Five Dead Canaries (17 page)

‘Her parents called to see me,’ she said.

‘I’m surprised they were ready to venture out of their home,’ said Keedy. ‘When we visited them, Mr Ingles wasn’t really prepared to talk to us.’

‘I couldn’t stop him talking.’

‘And you say that his wife was with him?’

‘Yes, I don’t know how they found out my address but they did somehow. They came to discuss this offer we’ve had from the factory. To be more exact,’ she said, ‘they were here to push me into accepting it.’

‘How did you react?’

‘In fact, I’d more or less decided that I’d go along with the idea so there was no real argument. But I was upset, Sergeant. I can make up my own mind without having them telling me what to do. Agnes used to say how bossy Mr Ingles could be.’ Her eyes flashed. ‘And there was something else as well.’

‘Oh?’

‘It was as if they were doing me a favour by coming here,’ she said, resentfully. ‘The pair of them talked down to me.’

‘They had no call to do that, Mrs Radcliffe.’

She adopted a combative stance. ‘I won’t stand for it. I don’t care how big their house is, they’ve got no right to treat people like that. Next time that Brian Ingles comes anywhere near me, I’ll shut the front door in his face. As for the daughter they’re so proud of,’ she went on, harshly, ‘I could tell them a few things about Florrie that would wipe the smiles off their faces.’

‘Really?’ said Keedy. ‘What sort of things, Mrs Radcliffe?’

The longer he stayed, the more Harvey Marmion was learning about the five victims of the explosion. Brian Ingles and Reuben Harte had reached the stage of open competition, each one boasting about the achievements of their respective daughters and talking about the unfulfilled dreams of the women. It was not only Florrie Duncan and Jean Harte who were revealed in greater detail, the three women
who’d died with them also came into sharper focus. Maureen Quinn was not omitted. Both men described her as being on the fringe of the group, popular by dint of her skill as a goalkeeper but never a leading figure. Ingles called her immature while Harte considered her to be rather sly without actually being able to justify his claim. What both men did agree was that the six of them were natural allies and that their mutual friendship gave them a sense of belonging to an elite group.

‘Florrie always set the tone,’ said Ingles.

‘Jean wasn’t slow to assert herself,’ Harte reminded him.

‘My daughter liked to be in charge.’

‘Mine didn’t suffer from that defect, Brian.’

‘It’s not a defect,’ retorted Ingles. ‘It’s a fact of nature. Some of us are born to lead and the majority are born to follow. You’re a perfect instance of that, Reuben. Had you possessed a leader’s instinct, you’d now be a bank manager instead of a humble clerk who toils in the shadow of superiors.’

Harte was stung. ‘My job carries many responsibilities.’

‘You’d have even more if you’d had an ambitious streak.’

‘I’m not sure that this debate is at all useful,’ said Marmion, intervening before the acrimony developed. ‘Our thoughts should be with the victims and not with a petty squabble about who does what job.’

‘Thank you, Inspector,’ said Harte. ‘You’re right to chide us. I’m afraid that no conversation with Brian is complete without him reminding you that he has a very important position.’

‘There’s no point in hiding my light under a bushel,’ said Ingles.

‘You’re incapable of doing so.’

‘That’s an unnecessarily spiteful remark, Reuben.’

‘Then stop provoking me.’

‘With respect,’ said Marmion with a reproachful glance at each in turn, ‘each of you is as bad as the other. Common grief should unite you, not set you at each other’s throats. From everything I’ve heard about your daughters, my sense is that they were both exceptional young women in their own way. Maureen Quinn talked about them with great fondness. Florrie was very kind to her and Jean was involved in the football team with Maureen. Sport is one of the best ways for people to bond.’

‘We’re justly rebuked again,’ said Harte, ashamedly.

‘I apologise, Inspector,’ said Ingles. ‘We’re bickering like children.’

‘Nerves are bound to be frayed at a time like this, sir,’ said Marmion, glad that they’d both calmed down. ‘I suggest that we forget the whole thing.’ The other men exchanged a nod. ‘You’ve both been informed of the date of the inquest, I take it?’

‘Yes, we have. I’ll be interested to hear what Maureen will have to say.’

‘So will I,’ said Harte.

‘We’re still puzzled as to why she left the party early.’

‘Apparently,’ explained Marmion, ‘she was not feeling well.’

‘What a stroke of luck!’

‘Maureen doesn’t
feel
lucky, Mr Ingles – far from it. She’s very confused, of course, but she’s also contrite. She feels guilty that she survived when her friends didn’t. Like anyone in that situation, she wonders why she was spared.’

‘So do I,’ murmured Harte.

‘Well,’ said Ingles, consulting the watch he’d taken from his waistcoat pocket, ‘I must be off. I have an appointment with an estate agent.’

‘Are you thinking of selling your house?’ asked Marmion.

‘It’s … a possibility, Inspector. It never does any harm to keep abreast of current property values. I anticipate that our house will be worth a decent sum.’

‘Then why do you wish to leave?’

‘I like to keep my options open,’ said Ingles, evasively. He turned to his host. ‘Goodbye, Reuben. Bear in mind that you have to reach a decision by the end of the afternoon. It’s disrespectful to Mr Kennett to keep him waiting and we need to set arrangements in train. Weigh my arguments in the balance,’ he continued, ‘and you’ll accept that you simply must fall into line with the rest of us.’

‘We shall see,’ grunted Harte.

After trading farewells with Marmion, Ingles was shown out of the house by Harte. When the latter came back into the living room, he was obviously pleased that the other man had finally gone.

‘I’ve had quite an invasion today,’ he said.

Marmion prepared to leave. ‘Well, I won’t bother you any more, sir.’

‘That wasn’t a hint to you, Inspector. Given the news that you brought, you’re very welcome. It’s Brian Ingles’s visit I could have done without. He’s an invasion all by himself.’

‘Yes, he does like to take control, doesn’t he?’

‘I won’t be browbeaten by the likes of him. He was almost manic before you arrived to rescue me. He only calmed down when you told us about Wylie.’

‘I’m glad I was able to pour oil on troubled waters,’ said Marmion. ‘I must say that I find it odd that Mr Ingles is talking about selling his house at a time like this. I would have thought he had more pressing matters on his mind.’

‘It’s not the only thing that was odd,’ observed Harte. ‘My suggestion really upset him for some reason.’

‘What suggestion was that, sir?’

‘I just wondered if we might club together to commission some sort of memorial for the five victims. It needn’t be anything too elaborate but it would preserve their memory. If all five of us put in an equal amount,’ said Harte, ‘then the cost wouldn’t be prohibitive.’

‘Why was Mr Ingles upset by the idea?’

‘I can’t really say but it was decidedly odd. I mean, he has more money than the rest of us put together. I should know, Inspector – he’s a client of my bank.’

Having started work early that morning, Alice Marmion came off her shift in the middle of the afternoon. Instead of returning to her flat, she decided to call on her mother. Knowing that Ellen would not be at home, she went to the centre where a group of women were contributing to the war effort by knitting and sewing. They were absorbed in their work when Alice entered in police uniform. Her sudden appearance led to a flurry of concern. It was soon stilled. Delighted to see her daughter, Ellen was glad to be rescued from the tedium of her voluntary work. Over a snack in a nearby café, they were able to chat at leisure.

‘Thank you for coming to my aid,’ said Ellen.

‘I thought that you liked your Sewing Circle.’

‘Actually, we do more knitting than sewing and, yes, I do enjoy it as a rule. I’ve made some good friends there. Some of them are in the same boat as me with sons at the front. Mrs Fletcher, who runs the group, has all three of hers in France.’

‘She must be worried to death,’ said Alice.

‘She manages to hide her anxiety. What she can’t hide,’ confided Ellen, ‘is that she’s hopeless with a pair of knitting needles in her hands. You should see the socks that she produces. The wool is too coarse and the feet are always too small. But she’s a good-hearted woman so we daren’t criticise her.’

‘You won’t need to send any socks to Paul. You can give them to him.’

‘I know, Alice. I can’t wait for him to come home.’

‘Neither can I,’ said her daughter. ‘I just wish that I knew how he felt about me and Joe. I wanted him to be happy for us.’

‘And I’m sure that he is. All he can think about at the moment, however, is surviving the war. Casualties are mounting every day. That’s why I want him safe and sound at home.’

‘It’s only a short leave, Mummy,’ Alice reminded her.

‘Then we’ll have to make the most of it.’

They drank their tea and nibbled at their cakes. Ellen chuckled.

‘When you came through that door, I didn’t recognise you at first. I thought I was about to be arrested for knitting gloves that don’t fit.’ She squeezed Alice’s hand affectionately. ‘What have you been up to?’

‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ve been consorting with prostitutes.’

When she was told about the new assignment, Ellen was nonplussed.

‘I thought they were called “ladies of the night”. Are you telling me that they come out in the daytime as well?’

‘Don’t look so shocked,’ said Alice, laughing. ‘Apparently, it’s a twenty-four-hour profession. There’s a demand throughout the day.’

‘I’m sorry that you have to deal with such people.’

‘They’re not the sort of women you imagine, Mummy. Very few of
them do it by choice. They’re driven into it by poverty or by some cruel person who has a hold over them. Some are still only girls, really,’ Alice went on. ‘One of them told us that she turned to prostitution when her husband was killed at the front. It was the only way she could support herself and the baby. We tried to point out the dangers to her.’

Ellen pursed her lips. ‘It’s such an unsavoury side of life.’

‘That’s why the inspector gave me the job. She wanted to open my eyes.’

‘It sounds as if she wanted to punish you, Alice.’

‘Gale Force does that in various ways every day.’

‘You don’t have to put up with it, you know.’

‘If I’m not in the building,’ said Alice, cheerfully, ‘then I’m out of her range. Also, I’m getting an education, of sorts.’

‘Your father had that kind of education when he was on the night shift. He was a bobby on the beat in those days, of course. To spare my blushes, he didn’t tell me about some of the encounters he must have had. But if you really want to know about prostitutes,’ said Ellen, ‘you should talk to your Uncle Raymond.’

Alice laughed. ‘Why? I didn’t think he’d have any dealings with them.’

‘He doesn’t, in the sense that you mean. But work in the Salvation Army makes him look in the darkest corners of London. He offers help to anyone in need, regardless of how they earn a living.’

‘I’d forgotten that. Maybe I
will
have a chat with Uncle Raymond.’

‘I know that he shielded a prostitute on one occasion,’ said Ellen. ‘She was terrified of being beaten up by the man who tricked her into selling her body. Your uncle let her stay there for the best part of a week.’

It was a sobering reminder of the routine work that the Salvation Army did in the capital. Raymond Marmion was a tireless man with
a huge fund of compassion. He gave advice, sympathy and practical assistance to a wide circle of people. A talk with him might well prepare Alice for some of the sights she was bound to come across in the course of her patrol.

‘When are you going to see Joe again?’ asked Ellen.

‘I wish I knew, Mummy.’

‘It doesn’t get any better with the passage of time.’

‘Are you trying to warn me off marrying a policeman?’

‘I’d never do that, Alice. You’ve made the right choice. Stick by it.’

Alice was sad. ‘If only I could hear Daddy say that!’

‘You will one day,’ said Ellen. ‘He’s already starting to mellow.’

‘Well, why didn’t you say so, you fool?’ yelled Marmion, angrily. ‘The car must be available at all times. It’s your job to make sure that it is.’

‘I’m sorry, Inspector.’

‘If you knew there was a problem, you should have reported it.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said the driver, cowering under the onslaught.

‘That’s why we have mechanics. They keep our vehicles on the road.’

‘I didn’t think that the problem was serious.’

‘Get it fixed.’

‘I don’t have any tools.’

‘Then find someone who has,’ said Marmion, pointing a finger down the road. ‘We passed a garage on our way here. When you heard that noise in the engine, why didn’t you stop and ask for help?’

He made an effort to rein in his temper. Ordinarily, the driver was extremely dependable, working at all hours without complaint. But he had slipped up on this occasion. As a result, the car had broken down and both of them were now standing on the pavement beside it. To get to the police station would only take Marmion a ten-minute walk
but that wasn’t the point. Reliability of transport was vital. Had they been speeding to an emergency, the breakdown could have had critical results. The driver clearly didn’t need to be told that. He was writhing with embarrassment.

‘It’s never happened before, sir,’ he argued in his defence.

‘I know,’ said Marmion, anger subsiding, ‘and it’s my fault as much as yours. I heard that strange noise when you did. I should have insisted you pulled into that garage. Sorry I lost my temper.’

‘I deserved it, Inspector.’

‘I’ll go on foot now. Bring the car when it’s been repaired. And if it turns out to be beyond repair,’ he added, ‘we’ll have to borrow one from the police station. We can’t solve a murder case by riding around on bicycles.’

The driver’s laugh was more out of relief than amusement. He was grateful that his reprimand was over. Marmion rarely lost his temper but, when he did, he could be very scathing. The driver was still feeling the force of the blast.

Marmion set off with long strides. His brisk walk got him to the police station where he found Joe Keedy awaiting him. He got no sympathy from the sergeant.

‘Now you know how I have to manage,’ said Keedy. ‘While you’ve had a chauffeur, I’ve had to walk everywhere or use public transport.’

‘We can’t all have a car at our disposal, Joe.’

‘Neither of us does at the moment.’

Marmion sat opposite him and heard about the visit to Sadie Radcliffe. He was intrigued to learn new intelligence about Florrie Duncan. It transpired that she was not the dutiful daughter that her parents had spoken about. According to Sadie – working on information supplied by Agnes Collier – there’d been a serious rift in the family
before Florrie’s marriage. Because of her parents’ strong objections to her choice of husband, Florrie had moved out of her home and into a flat. Neither her mother’s pleas nor her father’s hectoring had been able to bring her back. In the wake of their son-in-law’s death, the parents had expected their daughter to turn to them for comfort but Florrie made a point of avoiding them.

‘I talked to the men who’ve been knocking on doors in the area,’ said Keedy, ‘and they told a similar story. It’s not a happy family and Mr Ingles is disliked by his neighbours.’

‘That’s because he’s so objectionable,’ said Marmion. ‘But you haven’t told me what it was that was likely to wipe the smile off his face and that of his wife.’

‘I’m not sure if this is true or just idle tittle-tattle.’

‘What did Mrs Radcliffe tell you?’

‘Her daughter had the feeling that Florrie was pregnant.’

‘That could be good news if it was her husband’s child.’

‘It can’t possibly be, Harv. The dates don’t fit.’

‘Well,’ said Marmion, sitting back to absorb the news, ‘that could mean that there were six victims of that explosion. From her parents’ point of view, it might be just as well that the post-mortem didn’t reveal signs of pregnancy. How certain was Mrs Radcliffe that her daughter was telling the truth?’

‘Agnes Collier had a child of her own. She knew the signals.’

‘Did she have any idea who the father was?’

‘No, Harv, but it does show Florrie in a different light. She was obviously a young woman who enjoyed life,’ said Keedy. ‘We’ll never know if the baby was an accident or a deliberate means of scandalising her parents.’

‘I’d go for the first explanation, Joe. Florrie may have fallen out
with them but she’d know the terrible stigma that a child born outside wedlock would bear. It would make life very uncomfortable for mother and child. No woman would want that.’

‘I wonder if the father
knew
about what had happened. They could always have got married, I suppose.’

‘Not if he was already married,’ Marmion pointed out. ‘Or he could have been some careless chap who simply wanted a bit of fun and wasn’t prepared to face the consequences. Either way, he’d have left Florrie to cope on her own.’

‘Unless …’

They were both thinking the same thing. Someone who was confronted with the information that he’d fathered a child might have taken extreme measures to get rid of it. If he and Florrie had been close, he’d know the date of her birthday and be aware that the party was taking place in the outhouse at the pub. Again, the likelihood was that the man worked at the factory and therefore had access to materials that could be used to fashion a bomb. Marmion slipped a hand into an inside pocket and took out the lists that Leighton Hubbard had drawn up for him. One of the names could well belong to Florrie Duncan’s lover. They might have a second suspect. Herbert Wylie had apparently acted because he’d been rejected by a woman. It was the opposite case here. A man’s advances had been welcomed and he’d taken his pleasure with Florrie. What could have moved him to contemplate murder was the pressing need to remove her and her child from his life.

‘What will Chat make of it all?’ asked Keedy.

‘The superintendent has a mind that none can fathom, Joe.’

‘Are you going to tell him?’

‘I’ll wait until he rings me.’

‘I still think that Wylie might be our man.’

‘We can’t dismiss this new suspect,’ said Marmion, ‘whoever he might be. Thank goodness you called on Mrs Radcliffe. What sounded like idle tittle-tattle may turn out to be the solution to the crime.’

‘What about you, Harv?’

‘Oh, I uncovered no interesting new evidence. I did have some luck, though. When I got to Mr Harte’s house, he not only let me in, he had Brian Ingles there. It saved me a second visit.’

‘What did they have to say for themselves?’

Marmion gave him an abbreviated account of his time at Reuben Harte’s house. In view of what he now knew about Florrie Duncan, he could see that most of her father’s grandiose claims about her had been so much hot air. Ingles was blissfully unaware that his daughter had a new man in her life and that he’d impregnated Florrie. It would have been shattering news to her parents. Keedy was so enthralled by what he heard that he forgot to mention that Harte had earlier thought that Marmion looked shifty.

‘Ingles has a lovely house,’ he said, enviously. ‘Why sell it?’

‘That’s what I wondered.’

‘He surely can’t want anything bigger.’

‘Not when there are only the two of them there, Joe. I can tell you this, though. When my father was killed, the last thing my mother was thinking about was selling the house. It’s such a peculiar thing to do.’

‘Perhaps it’s his way of taking his mind off the funeral.’

‘We may never know,’ said Marmion. He looked at the telephone. ‘I suppose that I ought to contact Chat. No,’ he decided. ‘I’m not ready for him yet. He can wait. Let him stew in his own juice for a while.’

Claude Chatfield had learnt very early in his police career that overwhelming evidence could be deceptive and might dissolve under
close examination. When he heard about Herbert Wylie’s abrupt disappearance, he was quite certain that they’d found the man who’d planted the bomb. When releasing the name to the press, however, he was careful to describe Wylie as a person of interest to the police rather than as a definite culprit. And while he nursed the hope that they were in pursuit of the right man, he was experienced enough to brace himself for disappointment. A request from Marmion had helped him to unearth the fact that Eamonn Quinn had had convictions in the past and that drove Chatfield on to make further enquiries about him. Because the detective assigned to do the research had not come back to him, the superintendent assumed that he’d found nothing worth reporting.

He was wrong. When he returned to his office after a long session with the commissioner, Chatfield found a file on his desk. Flipping it open, he read the information with gathering concern. As soon as he’d finished, he moved across to the bookshelf and reached for a map of the British Isles.

Maureen Quinn was still totally confused. Conflicting emotions filled her mind and reduced her to a state of near paralysis. Father Cleary’s visit had been simultaneously reassuring and disturbing. While he made her feel that he cared for her plight, he unwittingly deepened it. After he left, she was more guilty, isolated and depressed than ever. When there was a tap on the door of her bedroom, Maureen felt as if someone was knocking on the top of her skull. She leapt up.