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
'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
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