Peter Lovesey - The Circle

'A widower.'

'Perhaps you understand, then.'

'I wasn't trying to judge you, love. We've all got our lives to lead. I only asked because I wanted to know how far you two go back.'

The phone rang — and it really did ring as phones once did. It was the Bakelite model with a dial once supplied to everyone who asked to be connected. She crossed the room and picked up the receiver. 'Yes?'

She listened to the caller, and her face creased in anxiety.

Finally, she said, 'Oh,' and replaced the receiver. To Bob, she said, 'They're keeping him overnight.'

The ladies were still in the bar. Three empty Appletiser bottles were lined up in front of Dagmar, and Thomasine was using a cherry on a cocktail stick to scoop up the last of her drink. Bob gave them the news about Maurice being kept overnight.

Dagmar looked devastated.

Thomasine, too, was devastated, and she had drowned her inhibitions in a series of G amp;Ts. 'Shit and derision — what can he tell them that he hasn't already?'

'Who knows?' Bob said. 'They think there's more.'

'And so do you, Bob. I see it in your eyes.'

'Not much I can tell you, though. Fran hinted at something and then kept the cap on the bottle. She called it a difficulty. Said it happened a long time ago.'

'Sounds like he's got form.'

'My thought exactly'

'What do you mean — a criminal record?' Dagmar said, making it clear this was about as likely as an elephant in church.

'Right on.'

'Maurice?

'What else could she mean?' Bob said.

'Maurice? Dagmar said again.

'They wouldn't hold him overnight without something they can work on. Fran is in a sweat. I can tell you that.' He told them about Maurice's late night walk on the night of the murder and Fran being unable to supply an alibi.

'What's the matter with the dopey woman?' Thomasine said. 'If it was me, and my man was up shit creek, I'd speak up for him.'

'Me, too,' Dagmar said.

'No disrespect,' Bob said, 'but that lady is high-principled. She's not going to tell porkies for anyone.'

'But if she knows he's innocent. .'

'She doesn't know. It's about trust, isn't it? She trusts the bloke. For her, that's enough, but it's not enough for the Old Bill.'

'Besides,' Thomasine said, spreading her hands wide, 'they'd expect his partner to lie for him. In the eyes of the law, alibis from your nearest and dearest don't amount to a fart in a whirlwind.'

'What's she like, this woman?' Dagmar said.

'Fran? Bit older than I expected. I'd say there's all of twenty years between them.'

Dagmar's eyes widened. 'That makes her over seventy.'

'That's what I thought.'

Thomasine said, 'She must be a bloody good cook, is all I can say. So what are we going to do, poppets? Tell the others Maurice is back in the nick?'

'There's nothing any of us can do for him tonight,' Bob said.

'Suppose they charge him and he's innocent?'

'Of course he's innocent,' Dagmar said, beginning to get over the shock of that age gap. 'We've got to support him.'

'There's only one way,' Thomasine said. 'We must find out who really set fire to that sodding publisher's house. And when I say "we", I mean the entire circle, the whole kit and caboodle — all twelve of us.'

'Eleven,' Dagmar said.

'Twelve. Bob's in, aren't you, baby?'

'Yes, but what Dagmar means is that Maurice can't help us much.'

On that note of unity, they decided to leave. Thomasine got upright with difficulty, pushing at the table edge as if it was the river bank and she was in a small boat.

'You're not driving, are you?' Bob said.

'Why? You want a lift?'

'We'd better get you home,' he said, looking to Dagmar for a sign that she would help. She gave a nod.

Out in the fresh air, Thomasine swayed and grabbed Bob's arm. He helped her to his car. They eased her into the back seat and Dagmar got in beside her.

'What's this — a threesome?' Thomasine said.

'Don't be daft,' Dagmar said.

'I don't need a chaperon.'

'I do,' Bob said. 'Where do you live?'

They drove to some flats west of the city. Between them, he and Dagmar negotiated the stairs, taking most of Thomasine's weight. Dagmar found the key in the handbag and they let themselves in and opened the bedroom door. Thomasine flopped onto the bed without another word. Dagmar removed her shoes and covered her with the quilt.

On the drive back to the centre of town, Dagmar said, 'She'll be so embarrassed tomorrow. It's not a habit.'

'We've all been there.' Even as he said this to Dagmar, Bob was thinking that a lifelong Appletiser drinker probably had not been there.

Dagmar was still finding excuses for Thomasine. 'It's the shock about Maurice. It affects us in different ways. He's a dear man. He doesn't deserve this.'

He looked at his watch. Too late to return the call. He guessed Miss Snow had seen the item on TV.

He called her next morning after Sue had left for school.

'I've been sitting by the phone,' she said.

All night? he thought.

'You're the only person I can speak to with any confidence.'

'Why is that?'

'Could we meet?'

'What's it about?'

'I'd rather not say over the phone.' She was a lot more discreet than Thomasine.

'Okay. Where?'

'Do you know the women's refuge shop?'

'Charity shop? In that little lane off North Street?'

'That's the one. I'm on duty there this morning.'

'I'll come there, then.'

'We should have it to ourselves if you can get there early.'

'What time is early?'

He met her outside the shop door. She was wearing a black silk headscarf that made her look ready for the confession-box and for a moment he wondered if she was the killer and was about to tell all. But she took the scarf off when they got inside.

He helped her pick up the morning's junk mail and a few paperbacks some donor had pushed through the door. The smell of old clothes was overpowering.

'I don't know how to begin,' she said.

'We could open the door at the back, get the air flowing.' He was thinking he wouldn't work in a charity shop if they paid him. This was poky, dark and stacked high with junk.

'I'm talking about Maurice.'

But Bob hadn't yet got over the smell. 'Some air freshener would help.'

'We'll sort it out, love. Don't let it get to you.'

He put her down beside her Mini and drove home. The speed of things, the way he'd been pitched into this, surprised him. Here he was, not even committed to joining the circle, taking on their problem as if it was his own.

When he got in, young Sue was still up and on the phone. Seeing him, she ended the call and offered to make coffee.

'Tea would do me nicely, love.'

'So have you cleared up the mystery, Dad?'

'Not yet.'

'This murder. Was it someone's house burned down with him in it?'

'Yes.'

'You could be too late, then. It was on the news. They're questioning some bloke.'

'Doesn't mean they've got the right one.'

'Hey, listen to Mr Sherlock Holmes! You want to get one of them funny hats and a magnifying glass.'

'Any more of that from you, young lady, and I'll be asking you what your homework was.'

'All done.'

'I bet. And how long have you been on the phone?'

She busied herself with the teapot.

'You weren't using your mobile, I notice.'

'I can't win, can I?' Sue said. 'If I go out, I'm in trouble for wasting my time, and if I stop in I'm stacking up the phone bill. Do you want to know about the call you had?'