Five Dead Canaries

by Edward Marston

  ‘Then he’ll have to wait. It’s a police matter now. They’ll tell him all he needs to know. In the circumstances, he’d never expect you to turn up.’

  ‘Florrie Duncan would go, if she was in my position.’

  ‘That may be so, love, but poor Florrie is dead and won’t be going anywhere.’

  ‘We keep ourselves to ourselves,’ decreed Quinn.

  ‘Does that mean you’re staying off work as well?’ asked Lily in surprise.

  ‘No, it means that anybody who bothers me will get a flea in his ear.’

  Quinn had a job delivering coal and there were several specks of it embedded in his beard and under his fingernails. He was a surly man at the best of times. The latest development would do nothing to improve his manner or his temper.

  ‘And that goes for the coppers,’ he added. ‘We don’t want them poking their noses into our business. Maureen has said her piece to them. That’s all they get.’

  Imparting painful news to grieving relatives was something he’d had to do a fair amount in his career and Joe Keedy always found it difficult. He was, therefore, grateful that Marmion took over when they called at Agnes Collier’s house. The inspector was older, more experienced and always seemed to find the right words. Invited in by Sadie Radcliffe, they went into the living room and noticed how scrupulously tidy it was. Sadie had been knitting and a half-finished jumper stood on the arm of a chair. Like her daughter, she was short, tubby and fair-haired. She wore a pinafore over her dress and a turban on her head. Marmion suggested that she might like to sit down but she insisted on standing. There was an indomitable quality about her that suggested she was used to hearing and coping with distressing news. While Marmion cleared his throat, she stood there with her arms folded and peered at him over the top of her wire-framed spectacles.

  ‘Something’s happened to Agnes, hasn’t it?’ she said, stiffening.

  ‘I’m afraid that it has, Mrs Radcliffe.’

  ‘Is it serious?’ He gave a nod. ‘I knew it. I expected her back over an hour ago. My husband will be wondering where I am.’

  ‘Would you like us to contact him before we go into any detail?’

  ‘No, Inspector, all he’s interested in is his supper. Tell me the worst. I’ve been bracing myself for this ever since she went to work at that factory. Agnes has had a bad accident, hasn’t she?’

  ‘This is nothing to do with her job – except indirectly, that is.’

  ‘So what’s happened to her?’

  Speaking quietly, Marmion gave her a brief account of events at the Golden Goose. Keedy, meanwhile, positioned himself so that he could catch the woman if she fainted but his services were not required. Sadie stood her ground and absorbed the bad tidings without flinching. Her first reaction was to look sorrowfully upwards as she thought about the implications for her grandson. He would wake the next day to discover that he no longer had a mother. Sadie pressed for more details and Marmion obliged her, even though he was uncertain how much of the information she was actually hearing because she seemed to go off in a trance.

  When she eventually came out of it, she fired a question at Marmion.

  ‘What were the names of the others?’ she demanded.

  ‘Sergeant Keedy has the full list.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Keedy, taking out his notebook and flipping to the correct page. ‘Here we are, Mrs Radcliffe. The other victims are as follows – Florence Duncan, Enid Jenks, Shirley Beresford and Jean Harte.’

  ‘What about Maureen Quinn? She was there as well.’

  ‘She was fortunate enough to leave before the bomb went off.’

  ‘That’s just the kind of thing she’d do,’ said Sadie with asperity. ‘Talk about the luck of the Irish. It had to be Maureen, didn’t it?’

  ‘You should be pleased to hear that someone escaped the blast.’

  ‘I am, Sergeant, but why wasn’t it my daughter? Why couldn’t she have left that pub in time? It’s so unfair. Agnes has got a husband at the front and she works at that factory all the hours that God sends us. Doesn’t that entitle her to a bit of luck? Hasn’t she earned it?’ she went on with undisguised bitterness. ‘Why does it always have to be Maureen? Who’s she that she gets special treatment time and again?’

  ‘There’s no answer to that, Mrs Radcliffe.’

  ‘Agnes lost her first baby and damn near killed herself bringing her little lad into the world. It was one thing after another. She always seemed to be the one who got hurt most.’

  ‘In this instance,’ Marmion noted, ‘there were four other victims.’

  Sadie lowered herself onto the arm of the settee. ‘Yes, I know,’ she conceded, ‘and I’m sorry for their families. They’ll feel the way I do.’ She drifted off again for a few moments then gave a wan smile. ‘Funny, isn’t it?’

  ‘What is, Mrs Radcliffe?’

  ‘The one thing I feared most was that Agnes would be killed in an explosion at work. It happens in all the munition factories, only they keep it out of the papers most of the time. There have been two cases at Hayes, though they were in the Cap and Detonator Section. I used to thank God that my daughter didn’t work there.’

  ‘It’s a dangerous place,’ said Marmion. ‘The mercury fulminate they use is highly explosive and can be very unstable.’

  ‘Yet it was outside the factory that Agnes came to grief.’

  ‘Yes, it is ironic, I agree.’

  ‘Who did it, Inspector?’ she asked, getting up again.

  ‘It’s too early to say.’

  ‘You must have some idea.’

  ‘We’ve already set an investigation in motion. That means we have to gather evidence slowly and painstakingly.’

  ‘But you will catch him, won’t you?’ she pleaded. ‘You will arrest the devil who did this terrible thing to my daughter.’

  ‘We will, Mrs Radcliffe.’

  She fixed him with a glare. ‘Is that a promise?’

  ‘It’s both a promise and a firm commitment,’ said Marmion. ‘This is a heinous crime. However long it takes, we’ll get the person or persons behind it.’

  Superintendent Claude Chatfield expected his officers to work hard but he also pushed himself to the limit. Long after the time when he should have gone home, he was still at his desk in Scotland Yard, reading his way through a sheaf of papers and making notes in the margin. When the telephone rang, he snatched it up and barked into the receiver.

  ‘Is that you, Marmion?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ came the reply. ‘I’m ringing from the police station in Hayes.’

  ‘What have you discovered?’

  ‘The situation is very bad. It’s also rather confused.’

  ‘Have you identified the victims?’

  ‘Thanks to the sole survivor, we have the names and addresses of the other five women. Next of kin have been informed in all five cases.’

  ‘Give me the full picture.’

  Taking a deep breath, Marmion launched into his report. He kept one eye on the notes in front of him and confined himself to the known facts. There was nothing that the superintendent hated as much as uninformed guesswork and the last thing that Marmion wanted to do was to arouse his ire. When he’d heard the full report, Chatfield was ready with a crucial question.

  ‘Should we call in Special Branch?’

  ‘I don’t think so, sir.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘That’s my considered opinion.’

  ‘Does it have any basis in fact?’

  ‘I believe so,’ said Marmion. ‘This outrage was specifically aimed at one or all of the six people who attended that party. There’s no propaganda value whatsoever for the enemy. These were ordinary young women who simply wanted to celebrate a birthday. For reasons unknown, someone objected to the occasion and was ready to go to extreme lengths to stop it.’

  Chatfield was irritable. ‘What are you trying to tell me, Inspector?’

  ‘The killer was a local man with a good knowledge of explosives.�
�

  ‘There’s no shortage of people like that in Hayes.’

  ‘Quite – that’s why the munitions factory will have to be put under the microscope. We may well find that the person we’re after works there. It would put him in the right place to hear about the time and place of that birthday party.’

  ‘Have you made any contact with the factory?’

  ‘Sergeant Keedy paid a visit there earlier on. They allowed him to use their telephone to ring the home of the works manager, Mr Kennett. He’s been apprised of the details and promised to give us all the help we need.’

  ‘That’s a relief,’ said Chatfield. ‘Strict security always surrounds munitions factories. Just getting through the front gate is an achievement. They work on the theory that everyone is a potential spy.’

  ‘It’s probably the safest thing to do, sir.’

  ‘I daresay it is. Thank you, Inspector. You seem to have been to the right places and asked the right questions. I’ll draft a report and leave it on the commissioner’s desk.’ He sucked his teeth. ‘Five young lasses blown to smithereens at a party – the press will go to town on this story. Make sure you don’t tell them too much.’

  ‘I never do, Superintendent.’

  ‘If you’re heading back to Scotland Yard, you may find me still beavering away in my office.’

  ‘Don’t wait there for us,’ said Marmion, anxious to avoid seeing him at the end of a long day. ‘We still have a lot of work to do here, sir. The sergeant wants me to meet Maureen Quinn. Something about her troubled him somewhat.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘That’s what I’m off to find out. I’ll report to you first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Good,’ said Chatfield, suppressing a yawn. ‘And you’re quite sure that we’re looking for a local man.’

  Marmion was adamant. ‘I’d stake my pension on it, Superintendent.’

  Midnight found the two constables still on duty outside the Golden Goose. It was lonely work. The disaster had exhausted the curiosity of those in the vicinity so nobody came to pry. They chatted, complained about the chill wind, then moaned when a steady drizzle began to fall. Huddled in the doorway of the pub, they exchanged a few jokes to pass the time. Neither of them even saw the figure that approached silently on the other side of the street and kept to the shadows. When he reached the Golden Goose, the man stopped, looked at the debris, then walked on with a smile of deep satisfaction.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When he heard the knock at the front door, Eamonn Quinn thought at first that it was a nosy neighbour who’d caught wind of the explosion at a pub in Hayes. Ready to dispatch the caller with a few choice words, he was taken aback when he opened the door and saw two well-dressed strangers standing there. Marmion performed the introductions and asked politely if they might speak to his daughter.

  ‘She’s gone to bed,’ said Quinn, abruptly.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, sir. We were very much hoping for a word with her.’

  ‘Well, it’s not convenient. Maureen will be fast asleep by now.’

  ‘Then we won’t disturb her.’

  He was about to turn away when Maureen came into the narrow passageway.

  ‘Who is it, Daddy?’

  ‘Hello,’ said Keedy, recognising her. ‘It seems that your daughter is not quite so tired after all, Mr Quinn. May we come in and talk to her?’

  ‘Only if I’m present,’ insisted Quinn, annoyed that he’d been caught lying.

  ‘You and your wife are most welcome to sit in on the discussion, sir.’ He smiled at Maureen and indicated his companion. ‘This is Inspector Marmion who’s in charge of the investigation. He was keen to meet you face-to-face.’

  ‘Good evening,’ said Marmion, removing his hat. ‘I’m sorry that it’s rather late to be calling but this is in the nature of an emergency.’

  Quinn grudgingly invited the detectives in, took them into the living room and asked his wife and younger daughter to leave. He and Maureen then sat together on the settee opposite their visitors. Arm around his daughter, Quinn adopted a protective pose and glared at them. The detectives could see that he might be a problem. Marmion turned to Maureen, perched nervously on the edge of her seat.

  ‘We’ve just come from Agnes Collier’s house,’ he explained. ‘Her mother is now aware of the tragic events at the Golden Goose. She bore up surprisingly well.’

  ‘Sadie Radcliffe is a tough character,’ said Quinn.

  ‘So is your daughter, from what I hear.’

  ‘She’s been brought up proper, Inspector. We don’t mollycoddle children.’

  Maureen eyed them anxiously. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Well,’ said Keedy, taking his cue, ‘we’d really like a bit more detail about the other people at the party. Essentially, all that you told me earlier were their names and addresses. Because you were in such a delicate state, I didn’t want to press you too hard. But the inspector feels that we can’t leave without some indication of the sorts of people your friends were. We know a little about Agnes Collier, of course, from her mother – but what about the others?’

  ‘For instance,’ said Marmion, ‘tell us about Florrie Duncan. I understand that it was her birthday. How old was she?’

  ‘Twenty-nine,’ replied Maureen. ‘She was the oldest of us.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I was the youngest.’

  ‘I spoke on the phone to Mr Kennett, the works manager’ said Keedy. ‘He was horrified at the turn of events. The one name that he recognised was Florrie Duncan. He described her as the kind of person who’d make an impression anywhere.’

  ‘That’s true,’ agreed Maureen, brightening a little. ‘She was always so full of life. Florrie looked out for us. If there was ever any trouble at work, she’d always step in and help.’

  ‘What kind of trouble?’ asked Quinn, bristling.

  ‘Oh, it was nothing serious, Daddy. It’s just that some of the men—’

  ‘Did they pester you, Maureen? You should have told me. I’d have put a stop to that right away. I won’t let anyone hassle my daughter.’

  ‘Florrie kept an eye on me,’ said Maureen. ‘She could see off anyone. And if some of the managers got too bossy, she’d stand up to them. Nobody pushed Florrie Duncan around.’

  Marmion was interested. ‘Were you in the National Federation of Women?’

  ‘Yes, Inspector – Florrie made us join even though trade union activity was banned at the factory.’

  ‘Now that’s something I don’t agree with,’ Quinn interjected. ‘I mean, it’s bad enough making women work in a place like that until they turn bright yellow. Getting them into a union is going too far.’

  ‘They’re entitled to protect themselves, Mr Quinn,’ said Keedy. ‘That’s what trade unions are for – to stop workers being exploited. Well, you must be in one yourself.’

  ‘No need, Sergeant – I deliver coal. Only a fool would try to exploit me. But you take my point? Trade unions for women – well, it’s just not right.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Marmion, crisply, ‘your opinion is noted but it’s not really relevant. It’s Maureen we want to hear, Mr Quinn. She worked alongside these young women. She has information about that birthday party that nobody else has.’

  Quinn was peevish. ‘Please yourselves.’

  ‘Go on telling us about Florrie Duncan,’ said Marmion, nodding at her. ‘It sounds to me as if she was a kind of mother to the rest of you.’

  ‘Yes, she was, Inspector,’ replied Maureen as if it was the first time that the idea had every occurred to her. ‘That’s exactly what she was. If you had a problem, you’d always turn to her. I remember when Enid – that’s Enid Jenks – was having terrible rows at home with her father. She asked Florrie for advice and things got a lot easier after that.’

  The detectives let her ramble on. Now that Quinn had been silenced, his daughter was able to talk at will. Slow and hesitant at first, she became more animat
ed, talking about her friends with a mixture of affection and sadness. The individual characters of the murder victims began to emerge. Evidently, Florrie Duncan was the dominant personality. Jean Harte was a pessimist, always fearing the worst and prone to a succession of minor ailments. Enid Jenks was a gifted violinist and had ambitions to be a professional musician until a patriotic urge had taken her into the munitions factory. Maureen was quite fluent until she reached the last of the victims. When she came to a sudden halt, Keedy had to prompt her.

  ‘What about Shirley Beresford?’

  ‘She was … very nice.’

  ‘Tell us a bit more about her.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Marmion, gently. ‘Was she single or married? What did she do before she came to work at the factory? Who were her closest friends? Did she have any hobbies? What do you remember most about her?’

  It was all too much for Maureen. Having exhausted her ability to bring the women back to life, she was now overcome by the horror of their deaths. It was borne in upon her that she’d never see any of them and hear their lively banter. They’d been wiped instantaneously out of her life. Hands to her face, she burst into tears and bent forward. Her father put an arm around her and pulled out a grubby handkerchief to thrust at her. As his daughter continued to sob, he looked accusingly at the visitors.

  ‘Did you have to badger her like that?’ he said.

  ‘Your daughter has given us a lot of important information, Mr Quinn,’ said Marmion. ‘Until now, she was doing extraordinarily well. But I can see that we’ve gone as far as we can now,’ he added, getting up. ‘Thank you, Maureen.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Keedy, also on his feet now, ‘it was very brave of you. We’re sorry to intrude at such a time but you’ll appreciate that this is a criminal investigation. We need all the help we can get if we’re to bring the person who planted that bomb to justice.’

  ‘Make sure you catch the bastard before I do,’ growled Quinn. ‘If I get my hands on him first, there won’t be anything left for the hangman.’

  In search of more comfort, Ellen and Alice Marmion had adjourned to the living room. Every so often, one of them would glance up hopefully at the clock on the mantelpiece, only to be jolted by the lateness of the hour. Ellen had been very unhappy at the notion of her daughter giving up her job as a teacher to join the Women’s Emergency Corps. While she admired the sterling work performed by the organisation, she feared – wrongly, as it turned out – that it would be filled with militant suffragettes who’d have a bad influence on Alice. She was even less pleased with her daughter’s move into the ranks of the police force, believing that law enforcement was primarily a job for men. They not only had the necessary strength and stamina, they were less likely to be shocked by some of the hideous sights they’d inevitably see and more able to cope with situations of grave danger.