The Circle

'Let's hear one, then. They can't be worse than these other literary efforts.'

Stella thumbed through the pages and smiled. 'Here's a sample:

Is Basil green

When his wife is seen

With the new Tolkien?'

'Likes his puns, doesn't he?' Hen said, not much impressed.

'Okay,' Stella said, turning to another page. 'Here's one about a cat:

Amelia was a dancing cat, I'm able to disclose

Before she started writing the lives of all the Snows.'

'We're into T. S. Eliot territory now,' Hen said. 'One of the few things I remember from school, his poems on cats. Is there any more?'

'At the local writers' circle she sits beside the Chair

Keeping minutes of the meeting with single-minded care.

If the members criticise her she might give a little shrug

And privately remember how she used to cut the rug.

At home, she does her writing and if it doesn't flow

She'll choose another chapter, start another Snow.

But as the night approaches and the work gets really tough

She allows herself a memory of how she'd strut her stuff.

For Amelia was a dancing cat, I'm able to disclose

Before she started writing the lives of all the Snows.'

'What's he on about here?' Hen said, frowning. 'This is Miss Snow, right?'

'Must be.'

'Does he know something we don't? You're the one who interviewed him. Did you ever hear about Miss Snow being a dancer?'

'Sounds unlikely, guv.'

'Is it his quirky sense of humour?'

'He's got that for sure.'

'How would he know what she got up to? He was new to the circle.'

'He did visit her house on two occasions, once to borrow the video of Blacker at the circle and once to return it.'

Hen raised both thumbs. 'You're right, Stell. I was forgetting. I'm sure you questioned him about the visits?'

'Of course. I thought we covered everything. He doesn't hold back.'

'But the dancing didn't come up?'

Stella shook her head. 'Does it matter?'

'Don't know yet.'

'What time are you expecting your dad?'

'Depends,' Sue Naylor said on the phone.

'On what, love?'

'On the job. Like sometimes he's here when I get in from school and sometimes he gets in really late.'

'It's not regular hours, you mean?'

'Yeah.'

'Does he have a mobile?'

'For emergencies only, he says. He don't like me calling when he's on the road.'

'What's the number?'

Hen got through to Bob directly. The signal wasn't good, but she heard him say, 'Thanks a bunch. Is this how you nick people, then, calling them up on the motorway?'

She said, 'I want to ask about one of your poems.'

'Come again?'

'The things you write.'

'For crying out loud — I'm doing seventy on the M27 and you want to talk about writing?'

'The one about the dancing cat. 'Amelia was a dancing cat'.'

'I don't believe this.'

'Amelia was Miss Snow, right? Is there any truth in it — in the dancing, I mean?'

'Yeah.'

'She told you this herself?'

'Yeah.'

'Right. Where are you now?'

'Just passing Rownham services.'

'You'll be home shortly, then?'

'If I don't hit the bloody barrier, I will.'

'I'll be waiting at your house.'

These intervals of inactivity were a trial for Hen. She found herself thinking about the traitor in her team. Betrayal may not cause physical injury, but it hurts. By God, it hurts. The question of who had leaked Naomi the inside information troubled her almost as much as the identity of the arsonist. She'd been over it in her mind many times, recalling things that were said, meetings, interviews with suspects. She felt it ought to be possible to work it out. She could have asked Naomi — who would be evasive, but might cough it up eventually — but she preferred not to. Pride in her leadership demanded that she cleared this up herself. After all, the possibilities were limited. Stella wasn't the source. If she couldn't trust Stella she might as well jack in the job now. That left three names: Humphreys, Shilling and Cherry.

All logic said it was Humphreys. He knew Naomi. He was the one who'd interviewed her. But his denials had been solid and convincing.

Shilling was a more likeable lad than Andy. Brighter, too. He'd solved the mystery of the writing on the back of Blacker's picture. To Hen's certain knowledge he hadn't interviewed Naomi. Yet he did have this unfortunate knack of speaking up at inappropriate times. Immaturity, probably. She couldn't have absolute confidence in him.

And that left Johnny Cherry. If anyone had a vested interest in undermining her, it was Johnny. He couldn't handle the fact that the case had been taken out of his lap and handed to her. He was jealous, cynical and probably knew in his heart that he couldn't hack it as head of a murder investigation team. But there was a problem. Johnny, like Shilling, had had little to do with Naomi. Johnny had interviewed Sharon and Thomasine, but he'd scarely even spoken to Naomi. Satisfying as it might be to pin the blame on him, logic suggested otherwise.

Bob and his daughter lived in a council semi in Parklands, a large estate to the west of the city. Inside, it had the clutter you would expect of a place occupied by a shift-worker and his teenage daughter. Sue Naylor kicked aside some Tesco bags to clear a path to the living room. She was pretty without make-up, dressed in baggy jeans and a sleeveless top that displayed her tattoos. She went back to watching a soap on TV while Hen and Stella cleared some space on the sofa and sat down.

Bob arrived soon after, shaking his head at the idea of two detectives interested in his rhymes. But his temper had improved now he was off the road. He filled a ketde.

'Sure,' he said when Hen asked about Miss Snow, 'I didn't make it up. She was a dancer and a cat.'

'How do you mean?'

'She was in the musical, Cats — the original West End version. The chorus, I think. She had a photo on her wall of herself in tights and a cat costume. Nice figure, too. Surprising, isn't it, what some quiet little ladies have got up to in the past? She didn't seem the chorus girl type. I asked if it was really her and she said it was.'

'She must have been proud of it.'

'To have the picture on the wall? She didn't make much of it. I'm trying to remember what she said. Some stuff about dancing being a short career. Is it important, then?'