The Circle

'Is that all?'

'There was some more, but not about the dancing. She was a bookkeeper, wasn't she? Retired, but still did a few audits for old times' sake, her dentist and what are those people who cut the corns off your feet?'

'Chiropodists.'

'No.'

'Excuse me,' Hen said. 'I know about chiropodists. I get my feet done by one in Bognor.'

He snapped his fingers. 'Podiatrists.'

'Same thing, buster.'

'Okay, don't get heavy with me. As I pointed out to her, she was working the old barter system. She did their books and they did her feet and her teeth.'

'It sounds as if she opened up with you.'

'A load of stuff about Maurice, the chairman. She was all steamed up on account of him being nicked for the fire at Blacker's house.'

'What sort of stuff — his past?'

He hesitated, and it was clear that he was stalling. 'A bit of this and that.'

'His time in prison?'

A look of relief. 'Right, so you know all about that. And how he was sure to be stitched up unless we did something about it. She meant well.'

'I'm sure. And she wanted your help?'

'Anyone's. She wasn't the only one trying to help Maurice. Thomasine and Dagmar were worried, too. He's popular with the ladies.'

'Getting back to Miss Snow, how did she first approach you?'

'Phone. She asked me to come to the shop.'

'The charity shop where she helped out?'

'I met her there before we went round to Tower Street. She was running it single-handed. The place stank of old clothes. I wouldn't have stuck that job for ten minutes.'

'If she was alone in the shop, what happened when she took you home? Did she have to close?'

He said with a flash of annoyance, 'Don't you believe me? I'm telling it straight. She phoned the women's refuge and asked for someone to take over. We waited for her, a foreigner called Nadia or some such. Refugee, I reckon.' He winked without letting his face soften. 'That's what a refuge is for, refugees, isn't it?'

Provocation. Remembering her visit to the refuge with DC Shilling, Hen let the question remain unanswered. She was investigating serial arson, not illegal immigrants. 'Moving on, you made a second visit to Tower Street. Is that right?'

He nodded. 'The night before I was caught in the boat house fire.'

'What happened?'

'She said she needed the video back. It was late in the evening. After eleven.'

'What did you think?'

He looked straight into her eyes. 'I could have thought I'd got lucky.'

'Be serious.'

'She was in a state.'

'DI Cherry had asked her for the video, guv,' Stella said.

'So you went to the house,' Hen prompted Bob.

'And I could tell it wasn't just the video she was worried about. She told me about this call she'd had setting up the meeting in the boat house.'

'What was the pretext?'

'He was claiming — this was a man's voice, she said — to have the proof that Maurice McDade was innocent and he was willing to hand it over the next morning at eight.'

'She didn't know the voice?'

'It was indistinct, she told me.'

'But definitely male?'

'That was what she said.'

'You understand the importance of this?' Hen said. 'We believe this was the arsonist. He tried to set up the meeting in the boat house with Miss Snow and he meant to kill her there.'

'He nearly did for me instead.'

Yes, and we don't know whether he knew it was you in there when he torched the place. You were lucky to escape.'

'Tell me about it!'

'But Miss Snow was still the real target, and he set light to her house at the next opportunity. The key to all this is the reason why these women — Miss Snow and Mrs Warmington-Smith — were targeted. Their homes went up in flames, so any personal documents, pictures, other evidence that could be of interest, were destroyed. That's why your memory of the interior of the Tower Street house is important to us. We didn't know about her theatrical experience.'

'Does that link up, then?'

'Now you're asking. It may tie in with the other victims in some way.'

Bob smiled. He was more relaxed now. 'I can't picture Jessie Warmington-Smith as a show girl.'

'Like you say, you find out surprising things when you dig a bit. Have you any theatrical experience, Bob?'

He pulled a face. 'Christ, no. I couldn't go on a stage to save my life.'

'Amateur theatricals?'

It was obvious he didn't like being pressed. The petulance returned. 'I said no.'

'Why not?' Stella said. 'You're an outgoing guy. You seem to get on with people. Women obviously feel comfortable with you.'

'Where's this leading?' he asked, tight-lipped.

'Let's get back to Miss Snow,' Hen said quickly. 'Did you notice anything else that might tell us more about her?'

'No.'

'More pictures?'

'Some family photos.'

'Books?'

He sighed, making it clear that all this was an imposition.

'A dictionary. Some books of quotations. Set of Who Was who:

'Nothing out of the ordinary?'

'I did see a fitness mag with some muscleman on the cover.' He couldn't resist a gag. 'I guess his name was Snow.'

'What was it called?'

'Now you're asking.'

'Try.'

'The Bodybuilder, I think.'

'I can't picture Miss Snow pumping iron,' Hen said. 'Why did she have a magazine like that?'

'For the pictures?'

She gave a chesty laugh. 'Maybe. Maybe.' She turned to Stella. 'There could be a link with Lord Chalybeate here. Does he still publish magazines? We'd better get hold of one.'

'Lord who?' Bob asked.

'Doesn't matter,' Hen said, sensing as she spoke that she'd closed him down too quickly. She didn't want him digging any more than he had. 'Anyway, thanks to you we've learned a thing or two about Miss Snow. What about Mrs Warmington-Smith?'

'What about her?'

'Did you visit her at home?'

'Do you mind? She was old enough to be my gran.'