Most of them can, with varying degrees of success. That's a great gift, and I suppose I secretly hope it will rub off on me. It hasn't yet.'
'What you've done on that computer is creative,' Thomasine said.
'No. I only copy what exists already. Ask me to plan a new street of shops and I'd be stumped. The brain refuses to cooperate. So I envy anyone who produces original work.'
'Okay,' Bob said. 'How about giving us some advice? You go there to watch and listen, right? You know them all. What's your verdict? Is one of them a murderer?'
'I expect so.'
'Who is it then? Have you ever found yourself thinking this one or that one could do it?'
Anton had a pained expression. 'I don't look at other people wondering if they are murderers.'
Yes, but if one of them is. .'
'They're all capable. If it was a crime requiring great strength or coolness under pressure I'd say certain people could be eliminated, but this was the simplest of methods. Some inflammable material pushed through a letterbox and ignited. A little old lady could do it as well as a man.'
'I wouldn't discount any of you ladies. That's all I'm prepared to say'
'Sitting on the fence.'
'Sitting on the fence was my profession.'
Afterwards, over their second coffee break — americanos, croissants and a smoke in the Caffe Nero — Bob and Thomasine took stock.
'Creepy, that computer programme,' Thomasine said. 'I mean, it was fun to try, but when you think about it, what kind of person wants to look inside every shop in town?'
'I'd say about half the population.'
'Chauvinist.'
'If it amuses him, I don't see the harm in it.'
'He's a weirdo, Bob, you've got to admit.'
'All right. He's a weirdo, but clever with it.'
She shook her head. 'I feel uncomfortable with him, as if he'd like to put us all in his computer and control us.'
'He was honest about why he joined the circle.'
'Because he likes to be with creative people?'
'Yes, I believed that bit,' he said. 'You're a mystery to him. He'd like to get some ideas of his own and turn them into words, and he can't. The best he can do is pick holes in what you come up with, find faults in the grammar and stuff. That makes him think he's superior in some way, but deep down he knows he can't hack it as a writer.'
Thomasine brightened up. 'Bob, have you got us all summed up so neatly? This is how you're going to get to the truth of this mystery.'
'Oh, yeah? All I've managed so far is to get myself trapped in a burning shed.'
'We're picking up clues. We found out that some of these guys had links with Edgar Blacker we didn't know about. Tudor sold him some insurance and doesn't want to talk about it. Zach was in touch with Blacker before that meeting, being sounded out for a vanity publishing deal.'
'It doesn't amount to much.'
'It's more than the police have got.'
'They'll have got the video by now. Miss Snow was taking it into the nick this morning. They could follow up, find out things, same as you and me.'
'But they won't, because they've pinned it on Maurice.'
He said with a smile, 'What they need is someone like you to crack the whip.'
She gave an even broader smile. 'But because I've got such faith in you, I'm going to crack it specially for you. Are you ready for Basil?'
'Basil I can handle,' he said. 'Naomi is something else.'
Basil and Naomi lived east of the city in Whyke Lane, beyond the scope of Anton's map. Fate decreed that it was Naomi who opened the door of their Victorian semi and said an unwelcoming, Yes?'
She had her hair scraped back from her forehead, gleaming black, as if she was in the middle of washing it in sump oil.
'Hi, Naomi,' Thomasine greeted her. 'Perhaps this isn't a good moment? We were hoping to have a word with Baz, if possible.'
She said, 'I won't have him called that. His name is Basil. He's extremely busy just now. What's it about?'
'Circle business.' Thomasine summarised the morning's events, finishing with, 'So it's only fair that we speak to Basil now that we've seen each of the other men.'
'He wouldn't harm a fly,' Naomi said. 'He's in the back garden spraying his roses.'
'Harming the greenfly,' Bob murmured.
Naomi hadn't heard. 'You'd better come in. I'll see if he can break off for a few minutes.'
They were shown into the front room by way of the hall. To Bob's eye it seemed dark and Victorian. There was an upright piano. Old photos in gilt frames, clearly of Naomi's ancestors, stood on top. The women all had eyes like hers that expected hostility and returned it fivefold. Yet someone must have got close, he found himself thinking, or they couldn't have passed on the gene that glared.
Naomi didn't leave them alone for long. 'It's not convenient,' she said, with another of those don't-even- think-about-challenging-me looks. 'He's wearing his spraying clothes.'
'Did you ask him?' Bob said.
'I don't need to ask him. I can see from the kitchen window.'
'We don't mind what he's wearing,' Thomasine said as if it was for them to decide. 'We can talk to him out there. Shall we go through?'
To Bob's surprise, Naomi stepped back to let her pass. Maybe it was all front with her. They moved into the kitchen, another dark room with dinner plates on wooden racks above an old-fashioned dresser.
Out of the window they could see Basil at work, dressed like a racing driver of the twenties in a red overall with goggles and leather helmet. His spray was just as antiquated as the clothes. It worked on the pump-action principle from a bucket. But the small garden looked to be thriving on the treatment. An arch of exquisite pink roses was formed by the weight of the blooms. A daisy on that lawn would have died of shame.
'You see?' Naomi said.
'He won't mind stopping for us.' Without asking, Thomasine opened the back door and stepped across the turf.
'Don't go too close. It's harmful to humans,' Naomi said, following her.
But Basil noticed them and lowered his spray and pushed his goggles above his eyes.
'Don't blame Naomi,' Thomasine said to him. 'She did her best to stop us, but Bob was nearly burnt alive this morning and we need to talk.'
Basil said, 'Oh my word. Are you all right?'
'I'm okay,' Bob said. 'I jumped off the roof and one leg is giving me gyp, but I'll survive.'
'Then you must come and sit in the gazebo.' He led the way up the garden towards a neat wooden structure painted white. Curved bench seats inside faced each other. Bob found himself opposite Naomi, exposed to the stare.
Thomasine gave her account of Bob's misadventure. Apart from another 'Oh my word' from Basil, she was heard in awed silence.
'So we decided to check on the movements of each guy in the circle,' she said. 'No offence, Basil. We've no reason to think you'd want to kill Edgar Blacker or Bob, but in fairness to the others, we must ask where you were about eight this morning.'
Naomi started to say, 'He was-' then stopped as Thomasine raised her hand like a traffic policeman.
'His own words, if you don't mind.'
'Eight?' Basil said, turning to face Naomi as if his memory had gone. 'I would have been taking my shower
