mean it. Thirty-three years' service, most of it in Chichester. From a boy it was what I wanted to do. The glamour thing of riding the engine with the bell going and wearing a shiny helmet and shinning up ladders to rescue people. . well, pretty girls in their nighties if I'm honest. I didn't include confused old men in my plans, or car crashes, or floods, or kittens up chimneys, but once I'd joined I found the comradeship to my liking, so I stayed on. The team thing, only it wasn't a game, so it meant more.'

'You'll have seen cases of arson before.'

'Plenty. But not so often with loss of life. Fire-raisers attack property usually, not people.'

Andy remembered Hen's instruction to get these people talking about themselves. 'You could write some good stories with all your experience of fire-fighting.'

'I told you, I'm not a writer. Some of the things that happen are best forgotten. You'll know that, with the job you do.'

'Did you ever rescue a pretty girl in a nightie?'

Basil managed a wistful smile. 'Not a single one in thirty-three years. The nearest I came to romance was when I met my wife. And that was a head-jam job.'

'A what?'

'She was a line supervisor at Shippam's and she had a suspicion that two of her team were not only skiving off, but up to naughties in the yard. She went to the little room and stood on the seat and tried to look out of the window. There were iron bars and that's why her head got stuck. They had to call us out to prise them open and set her free. Some of her fellow workers found it funny, but I didn't make anything of it. She must have suffered mentally because I've never known her so grateful as she was that afternoon. It was most unlike her. She invited me round for tea on Sunday and we were married inside six months.'

'Nice.'

Basil weighed the comment for a long interval. 'I suppose. What I just told you is confidential, right?'

'Right.' Only the entire CID team would hear the tape replayed. Andy returned to his list of questions. 'Happen to remember where you were on the night of the fire at Blacker's cottage?'

'At home, same as usual. I don't get out much in the evenings.'

'Do you drive, Mr Green?'

'Not if I can avoid it.'

'Spreading pollution?'

'No, just driving. I'm not much good at it. I use the bike for short runs.'

'But you do own a car?'

'Van.'

Another key question. 'What kind of fuel do you use? Unleaded?'

'Diesel. How does that come into it?'

'It doesn't,' Andy said with a barely concealed sigh. 'Diesel doesn't come into it. Does your wife drive?'

'She can at a pinch. Like me she prefers cycling. There I go again, talking about her. You'd better not quote me.'

'The van? Does she drive the van?'

'On occasions.'

'Did either of you go out on the night Edgar Blacker's cottage burned down?'

'I didn't.'

Andy waited.

After a pause Basil said, 'I can't speak for Naomi.'

'You'd know if she went out at night.'

'I wouldn't. We sleep in separate bedrooms and I take tranquillisers for my nerves. Get into bed and I'm out like a light. I have to set the alarm.'

'What for?'

'My morning swim at the Westgate Centre. I like to be in the water by seven. I need to keep fit. I'm quite a bit older than Naomi.' The logic wasn't clear. Basil may have needed to keep fit to pleasure Naomi, but escape seemed a more likely explanation.

'I see. It seems your wife has been taking an unusual amount of interest in Mr Blacker's cottage.'

'You'll have to ask her about that. Look, I may be her husband, but I'm not her shadow. I have my own life to get on with.'

This might be clever stonewalling. It came across like evasion. Whoever was interviewing Naomi was likely to turn up some fascinating secrets.

'Let's talk about Miss Snow,' Andy said. 'A friend, would you say?'

'No more than any of the others,' Basil said. 'She was a quiet lady, unlike some I could name. Always courteous. There wasn't anything you could dislike about her, if that's what you're hinting at.'

'Did she visit your house?'

'I don't think so.'

'And you didn't visit hers, in Tower Street?'

'Why should I? No.'

'I've got to ask this. Did you go out on the night Miss Snow's house was burned down?'

'Certainly not.'