Free The Circus by James Craig

for lifestyle reasons? Should prostitution be legalized?’
    Prostitution
is
legal, Carlyle thought. Kind of.
    ‘Is surrogate pregnancy a legitimate source of income?’
    ‘Interesting questions.’
    ‘A lot of it is quite offensive.’
    So why are you reading it then? Carlyle wondered, keeping his mouth clamped firmly shut.
    ‘Maybe,’ Helen sighed, ‘I’m just a prisoner of my post-feminist Puritan Anglo-Saxon antagonism to sexuality.’
    He had no idea what she was talking about. ‘Good for you.’
    She tapped the cover of the book. ‘I don’t think I’ll bother finishing it.’ Then after taking another sip of her tea, she asked, ‘Oh, by the way, did you read the thing in the paper about your celebrity friend?’
    ‘Which celebrity friend?’ Carlyle waved a hand airily. ‘I have so many.’
    ‘Rosanna Snowdon.’
    ‘Ah, yes.’
    ‘Marcello?’ Helen flashed the café-owner the kind of winning smile she no longer needed to waste on her husband. ‘Do you happen to have a copy of yesterday’s
Standard
?’
    Behind the counter, the old man wiped his hands on a tea-towel draped over his left shoulder. ‘Probably,’ he said, ducking into the back room. A few moments later he was back, newspaper in hand.
    ‘Thanks.’ Helen began flicking through the pages, reading off various headlines as she did so. ‘ “Madame Tussauds forced to employ guards to prevent tourists making offensive Hitler salutes next to a waxwork of the dictator” . . . It was here somewhere.’ She turned another page. ‘Ah yes, here you go. “TV presenter death. Suspect arrested for a second time”.’
    Folding the newspaper in half, she placed it on the table between them. Carlyle scanned the article. The gist of it seemed to be that new, unspecified forensic evidence had convinced the Crown Prosecution Service that they could now successfully place Rosanna’s stalker, Simon Lovell, at the scene of the crime.
    ‘Better late than never,’ Carlyle said.
    ‘If they’re actually right this time.’
    ‘Of course.’ He finished reading the article. Rosanna’s parents themselves had declined to comment but Lovell’s current lawyer – an ambulance-chaser by the name of Nigel Bradfield – was talking a good game.
    ‘The police and the CPS should be focused on trying to catch the real killer of Rosanna Snowdon,’ Bradfield was quoted as saying. ‘This attempt to railroad my client does not help anyone, including Rosanna’s family. The previous trial was stopped almost even before it had begun. This time we may well not even get to court. Simon Lovell has already been a victim of this investigation. His chances of a normal life have been severely diminished and we will be seeking substantial compensation in due course.’
    ‘Lovell did it, didn’t he?’ Helen asked once he’d finished reading the piece.
    Carlyle placed the newspaper at the far end of the table. ‘No idea. You have to assume so. The CPS is very risk-averse, so I can’t believe they would come back for a second go at this guy if they weren’t supremely confident. I just hope they’ve got it right. Apart from anything else, it would be very cruel to get her parents’ hopes up again after all this time.’ He popped another quarter of the Danish into his mouth and washed it down with some more green tea.
    Helen smiled. ‘It’s good, the way you and Joe go and visit them from time to time.’
    ‘It’s not a big deal,’ Carlyle grunted. Just then, his mobile started vibrating in the breast pocket of his jacket. Fishing it out, he studied the screen. ‘It’s Joe.’
    Waving at Marcello for the bill, he hit the receive button. ‘Morning.’ Wedging the phone between his head and shoulder, he pulled out his wallet and handed Helen a tenner. ‘Where? . . . Are you there now? . . . Okay, I’m only five minutes away. I’ll be right there.’
    Ending the call, he jumped to his feet.
    ‘Problem?’ Helen asked.
    ‘Yeah. It’s certainly all happening