The Circle

by Peter Lovesey

  The interview ended soon after.

  'Are you thinking she had some kind of premonition, guv?' Andy asked.

  'Of what?'

  'Her own death.'

  'Why do you say that?'

  'The bit you wanted to hear again, about the journey of the soul.'

  'I get you. The answer is no.' She got up and took out one of her cigars. 'Did we check Jessie's lock-up?'

  'Lock-up?'

  'The place where she kept her car. Did someone look inside?'

  He said, 'I'm sure of it, guv,' in a way that said he wasn't.

  'Do it now. Now.'

  She would have gone herself, but she'd just seen something she hadn't expected. Stella, back from the evidence depository already. She was with Johnny Cherry and a couple of others, leafing through a magazine.

  Hen went over. It was a copy of Innocents, now open at the centrefold of a naked blonde face down on a bed and turning to look at the camera, which must have been positioned between her knees. The foreshortened view left nothing to the imagination. The girl's face, of negligible importance in a shot like this, and small as a thumb-print, was just visible looking over her raised shoulder. The features weren't in the sharpest focus, but were clear enough to recognise. She had a look of genuine surprise, as if she'd just been woken up.

  'Is that her?'

  'I'd put money on it, guv. It says "Mandy, 19, Our Innocent of the Month", but it's Amelia Snow, looking drunk as a skunk. Your hunch was right.'

  28

  'Will the advancing waves obey me, Bishop, if I make the sign?'

  Said the Bishop, bowing lowly, 'Land and sea, my Lord, are thine.'

  Canute turned towards the ocean. 'Back!' he said, 'thou foaming brine.'

  W. M. Thackeray, King Canute (1910)

  Thomasine had driven out to see where Lord Chalybeate lived. Bosham, pronounced 'Bozzum', is a sailing village of great antiquity, built on an inlet four miles west of Chichester. It is a much visited place, with a Saxon church depicted in the Bayeux Tapestry, a watermill (now occupied by the sailing club), and fine, changing views from the shore road. Here King Canute is said to have commanded the tide to turn, and many a visitor to Bosham has wished for the same result. The water looks benign, but regularly washes over parked cars below Lane End. The local sport is watching the drivers return too late.

  She soon discovered what escapes most visitors, that however attractive are the large properties along the shoreline, there are even more splendid residences inland and to the east. Here, with the help of a postman, she found the Chalybeate house. To describe it as a 'barn conversion', as The Bodybuilder had, was to do it an injustice. Maybe it had started as a barn, but it had been transformed into something on a grander scale, with a drive and outbuildings, all set back from the road in wooded grounds.

  She saw this through tall wrought-iron gates incongruously set into a low wall that could easily be stepped over. Not that she planned to explore the house this afternoon. The purpose of the trip was to locate the place.

  As she turned away, a small red Fiat drove up to the gate. The woman inside put down her window.

  'Were you looking for someone?'

  'Lord Chalybeate, actually,' Thomasine said. 'It doesn't look as if he's home.'

  She was friendly enough. She looked about Thomasine's age, with black, frizzy hair. 'He isn't, and he won't be, I'm afraid. I'm Kate, the housekeeper.'

  'He doesn't know me,' Thomasine said, giving her name. Then she thought up a pretext for being there. 'I'm a local teacher. Not Bosham. Chichester. I'm trying to set up new projects for the girls, interviewing local celebrities.'

  'You'd better make an appointment. He's in London through the week. Only comes down weekends. But I'd better warn you he doesn't like people coming here. This is his getaway place.'

  Thomasine's eyebrows pricked up. 'Ooh. Like that, is he?'

  'No, not like that. He's always alone.'

  'I'm with you. Just likes to chill out?'

  Kate the housekeeper laughed. 'The opposite. He's straight into the sauna when he gets here. Well, he would be> wouldn't he? Got to test the products.'

  Thomasine had to think a moment before guessing that saunas were supplied by Chalybeate Fitness, or whatever his company was called. 'So if I came back Saturday . . . '

  'After phoning for an appointment.'

  Thomasine thanked her and drove back to Chichester.

  * * *

  Hen Mallin had called the murder investigation team to an eight a.m. meeting, so they assumed she had something important to announce. She'd not been seen in the police station before nine up to now.

  The meeting was brief.

  She arrived precisely on time and started without even a 'good morning'.

  'I shouldn't need to say this. These meetings are in confidence. Everything that goes on in this nick is in confidence. Anyone in breach of that confidence isn't fit to be in the police, let alone CID. So listen up and then button up.'

  Looks were exchanged. Tensions were running high in the team. Hen's efforts to identify the leaker had upset almost everyone.

  'I'm confident of arresting the arsonist before the end of this week. I'm ninety per cent sure who it is. The next stage is to bring them out of the woodwork.'

  'Them?' Johnny Cherry said. 'My theory was right? Two people working together?'

  'I used the word "them" to avoid saying "him" or "her".'

  'Do you have to be so mysterious?'

  She said with measured emphasis, 'In the circumstances, yes.'

  Nobody chose to take her up on this.

  'As I was about to say, the next stage is to bait a trap. You'll all be involved and it's going to mean at least one late night, so keep yourselves free.'

  'Do we have a breakthrough?' DC Shilling asked.

  'Were you listening, Duncan?'

  'Sorry, guv.'

  'That's all.'

  Not much of a meeting. Insubordination was in the air.

  She called across the room, 'Johnny. A word in my office.'

  DI Cherry shrugged and grinned at his colleagues, quite willing to fan the flames. He was one of the lads these days.

  But with the door closed behind him and only Hen for company he took a different line. 'Good idea, keeping that lot in suspense.'

  'You think so?'

  'Who are we talking about?'

  She wasn't drawn. 'I notice, Johnny, that your hair is damp.'

  'Always is, this time of day'

  'Your morning swim?'

  'Right.' He attempted a mild dig. 'Normally it's dry by the time you come in.'

  'Which is why I'm here this early today. I wanted to be certain. Where do you do this swimming?'

  He paused before answering. 'The Westgate Centre.'

  'Each morning?'

  'Yes.'

  'You know what's coming, don't you?'

  He shook his head, but his eyes gave a different answer.

  'It took me a while to work out,' Hen said. 'Time I should have been spending on the trail of the arsonist. Instead I was doing something I deeply resent, forced to question the loyalty of my own team, probing their statements, accounting for every action, looking for Naomi Green's source. Finally I listened again to one of the witness interviews and made the connection.'

  Johnny assumed an air of executive solidarity, one SIO in sympathy with another.

  'He mentioned it in passing,' Hen went on, 'how he sets his alarm for an early start. He's there at the Westgate Centre, doing his lengths just like you, every day before eight. Basil Green.'

  A muscle flexed in Johnny's right cheek, but he made no comment.

  Hen wasn't expecting him to put up his hand. She said,'I wouldn't know how long this has been so, but I've no doubt you two exchange a few words in the changing room. He's friendly and there's a topic you both have an interest in: this investigation.'

  All the colour had drained from Johnny's face.

  'All this time,' Hen said, 'I
was thinking one of my team was passing information to Naomi. I forgot Basil. He's easy to forget. Even Naomi ignores him most of the time, but I bet she listens when he tells her what he learned from you at the pool.'

  Now his shoulders sagged, and he made a visible effort to brace them.

  Hen continued in the same measured tone, holding down her fury. 'When I realised it was you, I asked myself if it was carelessness, stupidity really, thinking your friendly chats with Basil weren't doing any harm. I wish it were so. But this is the real world and you're an experienced detective. You knew it would get back to Naomi and you knew she was writing these case notes, or whatever she calls them, on the internet. Johnny, you were acting out of spite, deliberately undermining my investigation.'

  He held his hands open in appeal. He had to deny it. 'No.'

  'Shut up. I haven't finished. You made it clear from the day I stepped into this nick that you were stropped off. Fair enough, being replaced as SIO was hard to take. You were entitled to feel let down, humiliated even, and the fact that I'm a woman made it harder. I knew better than to expect a hundred per cent from you. What I didn't expect was betrayal. I didn't think anyone on the team would breach security as you did.'

  'It wasn't deliberate.'

  'It was. There was stuff appearing on that website that you'd passed on to Basil. I was troubled about it. You knew I laid into Andy Humphreys, assuming he was the rat. One of your mates was getting it in the neck because of something you'd done, and what did you say? Sweet fuck all. To call you a rat is to insult rats. I can't think of any vermin as contemptible as you.'

  Such was the force of Hen's words that Johnny didn't even shake his head. He stood like a guardsman, staring ahead. Finally he moistened his lips and said, 'I suppose it's no use saying I'm truly sorry.'

  'Save that for Andy and the others. It won't impress me.'

  'Are you going to report me?'

  'As of now, I'm not even thinking what I'll do about you. There's a killer out there and I'm trying to find the best way through this mess.'

  'Do you want me to stand down?'

  'What did you say to Basil this morning?'

  'This morning?' He took a moment to cast back his thoughts. 'Nothing much. I knew you were closing in, so I didn't want to give too much away. I was telling him how you were looking at the videos again.'

  'Did you tell him why?'

  'I don't know why. I just heard from Andy that he sat in with you when you watched the Warmington-Smith interview.'

  'So have you told Basil about the link with Lord Chalybeate?'

  'No.'

  You swear it? Can I believe you, Johnny?'

  He said with a stricken sigh, 'I don't expect you will.'

  Hen studied him for what seemed a long interval. Then she said, 'I'm going to take a huge risk with you. I wish I didn't have to. I'd rather rely on anyone else, but I have no choice. Tomorrow morning, you go for your swim as usual.'

  His mouth fell open like a trapdoor.

  'And you talk to Basil and I'll tell you what to say.'

  Long trips for Parcel Force had meant early starts and late finishes for two days. Late on Thursday evening Bob was catching up with messages left on his answerphone.

  Thomasine speaking. Expect you're working. I've had quite a day already. Got something amazing to tell you. I'll try later.'

  'Hello, Bob. This is Maurice. Maurice McDade. Just to let you know that the funeral for Amelia - Miss Snow - will be next Monday, at noon, at the crematorium in Westhampnett Road, and, sadly, Jessie's follows on Tuesday at three in the cathedral. Neither of them had much family, so I'm hoping we can get a good turnout of circle members.'

  Just me, Thomasine. Time's running out. I was hoping to bring you in on this. I'll try again if there's a chance.'

  'Anton Gulliver speaking. I don't know if you have internet access. If you do, you might care to look at this website Naomi Green has created. I've no idea where she gets her information from, but she's regularly broadcasting libellous statements about most of us under the cloak of pseudonyms that are themselves distasteful. Thought you should know, as press officer for the circle.'

  'Bob? This is Dagmar. I just wondered if Thomasine is with you. I can't seem to get through to her.'

  'Sorry to trouble you, old man. This is Tudor. Anton got through to me earlier about some website Naomi Green is publishing on the internet. Apparently she's been touting me as the fire-raiser and I'm hopping mad. Is she doing this as a private individual, or is it the circle website? Get back to me soon, won't you?'

  'Hi. Sharon here. Got another success to report. Catch you later.'

  29

  www.ChichesterMurderDetectives.com

  Latest developments from Naomi Green

  An extraordinary twist in the case, thanks mainly to me. Do you remember my visit to the burnt-out ruin of Edgar Blacker's house? I removed a photo from the bedroom wall. The police had left it hanging there, thinking it was unimportant. It showed Blacker with a second man, apparently at a party. On the reverse someone had written 'Innocents, 1982'. This picture is now in the hands of the police and they have identified the second man.

  I have to be careful here. The man has an interest in keeping his past a secret. He has changed his name since the 'Innocents' picture. He once owned some men's magazines - the sort that have to be kept on the top shelf -that were edited by Blacker, and Innocents was one of the titles. Yes, Blacker, the puffed-up publisher who came to our writers' circle and delivered judgement on our literary efforts, used to edit sex magazines.

  But let's put the spotlight on the second man, although I have to say he gets plenty of attention already. Yes, he's rich and famous. These days he is a highly successful businessman who has made a fortune from the fitness craze, persuading the public to use gyms and equipment he supplies. But that isn't enough for him. He has ambitions for a career in government and is being tipped for a job in the next reshuffle. He wouldn't want his association with Blacker and those smutty magazines being leaked to the press just as he is waiting for a call from Number Ten.

  Lord Gym (as I'll call him, because he has a title) was interviewed this week in a London hotel by the Sussex police investigating Blacker's murder. They are looking for a connection with the murders of Amelia Snow and Jessie Warmington-Smith. That old phrase 'helping the police with their enquiries' doesn't entirely fit what happened. He wasn't a lot of help. They want to speak to him again and they are looking for a fuller and more frank account of his association with Blacker. The opportunity will come at the weekend at his country house. Can it be just a coincidence, I ask, that he lives only four miles from Chichester? He'll be there late Friday evening. Expect the police to knock on his door on Saturday morning.

  The members of the writers' circle will be relieved to know someone else is taking some of the heat. Not many of them realise who they have to thank.

  YOU ARE VISITOR [3896] TO THIS SITE

  30

  There is no trap so deadly as the trap you set for yourself.

  Raymond Chandler, The Long Goodbye (1953)

  The stake-out was in place. Sixteen officers, uniformed as well as CID, were hidden in and around the grounds of Lord Chalybeate's house in Bosham. All were in radio contact with Hen Mallin, who was in the house directing from an upstairs room. The transport was parked away from the house in the grounds of a school.

  The overcast sky was an advantage for those in hiding. Even six-foot-five Duncan Shilling was well concealed in a rhododendron plantation near the main gate. But the conditions would also provide cover for the suspect. It was difficult spotting anyone without the help of moonlight.

  In the house, Hen went downstairs to have more words with the housekeeper. Keeping Kate on side was vital. She'd cooperated well considering her future employment was at stake, allowing all these officers to have the run of the house and grounds. Now that the operation was under way it was essential she didn't lose her nerve and try and contact Lord Chalybea
te, who hadn't been informed. Poor dear, she was like the teenager who'd thrown a party on the night her parents were coming home.

  'Does he call ahead to let you know when he's arriving?'

  'Only if he's going to be late.'

  'And he likes to take a sauna when he gets here around ten thirty?'

  'Yes, I've switched it on as usual.'

  'Then what?'

  'He has a late supper. I've made a filled baguette for him.'

  'Should have asked you to make seventeen.' She added, 'Joke.' Panic had spread over Kate's face.

  'You do think he'll be okay with all this?'

  'I'm sure of it,' Hen said with the certainty of a doorstep evangelist. 'We're here to protect him and his property, aren't we? Why don't you make some more coffee for us both?'

  She returned upstairs and checked that everyone was still in radio contact. 'As soon as you see the car at the gate, let me know, Duncan. It's a red Porsche.'

  'I won't be able to tell the colour, guv. I can hardly see the back of my hand, it's so dark.'

  'You'll see the headlights. No other car's going to come visiting this late, apart from the suspect's, and they're not going to use the front gate.'

  'Suspect could be here already, laid up somewhere in the grounds.'

  'Let's hope so,' Hen said. 'We don't want a no-show after all this trouble.'

  She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes - if Chalybeate hadn't been held up. After that, it was a matter of seeing if and when the arsonist chose to act. The m.o. suggested around four a.m. However, this was a markedly different location from the others. A house of this size wouldn't catch fire as quickly or as completely as the other buildings had. If the real purpose of the arsonist was the murder of Chalybeate, the ideal place to torch was the sauna, a separate building constructed mainly of wood. He wouldn't survive ten minutes in there.

  The coffee arrived.

  'I just want to get this clear,' she said to Kate. 'When he drives in, he leaves his car down there by the front door and then goes for his sauna. He says nothing to you?'