The Circle

'She was quiet by nature, wasn't she?'

'But in a different way from Jessie, who was a bit of a snob, if that isn't speaking unkindly of the dead. Amelia — Miss Snow — was guarded about what she said, but I don't think she had delusions of grandeur. Anyway, you were telling me how Lord Chalybeate's name came up.'

Bob nodded. 'The police asked me to try and remember anything at all about the inside of Miss Snow's house in Tower Street. All they'd seen of it was after the fire. One rather surprising thing I noticed at the time was a magazine called The Bodybuilder.'

'Get away!'

'Straight up. Some clone of Arnie Schwarzenegger flexing his pecs on the cover. Not the sort of reading you expect a single lady to have on her table, but there you are — it's all about what turns you on. As soon as I mentioned this, Inspector Mallin said there could be a link with Lord Chalybeate, and it was obvious that was a name that had come up before.'

'Not in the circle, it hasn't,' Thomasine said. 'I'm intrigued.'

'He doesn't live round here, does he?'

'We can look him up.'

'In the library tomorrow?'

'Can't wait for that. Let's check him out on the internet. Tonight.' She smiled. 'Okay, it sounds like I'm trying to get you round to my place again. It wasn't meant that way'

'But I'll come,' Bob said.

Hen, also, was talking about Lord Chalybeate. 'Well, the motive isn't hard to find. He's got an interest in seeing off Blacker and Miss Snow.'

'To save his reputation, you mean?' Stella said.

'He's been polishing up his image for years, putting all the murky stuff behind him. He was plain Mark Kiddlewick at one time. Changed his name by deed poll to Marcus Chalybeate, and now he's a life peer in line for a government job.'

'Definitely wouldn't want it known that he published porn.'

'He was giving money to Blacker just to keep him quiet. That much we know for sure. Then I believe Miss Snow recognised Blacker and it began to look as if the whole sleazy story would come out.'

'If it's true,' Stella said.

'What?'

'About Miss Snow posing for pictures.'

'Fair enough. It's just a theory at this stage. And there are two big problems with it.'

'What are they?'

'Chalybeate claims to have an alibi,' Hen said. 'He was in America at the time of the murders.'

'Can he prove it?'

'Simple to check.'

'Want me to do it?'

'No, Stell. I've got another job for you.'

'You said there are two problems, guv. What's the other one?'

The edges of Hen's mouth twitched into a smile. 'As you know, I listen to my Agatha Christie tapes when I get the chance. There are rules to a good whodunnit. Dame Agatha would never introduce the killer this late in the story. So I'm hoping it doesn't turn out to be Chalybeate. I want it to be one of the other buggers we've been tracking all the time.'

'Is that what this is to you — a whodunnit?'

'I do enjoy a good mystery, Stell. And a whopping surprise at the end.'

'But we shouldn't be surprised. We've got to work it out.'

Hen gave her smoker's laugh. 'You're so right.'

'You mentioned a job you want me to do.'

'It could take some time.'

'What is it?'

'You've got a good idea what Miss Snow looked like, haven't you?'

'I've watched the video.'

'An earlier picture would help. I'll see if we can get some stills from the original production of Cats.'

'Aren't you going to tell me?'

Hen said with deliberate obtuseness, 'Let's go there first.'

'Eleven thousand results,' Thomasine was saying in the room she used as a study. 'This could be a long night.'

Bob watched over her shoulder in awe. Young Sue had her computer, but he'd never taken much interest in the thing. Sue had used it mainly for games until texting on the mobile phone became the big thing in her life.

Thomasine explained that she was using a search engine called Google to access every reference to Lord Chalybeate on websites across the world.

'This will be his official website,' she said as a stylised logo of two figures came up on the screen, a woman on a treadmill and a weightlifter. 'Don't suppose it will tell us what we want to know. That would be too simple. Wow, he's a major player, though. Look at this list of gyms.'

From the speed with which she moved through websites, dismissing the 'duds', as she called them, she was well used to surfing the net. Even so, the process was taking time.

Ten minutes later she gave a squeak of excitement. 'This is more like it, from some political agitator's site: "Marcus Chalybeate's friends in the House of Lords might be surprised to learn that he was once plain Mark Kiddlewick. He changed his name officially in 1987." Kiddlewick. I think I'd change that if I was stuck with it. Now we'll make a search and see if anything comes up.'

She went back to Google and keyed in Kiddlewick.

'Not so impressive. A mere twenty-seven.'

Most of the twenty-seven were horseracing sites. There had once been a steeplechaser called Kiddlewick. 'No pun intended,' she said, 'but you get all kinds of horseshit you don't want. You have to be patient, and I'm not.'

She'd almost exhausted the list when a Mark Kiddlewick came up in a directory of publishers. '"Magazines, various, adult. Lanarkshire Press, Tilbury, Essex." I wonder how adult magazines come into this.'

Bob looked at his watch. This search had been going on for some time. Sue would be alone at home. She didn't like going to bed until he was in.

Thomasine was intent on her surfing. 'Tallyho. Now we see if Lanarkshire Press yields anything.'

She could keep working that search engine for hours.

'I'd better be off,' Bob said.

She turned to look at him. 'So soon?'

'It's after eleven. Early start tomorrow. Can't fall asleep at the wheel.'

She came downstairs to see him out. Thanked him for the meal.

'Just a couple of lettuce leaves?' he said.

'Next time, the twelve-ounce porterhouse steak.' At the door, she reached for his hand. 'That's not the real reason, is it, about falling asleep at the wheel? You don't have to go, Bob.'

'But I do.'

She mouthed the word why and didn't speak it.

This was a defining moment and he had to be honest. It was high time he told her he had a teenage daughter.

So he did. And when he'd finished, he did his best to ease the tension by adding, 'It's funny when you think about it. I'm the one who has to be in by eleven.'

'And are you divorced?'

'Maggie died three years ago. Leukaemia.'

She closed her eyes. 'Sorry — shouldn't have asked.'

'Should have told.'

'What's your daughter's name?'

'Sue.'

'And she's fourteen, you said? The kids I teach are that age.'

'Different school, though.'

'Right. I'd know her if she was in one of my classes. If she takes after you she gives her teachers a hard time.'

'She's sharper than me.'

'Sounds awesome. I'd love to meet her some time. Oh God, why am I making all the running?'

He made some of the running himself. He put his arm round her and kissed her, a real kiss, and it felt good.

After Bob had left, Thomasine made herself a coffee and then went back to the computer. A pulse was beating in her head. She wasn't ready for sleep and didn't want to spend the next few hours in an emotional state like one of her teenage students. So she gave her full attention to the computer, surfing the net for references to Lanarkshire Press, clicking on anything that came up. It took her into some sites she wouldn't normally have gone near. She was used to 'spam', the unwanted e-mail, much of it obscene, that she had to delete each time she opened her inbox, but visiting dubious websites was unavoidable if she was to find out more about Kiddlewick, Chalybeate, or whoever he was. If it had to be so-called erotica, she was going there. Good thing her classes didn't know she was accessing stuff like this, she thought.