Peter Lovesey - The Circle

www.ChichesterMurderDetectives.com

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.

Later, we were all questioned about our movements. Guessing how the police would react, I was going to say nothing about my night's adventure, but Greenfingers, stupid oaf, blurted it out. I should have realised he'd throw me to the wolves. In the end I managed to convince them what I was doing was research for this book, but it took some while.

And so the focus has to shift again. If Welshman is off the list, and so are The Chair, Nitpicker, Zach and Blondie, who is left? I can forget Greenfingers. Only the Schoolmistress, Passionella and the new man, Parcel Force. Two strong-minded women and one man who reveals very little about himself. But what motive could any of them have?

The police have a new theory: two perpetrators working together. Interesting. There are several partnerships within the circle of suspects. By this I don't mean man and wife. You might think of Basil and me as a team — unless you know our situation. Mostly these are twinnings of another sort. I thought I'd found an ally in Zach, but he has disappointed me. Ever since he went to the Fantasy Convention with the dumb Blondie he seems to have lost interest in the e-book. If you visit this website regularly you'll know he promised to collaborate with me, and he had some promising ideas, but he has produced nothing. It's his loss. I've registered over a thousand hits since I installed the hit counter.

Partnerships? Well, we have The Chair and his lady.

Parcel Force, the new man, and his friend Schoolmistress (wanting to see him after lessons, I suspect).

Romantic novelist Passionella and Schoolmistress (yes, her again, they're old chums).

And Zach and Blondie.

The point about two killers working together is that they can cover for each other. Some of the alibis the police have checked out would be worthless. It would throw everything back into the melting pot.

I am going back to my list to see who ought to be suspect number one. I'll keep you informed of everything that happens.

YOU ARE VISITOR [1021] TO THIS SITE

Just to recap, you were at home all night?'

'All night,' Bob said.

;But you were up early?'

'My job. I was on the Bristol run.'

'Which meant leaving home at. .?'

'Five thirty.'

'So you got out of bed at what time?'

'Quarter to five. "Early to rise and early to bed makes a man healthy, wealthy and dead."'

Stella Gregson smiled. 'One of yours?'

'Wish it was.'

'You're sure about the time?'

'I leave it to the last possible second to pull back the duvet. Quick shower and shave, sling on some clothes, slice of toast and a cup of coffee, in that order if my head is working. Then off.'

'A quarter to five this morning? No earlier?'

'I told you. I like my bed.'

'And of course there's no way to prove you were there all night?'

'How could I? Ah — you mean like someone sharing my bed? You reckon?'

'Fair enough,' Stella said. She'd enjoyed interviewing him.

'You said that wasn't one of your verses just now?'

'James Thurber.'

'But you do write poetry. You read me a sample when we last met'

'Doggerel is a better word.'

'I thought it was all right.'

'It's meant to raise a laugh here and there. Things that happen to me, people I meet. Nothing deep.'

'Is any of it published?'

'God, no. I'm a beginner.'

'I noticed you write it down in a pocket book.'

'An old diary. When I first came to the circle one of them told me to keep everything. Most of it's crap.'

Stella leaned forward like a conspirator. 'Anything on the other members? I'd love to read some more.'

He hesitated. 'Well, some of it's a bit… you know, below the belt. I wouldn't want them to read it.'

'But I'm not in the circle,' Stella said. 'And there aren't many laughs in this job.'

'All right.' He put his hand into his hip pocket and took out the small black diary. 'Don't expect Tennyson, will you?'

'I wouldn't want him, thanks. He's dead, isn't he? May I keep it overnight? I'll take care of it.' She slipped it into a drawer, and for a moment Bob Naylor looked as if he'd been duped and didn't understand how.

'We're done.' Stella parted the slats of the blinds. 'She's waiting for you downstairs.'

'Who is?'

'Your friend from the circle. That's Dagmar's little car, isn't it?'

He looked out. 'Doesn't mean a thing.'

But when he emerged from the police station it was Thomasine who stood outside the car waving. Dagmar was at the wheel. 'We thought you might be hungry if you came here straight from work,' Thomasine said. 'I got you a bite to eat from the pasty shop. It's still warm, I think.'

'Kind of you.'

'Some of the circle are in the bar at the New Park. We would have had a meeting, but it doesn't seem right somehow. We thought we'd join them.'

'Okay with me.'

It was good to see Maurice there, restored as the father figure of the circle, his big hand clasped round a pint glass. Less good to see Tudor, flushed with the drama of another death and ready to badmouth anyone who couldn't be there. Of the ladies, only Thomasine and Dagmar had come.

'Why on earth should this happen to Jessie?' Dagmar said.

'Obvious,' Tudor said. 'She got up someone's nose.'

'You don't murder people just because they upset you.'

'Oh, but you do. Well, plenty of murderers do. Let's face it, she put herself on a pedestal. Holier than thou, forever reminding us she was once married to an archbishop.'

'Archdeacon.'

'What's the difference? You wouldn't think there was any, the way she went on. You'd never find her drinking in this bar, for instance.'

Thomasine said, 'She obviously got up your nose, Tudor.'

'You know yourself, there were times when she would have made a nun feel guilty. As for us, we were the children of darkness.'