Five Dead Canaries hf-3

by Edward Marston

  ‘It’s what she wanted to do, Brian,’ soothed his wife.

  ‘It was wrong — and look where it got her.’

  Feeling that he’d won the argument, he sat back and folded his arms. It was the first whiff of disagreement between him and June. The detectives realised that he could be more assertive than he looked and wondered if Brian Ingles was one of the reasons why Florrie hadn’t wished to return home after the loss of her husband. Patently, her father felt that working at the factory was far beneath her. Left to him, she’d still be typing letters for solicitors.

  ‘Mr Ingles raises an interesting point,’ said Marmion, looking from husband to wife. ‘There were five victims of that explosion and — had Maureen Quinn stayed there minutes longer — there would have been six. Why were they picked on? Was one or all of them a target?’

  ‘We’ve established that the outhouse where the party was held was very rarely used,’ said Keedy. ‘In other words, whoever set off that bomb knew that someone would be inside it at a particular time.’

  ‘What are you trying to tell us?’ asked June, anxiously.

  ‘The bomber must have hated someone at that party.’

  ‘Well, it couldn’t have been Florrie. Nobody could hate her.’

  ‘Are you certain of that, Mrs Ingles?’ probed Marmion. ‘Even the most popular people can sometimes have enemies. Indeed, their very popularity can arouse envy in some twisted minds. The fact is that it was your daughter’s birthday party. Everything revolved around her. I want you to think very carefully before you answer this question,’ he said. ‘Can you remember any occasion — any occasion at all — when Florrie upset someone by deliberately being rude or hostile to them?’

  All that June could do was to stare at him open-mouthed but the question infuriated her husband. Leaping to his feet and shaking all over, he pointed to the door.

  ‘I’d like you both to leave right now, Inspector,’ he said, forcefully. ‘Our daughter has been murdered. Don’t you think we’ve got enough to put up with? Coming here and asking questions like that is an insult to Florrie. It’s disgusting. Please go away and leave us alone.’

  After a flurry of apologies, the detectives left the house and got back into the waiting car. Marmion wondered what had prompted Ingles’s extreme reaction. Turning to him, Keedy gave a wry smile.

  ‘I shouldn’t mention that to the superintendent, if I were you,’ he said.

  CHAPTER TEN

  When he got home that evening, Eamonn Quinn found a kettle of hot water waiting for him on the stove. He poured it into a chipped enamel basin and washed off the grime of a day’s work. As he dried himself with a threadbare towel, his wife came into the kitchen.

  ‘What sort of a day did you have?’ she asked.

  ‘It was terrible. Everyone wanted to ask about Maureen.’

  ‘Well, it’s only natural.’

  ‘They kept on and on. I couldn’t stand it, Di.’ He hung the towel on a hook. ‘What about you — any visitors?’

  ‘We had lots,’ she replied, ‘but I didn’t let any of them in. Well, not until Father Cleary called, that is. I couldn’t turn him away.’

  Quinn glared. ‘What was that old fool doing here?’

  ‘He came to offer his condolences.’

  ‘Well, he could have done that on the doorstep.’

  ‘Father Cleary wanted to speak to Maureen.’

  ‘I told you to let nobody in.’

  ‘He’s our parish priest, Eamonn. He has rights. In any case, Maureen was willing to talk to him and I thought that was a good sign. She’s even agreed to go to Mass on Sunday.’

  He was aggrieved. ‘What on earth did she do that for?’

  ‘It’s what she wanted,’ said Diane. ‘I may go with her.’

  ‘Well, don’t expect me to be there. I’ve had my fill of Father Cleary and his interference. I’m not having anyone telling me how to live my life.’

  ‘But you were baptised and married in a Roman Catholic church. You made vows. We both did. We promised to bring up our children in the Catholic faith.’

  ‘I agreed to a lot of things when we were younger,’ he said, dismissively. ‘Then I realised that most of them were a waste of time.’ He rolled down the sleeves of his shirt. ‘No sign of those detectives?’

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘Good — they’re worse than that damn priest.’

  ‘They need help, Eamonn. We can’t stop them questioning Maureen.’

  ‘Yes, we can. Say that she’s too ill to talk to anybody.’

  ‘But she might be able to tell them something useful.’

  ‘How can she?’ he demanded. ‘Maureen doesn’t have a clue who set off that bomb. The only thing we need worry about is the fact that she didn’t die in the blast.’

  ‘That’s being selfish,’ she protested. ‘What about the victims?’

  ‘They’re not our concern, Di.’

  ‘Yes, they are — especially Agnes. Have you forgotten how often she used to come here with the baby? She was a good friend to Maureen. They did everything together. If it had been our daughter who’d been killed instead of Agnes Collier,’ she said, ‘I bet that Agnes would have been round here like a shot to offer her sympathy.’

  He curled a lip. ‘Well, don’t ask me to offer any sympathy to Sadie Radcliffe. She was always jealous of Maureen. I never liked the woman.’

  ‘That’s beside the point. She’s in need of comfort.’

  ‘She won’t get it from me — and neither will the other families.’

  Diane was stung. ‘There are times when you sicken me, Eamonn Quinn,’ she said, confronting him. ‘As long as you can have meals put in front of you and go off to the pub every evening, you don’t give a damn about anybody else.’

  ‘Family comes first.’

  ‘Those five girls were blown up. Doesn’t that matter to you?’

  ‘Not as long as Maureen is still alive.’

  ‘That’s shameful,’ she said, fully roused for once. ‘It’s not us that should be going to church on Sunday, it’s you. I think you ought to get down on your knees and thank God that our daughter was spared.’

  ‘Calm down, Di,’ he said, putting a clumsy arm around her. ‘There’s no need to get so upset about it. And yes, of course I’m grateful that Maureen left that party when she did, but I’m not going to make a song and dance about it. As for the pub,’ he added, ‘they won’t see me there tonight. It’d be like facing the Inquisition. I’ll have to get some bottled beer instead and drink it here.’ When he tried to kiss her, she pulled away. ‘What’s wrong now?’

  ‘I’m not in the mood.’

  ‘It’s not like you to argue.’

  ‘You can be so maddening sometimes, Eamonn.’

  ‘Anyone would think that I planted that bomb,’ he whined. When his wife continued to stare at him with disdain, his self-pity turned to anger. He reached out to grab her shoulder and pull her closer. ‘Don’t you dare say a word about that.’

  ‘It happened,’ she said, coldly. ‘You can’t deny it.’

  ‘You’re to say nothing,’ he decreed. ‘If the coppers come sniffing around again, tell them that Maureen is ill and send them on their way. Don’t answer any questions. Do you understand?’

  Diane regarded him with mingled fear and disgust. Their daughter’s escape had not just reminded her of the importance of religion in their lives. It had told her something very unpleasant about the man she married.

  ‘I’ll make your tea,’ she said.

  Seated behind his desk, Claude Chatfield read the article with mounting annoyance until he reached the point where he could bear it no longer. He flung the newspaper aside and fumed in silence. When there was a tap on the door, he barked an invitation.

  ‘Come in!’

  ‘Good evening, sir,’ said Marmion, entering the room and closing the door behind him. ‘I knew that I’d find you still here.’

  Chatfield indicated the newspaper. ‘Have you read this?�
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  ‘I try to read very few papers when I’m involved in an investigation. They’re not good for my blood pressure.’

  ‘This nincompoop was at the press conference because I remember seeing him there, but he obviously didn’t listen to a word you said.’

  ‘Did he appeal for witnesses? That’s all I care about.’

  ‘It’s the one valuable thing he did do,’ said the superintendent. ‘In his article, he’s trying to solve the case for us.’

  ‘On the basis of what evidence?’ asked Marmion.

  ‘Why bother with evidence when you have a vivid imagination? You made it perfectly clear that you believed one, or all of those women, was deliberately killed by someone with a grudge. That’s too prosaic a murder for this chap. He thinks it’s the work of dissidents from central Europe.’

  Marmion snorted in disbelief. ‘What are they doing at a pub in Hayes?’

  ‘There are immigrants living in the locality, it seems. He got that bit right. The rest of the article is arrant nonsense. It hangs on the debatable claim that bombs are the favoured weapon of political hotheads in places like Austria-Hungary. In other words,’ said Chatfield with heavy sarcasm, ‘all you have to do is to round up any wild-eyed Serbs in the area and the case is solved.’

  ‘If only it were that easy!’ said Marmion.

  ‘Forget the press. Since they won’t work with us, we’ll manage on our own. Now then,’ he went on, sitting upright. ‘When we last spoke, you were about to interview the parents of Florence Duncan.’

  ‘That’s right, sir. It turned out to be a shorter interview than we thought.’

  ‘Oh — why is that, pray?’

  Marmion described what had happened and how the subdued Brian Ingles had lost his temper and, effectively, thrown them out. His wife had been embarrassed and apologised profusely as she showed them to the door. She told them that her husband had been paralysed with grief when he first heard the news and that neither of them had had a wink of sleep since. Chatfield listened, pondered, tapped the ends of his fingers together, then showed a real grasp of detail.

  ‘So what we have are five victims and five varying responses to their deaths from the respective families. Agnes Collier’s mother was hurt and resentful,’ he recalled, ‘Shirley Beresford’s husband had to take to his bed, Enid Jenks’s father showed no real emotion and denied that she might have welcomed male attention, Jean Harte’s father didn’t let Sergeant Keedy get any further than the mat inside the front door and Florence Duncan’s parents found the notion that she might actually have enemies to be tantamount to slander.’

  ‘Nobody was prepared to admit that their daughter could possibly have upset someone enough to provoke an attack on their life.’

  ‘It all comes back to one thing, Inspector. How well do we actually know our children? The brutal answer, I suspect, is we have only limited insight. It’s rather humbling. I have five children but I’d never claim to know the inner workings of their minds. And look what happened with your daughter.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s at all relevant,’ said Marmion, quickly.

  ‘Of course, it is. Alice is the same age as some of those victims. She probably has the same interests and similar ambitions. I’m sure that you thought you knew her inside out, yet she pulled the wool over your eyes.’

  ‘That’s not what happened, Superintendent.’

  ‘I heard the gossip. She and the sergeant were carrying on behind your back.’

  ‘They’re engaged to be married,’ said Marmion, struggling to keep his composure, ‘and my wife and I are very happy about it. As for gossip, it’s never reliable. For instance, I heard a rumour that you were about to resign because you couldn’t cope with the pressures of the job.’

  ‘That’s a vicious calumny!’ snapped Chatfield. ‘I’ve never felt fitter and wouldn’t dream of walking away from a job that I love and do extremely well.’

  In fact, Marmion had invented the rumour just to bait him. It had the desired effect and distracted the superintendent away from Alice. He spent minutes defending his record as a senior officer and asked who first spread the poisonous tale about him.

  ‘I don’t know, sir,’ said Marmion, stoutly. ‘If I ever find out, I’ll box his ears then drag him along here. There’s great respect for you among the men.’

  That, too, was well short of the truth but it seemed to mollify Chatfield.

  ‘Let’s get back to the case in hand,’ he said.

  ‘You forgot to mention the reaction of Maureen Quinn’s parents, sir.’

  ‘I was coming to that, Inspector. Her mother, Diane, was horrified but her father — Eamonn, was it? — tried to turn you away by saying his daughter was in bed. When that lie was exposed, he insisted in sitting in on the interview and trying to browbeat Maureen. You had to shut him up to get anything substantive out of her.’

  ‘Mr Quinn has no time for the police, sir.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Chatfield, picking up a slip of paper, ‘you told me that and gave it as your opinion that he’d been in trouble with the law. You’re right. I checked.’

  ‘What did you find out, sir?’

  ‘He’s been fined twice for causing an affray.’

  ‘Quinn is a strong man,’ said Marmion. ‘I wouldn’t want to get too close to him when he’s had too much to drink. He’s the kind of person who likes to settle an argument with his fists.’

  ‘Then there’s a possible motive behind the bomb blast.’

  ‘I’m not sure that I detect it, sir.’

  ‘Wake up, man. Quinn probably has dozens of enemies. One of them may have wanted to get back at him by killing his daughter.’

  ‘Then why not attack her on her own?’

  ‘The birthday party presented an irresistible opportunity.’

  ‘No,’ said Marmion, ‘I’m afraid that your theory doesn’t hold water. How would this supposed enemy of Eamonn Quinn even be aware of the party? It was in Hayes and Maureen lives miles away. Someone local who nursed ill will against her father wouldn’t even know where the Golden Goose was.’

  ‘He would if he worked at the factory as well,’ argued Chatfield.

  ‘I don’t think that Quinn is the key factor here, Superintendent. We have to look in more depth at the private lives of the five victims and the survivor. There has to be a connecting thread somewhere.’

  ‘You won’t find it if you alienate the parents as you did earlier today.’

  ‘Mr Ingles was overwrought. We’ve seen it happen before.’

  ‘Are you going to have another go at him tomorrow?’

  ‘We’ll talk to the neighbours first,’ said Marmion, reflectively. ‘Florrie was a real extrovert. They’ll all have a tale to tell about her. And I don’t care how lovable she was supposed to be. We all have enemies — even someone like you, sir.’

  Chatfield’s ears pricked up. ‘Have you heard rumours to that effect?’

  It was late when Keedy picked her up from her flat but the café at the end of the road was still open and they were able to find a table in a quiet corner. Over a light supper, Alice told him about her brother’s imminent return from the front and he was thrilled at the news. She also talked about her day and basked in the pleasure of seeing him again, albeit for a short time. Keedy pounced on one remark she made.

  ‘Inspector Gale has been hounding you again?’

  ‘She likes to put me down, Joe.’

  ‘Then you should learn to avoid her,’ he counselled. ‘When I first joined the police, I had this bully of a sergeant who liked to use me as a punch bag. So I learnt to keep out of his way and — when that wasn’t possible — I always made sure that there was someone with me. The sergeant didn’t hector me half as much when I had a witness. In the end, he switched his attention to another new recruit and made his life a misery instead.’

  ‘Gale Force doesn’t make my life a misery,’ said Alice. ‘She just pecks away at me and it’s always about the same thing — Daddy.’
r />   He grinned. ‘Don’t I get a mention?’

  ‘Yes, you do, because she knows that you’re working on the case as well.’

  ‘Ah, I see. She thinks you’re getting a whiff of a murder investigation while she’s confined to more mundane matters. She envies your privileged position, Alice.’

  ‘It’s a double-barrelled privilege, that’s what really upsets her. I not only have a father with an unparalleled record as a detective, I’m engaged to the most handsome man at Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Well, I can’t disagree with that bit,’ he said, complacently.

  ‘Don’t be so vain,’ she scolded.

  He laughed. ‘I can’t help it if I was born with such good looks.’

  ‘No, but you can help boasting about it.’

  She prodded him playfully. In fact, he was not at his best at that moment. The long hours at work were taking their toll. Keedy’s eyes were red-rimmed and his frown lines were accentuated. Even the delight of seeing her hadn’t enabled him to shake off his fatigue. While she knew that he’d pay no heed to the advice, she told him that he needed more sleep, then she guided him gently around to the subject of the investigation. He held up both hands.

  ‘Stop there, Alice.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Your father says that I’m not to discuss the case with you.’

  ‘Daddy isn’t here at the moment, is he?’

  ‘Are you asking me to disobey a senior officer?’

  ‘I’m asking you to tell me what you’ve been up to, that’s all. It’s not a state secret, is it? Nobody else will ever know. Where’s the harm in it?’

  Keedy hesitated. ‘I shouldn’t be doing this, Alice. Your father is bad enough but the superintendent would go berserk if he knew that I was revealing details of the case to someone who had no right to hear them. You’re not qualified, Alice.’

  ‘I’m going to be your wife — what better qualification is there than that? Besides,’ she added, ‘I’m doing you a favour by asking.’