The Circle

'No problem, guv.'

'Good. Now you can impress me even more by finding out who the other guy was.'

Inside the hour she was doing penance, sitting on the chintz sofa opposite the Swiss mountain scene in Fran's front room in Lavant, a tray of tea and fruitcake in front of her. She hadn't dismissed the idea of Fran as the arsonist, but she had to stretch her brain to picture this silver-haired old lady patrolling the streets in the small hours with a can of petrol and a bundle of oily rags. The thing that made her hesitate was the voice. Tough, hard, resolute.

'I'm surprised you have the gall to come back,' Fran said as she poured the tea, making it clear from the start that she was no pushover.

'I'm the one who released Maurice,' Hen said. 'When I took over he was already in custody.'

'What's this about, then?'

'Like I said on the doorstep, it's more about you than Maurice.'

'You bastards never let go, do you?' Fran said with all the bitterness of long experience. 'Just because I made an unfortunate marriage a long time ago, I'm listed as a lowlife for ever. How do I get through to you people that I was never involved in crime?'

'It's not about the past. It's about last night. I expect you heard another woman died in a fire in Chichester.'

'That. It was on the radio.' Not much sympathy there.

'She was one of the circle. You probably knew Mrs Warmington-Smith.'

A shake of the silver curls. 'They're just names to me. The circle is Maurice's baby. I'm not interested in writing.'

You haven't met the members?'

'One came on his own when Maurice was in custody. Bob, he said his name was. I'd never even heard of him. He was back later with a woman, something like Tamsin.'

'Thomasine O'Loughlin.'

'They said they were trying to get Maurice released so I took them at their word. I'm very trusting.'

In trying to assess her character, Hen hadn't thought of 'trusting'. Words like 'canny' and 'hard-nosed' sprang more readily to mind, try as Fran might to cultivate the little old lady look.

'Can we turn to last night, or, rather, early this morning between three and five? We're asking everyone where they were.'

'Here, as usual.'

'Is there any way of proving it?'

'Maurice will tell you.'

'Thanks, but it would count for more if there was some independent proof.'

'That's ridiculous. What do you expect, some neighbour knocking on the door at four in the morning?'

'Point taken,' Hen said. 'Do you drive?'

'Can do, at a pinch. I rely on Maurice mostly.'

'But you keep your hand in? Sensible. What make of car is it?'

'Ford Escort'

'An old model?'

'Depends what you mean. The mileage has gone round the clock.'

'I'd like to see it before I go. Have you used it today?'

'We took a shopping trip into town.' She gave a sharp, impatient sigh. 'Listen, you're wasting your time with me. I've got nothing against the writers. Maurice gets a lot of pleasure from the meetings, and I'm happy for him. There's no earthly reason why I would want to set fire to people's homes.'

'Oh, if we're dealing in earthly reasons, I think there's one you have to face,' Hen said. 'The second victim, Miss Snow, knew about Maurice's past, the prison sentence, and she blabbed about it to Bob Naylor, the man you met. Each of them was attacked by the arsonist — fatally, in the case of Miss Snow, though Naylor escaped. Both incidents happened while Maurice was in custody, which let him off the hook, but not you.'

Her hands formed bony little fists and she leaned forward, glaring. 'Maurice's past is public knowledge. It was in the papers at the time.'

'The Brighton papers, yes, but hardly anyone in this town knew of it. Most of the circle hadn't the faintest idea. They respect him. Miss Snow had the potential to blow away his reputation.'

Fran switched to a more defensive tone. 'Nobody told me Miss Snow was putting this about. I agree it would have angered me. I don't know what my reaction would have been except I wouldn't have torched her house. That's sneaky and detestable. I'd have had it out with her, face to face. Besides, I didn't even know where the Snow woman lived until I read about the fire in the paper.'

'Presumably Maurice has an address list for the circle.'

'If he has, it's in his office upstairs and I don't go in there.'

'But you know where to look.'

'That's unfair.'

'Where is he right now?'

'In Chichester library, I should think. That's where I left him. He'd arranged to meet one or two of the circle there, to talk over this latest fire.'

'So you drove home alone? You do use the car?'

'Just as I said, at a pinch. I may be older than Maurice, but I'm not decrepit, you know'

Anything but, Hen thought. This was a foxy lady with a sharp mind. 'Do you keep a can of petrol here? People sometimes do, as a back-up.'

'You'd have to ask Maurice. He deals with things like that. You haven't had a slice of my cake.'

'I've got no appetite, thanks. Mind if I look at the shoes you were wearing?'

'Wearing when?'

'This morning, when you drove the car.'

'What for?'

'Just to check. It's my job.'

Shaking her head, Fran got up and left the room and presently returned with a pair of flat-heeled brogues. Hen examined them and found no trace of petrol or of burning, but then she wouldn't have expected this with-it old woman to leave anything so obvious.

She asked to see the car and took the opportunity to poke around the garage in search of the spare can of petrol. She didn't find one.

'Are you sure you don't want a specimen of my DNA as well?' Fran said.

The sense of failure still nagged at Hen as she drove back into town. Johnny Cherry, blast him, had touched a raw nerve. No question: Fran was a suspect now and should have been from day one.

24

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Latest Developments on the Chichester Arson Case from Naomi Green

It's all over the papers and television, so you'll know. The arson attacks in Chichester continue. Yesterday another of the circle, Jessie Warmington-Smith, died in a house fire deliberately started in the same way as the others. It was a shock to us all. Jessie was not an easy person to get on with, but who am I to talk? Whatever one thinks about her, she didn't deserve this.

For me, it was a hugely frustrating night. Having decided the conditions were ideal for another arson attack (dry, warm, new moon), I put on dark clothes and trainers and left the house about twenty to two and drove to North Street to keep watch on the Welshman. Took up position in a shop doorway opposite and was encouraged to see the light still on in his flat over the building society. He was still my number one suspect. So I was ultra-cautious. I waited nearly an hour and then the light went out. Expecting him to come out immediately, I watched the door to the street. Nothing. There's no back door. He had to come out that way. I kept watch for another hour and twenty minutes. Finally, around four thirty, with the sky already getting lighter, I decided this wasn't to be the night. Stiff-legged from standing for so long, I returned to the car and drove away.

I discovered later what had happened. The fire was in Vicars Close, up by the cathedral, while I was keeping watch in North Street — so I'm forced to conclude that the Welshman was not responsible. He was at home in his flat while I was watching.

Everyone is asking why the arsonist should have chosen Jessie this time. Is it because she was a soft target? She lived alone in a quiet terrace and unlike some of the others she hadn't taken any precautions against someone pouring petrol through her letterbox.