Five Dead Canaries hf-3

by Edward Marston

  Harte turned to Marmion. ‘Was it Maureen Quinn, by any chance?’

  The pastoral care of his flock weighed heavily with Father Cleary and every day apart from the Sabbath consisted of a series of visits to people in distress or requiring comfort. In the course of an exceptionally busy afternoon, he made time to call on Maureen Quinn. Over a cup of tea, he chatted with Diane and her elder daughter. Pleased to see that Maureen looked and sounded better than at their previous meeting, Cleary was alarmed to hear of the offer made to the grieving families of the victims.

  ‘They’re advocating a collective burial?’ he said, gaping.

  ‘That’s what we’ve been told,’ replied Diane.

  ‘I find the very notion of it abhorrent — and I hope that you do.’

  ‘To be honest, Father Cleary, it worried me a little but my husband thought it was a good idea. Eamonn said that, if Maureen had died in that blast, then he’d have accepted the offer.’

  ‘Goodness gracious!’

  ‘It would have saved us a lot of money we don’t have.’

  ‘That’s a secondary consideration, Mrs Quinn,’ said the priest, sharply. ‘Besides, we’re always prepared to help out financially in cases of genuine need. We have a fund set aside for that purpose. It’s other aspects of the situation that are paramount.’

  ‘What do you mean, Father?’ asked Maureen.

  ‘A funeral is, by its very nature, a very private event.’

  ‘Yet they have mass funerals in France and Belgium,’ said Diane. ‘As you know, Liam and Anthony are both serving at the front. They’ve attended funerals where dozens of men have been buried at the same time.’

  ‘That’s a regrettable consequence of war, Mrs Quinn. Where large numbers are involved, they have to resort to such exigencies. There are only five victims here and they deserve a burial service that preserves their individuality. Had Maureen been in that situation,’ he continued, ‘I’d have done everything in my power to persuade you and your husband that, from start to finish, the funeral service should follow the established practice of the Roman Catholic Church. I’d hate to think that it would be diluted in any way.’

  ‘Sadie Radcliffe’s daughter was one of the victims. She came to ask my advice on the subject.’

  ‘What did you tell her?’

  ‘That I was glad I wasn’t put in the same position.’

  ‘I hope you pointed out that you wouldn’t have made any decision without consulting me.’

  ‘I’d have had to talk it over with my husband first,’ said Diane.

  ‘It was your duty to refer the matter to your parish priest.’

  ‘Luckily, the situation never arose.’

  ‘I sometimes wish that it had,’ said Maureen under her breath.

  ‘In none of the five cases,’ resumed Cleary, ‘is it a normal funeral. Most of the services at which I officiate relate to old people who’ve withdrawn gently from life and whose demise was inevitable. Here we have an instance of the most violent and heinous crime. Young women with whole lives before them have been summarily killed. In each case, the funeral needs to be handled with extreme sensitivity.’

  ‘I can see that, Father Cleary.’

  Diane could also see that he’d really come to talk with her daughter alone. Withdrawing to the kitchen on the pretext of making another pot of tea, she left the pair of them together. Cleary’s smile was filled with kindness and concern.

  ‘How are you, Maureen?’

  ‘I’m bearing up, Father Cleary.’

  ‘Have you been saying your prayers?’

  ‘I say them night and day.’

  ‘At a stroke,’ he said, ‘you lost five good friends. It’s a heavy cross to bear. As the survivor, you have responsibilities to the other families. Have you been in touch with any of them?’

  ‘Agnes’s mother — that’s Mrs Radcliffe — called here but I don’t feel that it’s right for me to visit any of the other parents. They might not wish to see me.’

  ‘I can’t see why you should think that. You could offer solace.’ She looked doubtful. ‘You could, Maureen. For one thing, you could give them precious details of what happened at the party. It might give them a modicum of cheer to know that their daughters died while they were happy. There might even be last words you can remember some of them saying. It would be something for parents to hold on to.’

  Maureen shuddered inwardly. She was dreading a meeting with the families of the victims. Even the conversation with Sadie Radcliffe had been a trial for her. Others might not be in as forgiving a mood as Agnes Collier’s mother. Yet she had to face them all sooner or later. The inquest was imminent and so were the funerals. If they did indeed all take place on the same day, she’d be spared the agony of having to attend all five separately and of being under intense scrutiny at successive events. From purely selfish motives, she hoped that the collective burial would take place at the cemetery. Her ordeal would be over in one fell swoop and the fact that so many people would attend meant that she’d be largely hidden in such a massive crowd.

  Father Cleary leant forward to take her hands and look into her eyes.

  ‘What’s troubling you, my child?’ he asked, softly.

  ‘Everything.’

  ‘I fancy that there’s something in particular.’

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘I just have this feeling all the time.’

  ‘What sort of feeling?’

  ‘It’s difficult to explain, Father. I keep thinking how … unworthy I am.’

  ‘You must never think that, Maureen.’

  ‘I can’t help it. As soon as I wake up, it’s still there.’

  ‘And is there no special reason for this sense of guilt?’ She lowered her head. ‘I asked you a question, Maureen.’

  She met his gaze. ‘There’s no special reason, Father Cleary.’

  But there was a distinct tremble in her voice.

  It fell to Joe Keedy to apprise Sadie Radcliffe of the latest development in the case. Marmion had already told Jonah Jenks and Neil Beresford about their new suspect, and he’d planned to go on to the homes of Reuben Harte and Brian Ingles. That left only Agnes Collier’s mother unaccounted for so Keedy paid her a visit. Having just put the baby down for a sleep, she spoke in a whisper as she hustled him into the house. Only when she’d closed the living room door behind them did she talk in her normal voice. Unsurprisingly, she looked harried and careworn.

  Keedy told her about the identification of Herbert Wylie as a suspect.

  ‘I’ve heard that name before,’ she recalled.

  ‘Do you remember what was said about him, Mrs Radcliffe?’

  ‘No, not really — it was one time when Maureen had called on Agnes. They were talking about the men they worked with and that name cropped up. It was something to do with the football team. Yes, that’s it,’ she decided. ‘Neither of them liked him. He used to turn up when Maureen and the others played in a match. He didn’t really have any interest in watching the game.’

  ‘A lot of men are like that, I’m afraid,’ said Keedy. ‘The opportunity of watching attractive young women running around in shorts is too good to miss for some of them.’

  ‘The person that Wylie was watching was Enid Jenks.’

  ‘I didn’t know that she was part of the team.’

  ‘She wasn’t, Sergeant, but she liked to support them now and again. That all stopped when this strange man kept turning up to stare at her.’

  ‘Did you overhear your daughter saying anything else about him?’

  ‘Only that she felt sorry for Enid,’ said Sadie, ‘because she didn’t really know what to do. Agnes was married so the men steered clear of her. And the few that didn’t got the cold shoulder. Agnes was very friendly with the men at the factory but that was as far as it went. Enid — at least, this is what I gathered — had no idea how to handle them. That’s why she was frightened of this man you mentioned.’

  ‘His name will be in the national newspapers tomorr
ow.’

  ‘Are you going to say why you want him caught?’

  ‘No,’ replied Keedy. ‘It’s just a general request for the public to keep their eyes peeled. What you’ve told me about Wylie ties in with what we already know. He persecuted Enid Jenks but her name will be kept out of the newspapers. We don’t want to cause her father any undue embarrassment.’

  ‘Does he know that you’re on this man’s tail?’

  ‘Oh, yes — Inspector Marmion went to tell him in person.’

  ‘In a way, it’s his fault — Mr Jenks, I mean.’

  ‘I’m not sure that I follow you.’

  ‘Well, I’m only going on what Agnes told me, of course,’ said Sadie, ‘but it seems that Enid wasn’t allowed to have a boyfriend. Her father made her spend all her time and energy on her music. He cut her off from the world. That’s unhealthy.’

  ‘I agree, Mrs Radcliffe.’

  ‘Enid just didn’t know how to cope with men.’

  As she expanded on her theme, Keedy could see that she’d taken a close interest in her daughter’s friends. Of the other four victims, she knew them all by name and character traits. Sadie had anecdotes about each one of them. But she’d clearly done more than catch the odd reference to Enid Jenks. She talked so knowledgeably about her that Keedy suspected she’d eavesdropped on conversations between Agnes and Maureen Quinn. When she was describing Florrie Duncan’s pre-eminence in the group, she remembered something.

  ‘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.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  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.