Five Dead Canaries (13 page)

‘I wouldn’t dream of asking her,’ he said with a note of shock in her voice. ‘You should know better than to suggest it. She was nearby when that bomb went off. It will have shattered her nerves.’

‘Supposing that she
wants
to play?’

‘There’s no chance of that, Mum. All she’ll want to do at the moment is to stay well away from the factory and the team. Maureen was a good goalkeeper but we’ll have to do without her. It would be cruel even to approach her.’

‘How do you feel now, Maureen?’

‘I just feel so … numb.’

‘That’s not unusual.’

‘I do things without really noticing that I’m doing them. For instance, I ate breakfast this morning but can’t tell you what I had.’

‘What about sleep?’

‘I did get some last night.’

‘That’s good to hear.’

After his visit to the priest, Joe Keedy had moved on to Maureen’s house, making sure that he arrived after her father had gone off to work. Talking to her in his presence was frustrating. As it was, it took him a long time to persuade her mother to let him interview Maureen on her own. Though she had no real objection to it, Diane was afraid of what her husband would say if she allowed a detective to question Maureen alone. It would be one more thing to hide from him. They sat opposite each other in the living room. Keedy decided that the sight of his notebook might inhibit her so he relied on memory instead.

‘Does your father know that you went to church yesterday?’ he began.

‘No – we didn’t tell him.’

‘Why did he stop you going there on a Sunday?’

‘He said that we’d grown out of it.’

‘Is that what you think, Maureen?’

She hunched her shoulders. ‘I have to do what my father tells me.’

‘What about your brothers?’

‘They were braver than me,’ she replied with a smile. ‘They were very naughty sometimes. Liam was the worst.’

‘But you’re pretty brave yourself, aren’t you?’ he asked. ‘If you play in goal for a football team, you have to have a lot of guts. That ball must come at you very hard and sometimes from a short distance.’

She nodded. ‘I broke a finger once,’ she said, ‘trying to save a penalty. I didn’t realise till after the game. You get carried away when you’re playing. You don’t always notice the pain.’

‘I know. I used to be in a football team at one time.’

‘We have a lot of injuries. Everyone takes it so seriously.’

‘And so they should. The competitive urge is very important. It’s what drives us on to take chances and push ourselves to the limit.’ She appeared to be listening but Keedy wasn’t sure that he had her full attention. ‘I’m told that Father Cleary came to see you yesterday.’

She sat up in surprise. ‘Who told you that?’

‘I called in to see him before I came on here. He said that you’d been a keen churchgoer at one time. You enjoyed the services.’

‘It’s true – I did.’

‘You certainly enjoyed them more than your brothers.’

She smiled again. ‘They could be wicked when they wanted to be.’

‘What did they think when they heard you’d taken up football?’

‘They laughed at first. They said that girls couldn’t play football because they were too slow and too weak. When they came home on leave, I took Liam and Anthony to the park and we put a couple of coats down to mark the goalposts. I stood between them,’ she recalled, warmed by the recollection. ‘They were amazed how many goals I saved. They stopped laughing after that.’

‘Tell me about the other girls at the birthday party.’

She became wary. ‘I’ve already done that, Sergeant.’

‘You told us a little about them, Maureen, but I’m sure that you left a lot out. It was too soon afterwards. You couldn’t be expected to remember everything.’ Her reluctance was almost tangible. ‘You’ll have to talk about them at the inquest.’

‘The inquest?’ she echoed, cowering on the settee.

‘It’s a legal requirement in cases like this.’

‘But why do I have to go to it?’

‘Your testimony is vital,’ he told her. ‘As the only survivor, what you say will carry a lot of weight. You’ll be asked about things you saw when you first arrived in that outhouse and what the general mood was.’

Maureen was transported for a moment back to the birthday party. She heard the excited chatter, saw the presents being opened by Florrie Duncan and remembered the song they all sang with such passion. They were barbed memories now.

‘Will I have to be there?’ she asked.

‘I’m afraid so,’ replied Keedy. ‘That’s why the more you talk about your friends to me, the easier it will be when the coroner asks you questions. He’ll want to know about the sequence of events but I want to delve a little deeper.’ Maureen was watchful. ‘You do want the person who planted that bomb caught, don’t you?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Then we need your assistance.’

She looked hunted. ‘There’s nothing else I can tell you, Sergeant.’

‘Oh, I think you can. You just don’t realise it yet. Let’s start with a comment you made when we first came here,’ he suggested. ‘You talked about Florrie Duncan looking out for you.’

‘That’s right – she was older and more experienced than the rest of us.’

‘You said that she stopped men at work from pestering you. Is that true?’

‘Oh, they never bothered me very much.’

‘What about the others?’ pressed Keedy. ‘We can leave out Florrie because she obviously wouldn’t stand any nonsense and Shirley Beresford was married so she was protected in a sense. The same goes
for Agnes Collier. She had a husband and a baby. But that still leaves Jean Harte and Enid Jenks.’

‘Jean lost her fiancé at the front. She never looked at another man.’

‘What about Enid?’

Maureen’s head fell to her chest and her body seemed to shrink into the settee. Keedy watched her struggle with feelings of guilt and betrayal. He was sorry that he had to put her under such pressure but believed that it was necessary. The women were bonded by the job they did and the visible consequences of doing it. They were likely to confide in each other. Maureen was a quiet, sensitive young woman whom the others could trust. She’d know what was happening under the surface of the lives of her friends.

She raised her eyes. ‘Will I have to say this at the inquest?’

‘No, Maureen, the questions will be confined to what happened at the pub.’

‘I wouldn’t want her father to know about it, you see.’

‘We certainly won’t tell him.’

‘He didn’t want Enid to have a boyfriend. He was very strict about that.’

‘Go on,’ he whispered.

‘But there was someone at the factory that Enid liked and it was obvious that he liked her. He was always there when she arrived and when she left the factory. In the end, he asked her out. She was too afraid to go at first. But,’ she recalled, ‘he didn’t give in. There were little presents and he was always very polite to her. So Enid took a chance. She told her father she was going out with some of her friends but she went off with this man instead.’

‘What happened?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Maureen, ‘but she was very strange the next day. All she’d say was that she never wanted to see him again.’

‘Was that the end of it?’

‘No, Sergeant,’ said Maureen. ‘It was the start of something else. He didn’t bother her at work because he knew that Florrie would go for him, but he followed Enid home and stood outside her house. When she went to church one Sunday, he was in the congregation even though he lived miles away from that parish.’

‘Didn’t she complain to her father?’

‘How could she? It would have meant telling him that she went out with the man and her father would have raised the roof. Enid was being persecuted and there was nothing she could do about it.’

‘Was he still stalking her at the time of that birthday party?’

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘To be honest, I’d forgotten all about him until you asked me about Enid. He really made her suffer. He kept sending her these little notes to say she’d never escape him. Enid showed me one. It was horrible.’

‘What did it say?’

‘It said that, if
he
couldn’t have Enid, then nobody would.’

Keedy took out his notebook. ‘I’ll need the man’s name.’

Royston Liddle was up early that morning to help the milkman on his rounds. He enjoyed the work because it gave him the opportunity to meet a large number of people in the area as he ladled milk out of the churns and into their jugs, basins or other receptacles. Liddle was also allowed to drive the horse and cart, a real treat for him. He yearned for a time when he had a milk round of his own even though he knew, in his heart, that it would never come about. He could never master the sums involved in charging the right amount of money. As an assistant, however, he did everything that was asked of him and it gave Liddle a sense of well-being. On his way back home, he passed the stricken pub once again. The landlord was standing outside, talking to Ezra Greenwell. Liddle joined them in time to hear the old man voice his uncompromising opinions.

‘Good riddance to them!’ snarled Greenwell.

‘That’s a shocking thing to say,’ Hubbard rebuked him.

‘But for those damned women, I’d have got back safely to my house
that night instead of being rushed to hospital with a mouth gushing with blood.’

‘You got off lightly, Ezra. The five of them were killed.’

‘Don’t ask me to mourn them. I’d prefer to give three cheers.’

‘That’s very bad of you,’ said Liddle, inserting himself into the discussion with his inane grin at variance with the seriousness of his argument. ‘The police told me it was murder. Nobody deserves to be blown up like that, Ezra. How would you like it if your daughter had been in the outhouse at the time?’

‘She’d have more sense than to take a job at the munition works,’ said Greenwell. ‘Martha knows that a woman’s place is in the home.’

‘My wife knows that,’ Hubbard chimed in, ‘but, in her case, staying in the home means working in the pub as well because we live above it. We used to, anyway. Those days could be over now.’

‘Then you should be blaming those stupid women as well.’

‘They didn’t
ask
to be killed by a bomb, Ezra.’

‘They brought bad luck and disaster to the Goose.’

‘It’s not their fault,’ said Liddle.

‘What do you know about it, you ignoramus?’

‘Royston is entitled to his opinion,’ said Hubbard.

‘Not when he starts talking out of his arse.’

Liddle was offended. ‘That’s rude, Ezra.’

‘Then bugger off. Nobody asked you to butt in.’

‘All I did was to say I’m sorry about those poor women.’

‘And so am I,’ added Hubbard, casting a jaundiced eye at the pub, ‘even though
I’ve
been left to pick up the pieces.’

‘When do you want me back?’ asked Liddle.

‘I’m not sure that I do, Royston.’

‘But you always said that I worked hard for you.’

‘It’s true – you did. And if we carry on at the Goose, I’ll want you there as usual. Do we start all over again or sell the pub to someone else? It’s not an easy decision to make, Royston.’

‘If you leave,’ boasted Liddle, ‘I’ll take over the Goose.’ The others laughed scornfully. ‘What’s the joke?’

‘You are,’ said Greenwell, cackling.

‘Running a pub is a complicated job,’ explained Hubbard. ‘I grew up in the trade because my father was a publican. It’s beyond you, Royston.’

‘I could
learn
.’

‘You haven’t even learnt your ABC properly,’ sneered Greenwell.

‘Yes, I have.’

‘Forget it, Royston,’ said the landlord with a fatherly hand on his shoulder. ‘The Goose is not for you. What you can do, you do very well. Be satisfied with that.’

Liddle accepted the truth of the advice. Since he was feeling hungry, he decided to go home for a late breakfast. As he walked away, he could hear the two of them still laughing at him. It was dispiriting but he soon shrugged off his irritation. After a lifetime of being derided, he found that mockery no longer hurt him. He was about to take a short cut through an alleyway when he remembered what had happened the last time he’d been that way. Alan Suggs had ambushed him and handled him roughly. Even though he knew that Suggs was probably at work, he took no chances of a second encounter, choosing instead to make a long detour. When he eventually came into his own street, he told himself that Suggs was not a danger to him. Having made some vile threats, he hadn’t carried them out. Besides, Liddle had Inspector Marmion on his side. He was protected.

Letting himself into the house, he went through to the scullery,
gathered up some lettuce and let himself out into the garden. Ready as he was for breakfast, he had to feed his rabbits first. They brought him a companionship he could never get from a human being so he always treated them with the greatest care. Liddle reached the hutch and unlocked the door, only to recoil in horror.

His beloved rabbits were no longer there.

They met at the local police station which had become their unofficial headquarters during the investigation. Keedy was interested to hear about the offer to pay the funeral expenses of the five victims, especially in view of the categorical way in which the works manager had refused even to consider the idea of paying any compensation to the female munition workers for the way that they changed colour and suffered ill health. He was also intrigued to learn more about the ladies’ football team and how much it had improved during its relatively short existence. Neil Beresford, he agreed, must be a truly outstanding coach. When he heard Keedy’s report, Marmion was intrigued to hear the latest revelation.

‘I knew that you’d winkle something out of Maureen,’ he said.

‘Some of the thanks must go to Father Cleary,’ Keedy pointed out. ‘He told me a great deal about the Quinn family and helped me to understand Maureen a little more. This news about Enid Jenks gives us another possible suspect.’

‘He may be more than that, Joe. If he works at the factory, the likelihood is that he’s capable of making explosives. Alan Suggs clearly wasn’t. That makes this chap – Herbert Wylie, was it? – sound much more promising.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘So much for Jenks’s claim that his daughter was never interested in boyfriends. I saw the photo of her. Enid was gorgeous. They must have come after her in swarms.’

‘Wylie was only her boyfriend momentarily, Harv,’ said Keedy. ‘After one night out together, she never wanted to see him again. He changed from a friend into a stalker. Wylie seems to have dogged her wherever she went.’

‘We need to speak to him as soon as possible.’

The room they were using was cold and cramped but it did have a telephone. Marmion snatched it up from the desk. He was soon talking to Bernard Kennett once again. When he rang off, he replaced the receiver.

‘He’s going to find out if Wylie clocked in this morning,’ he said. ‘If he did, we’ll go straight over there and haul him out of the Cartridge Section.’

‘It could be another false hope,’ warned Keedy.

Marmion was more optimistic. ‘I’m starting to feel that we may be on to something, Joe.’

‘Enid Jenks obviously had a torrid time with this chap.’

‘It’s that threat to kill her that interests me.’

‘Even the most tenacious unwanted admirer gives up after a while. Not in this case,’ noted Keedy. ‘It became an obsession with Wylie and we know the kind of extremes that that can drive people to. On the other hand,’ he continued, ‘I’m not getting too excited. He
sounds
like our man but, then, so did Alan Suggs.’

‘He was a different kettle of fish altogether. Suggs was no unwanted admirer. According to him, he was wanted by dozens of women at the factory. They were queuing up to go out with him, apparently.’

‘Well, he won’t be able to entice any of them into that outhouse again.’

They chatted for a few minutes until the telephone rang. Marmion took the call and nodded away as he listened. He then wrote something
down in his notebook. After thanking the works manager, he put down the receiver and turned to Keedy.

‘Well, well, well,’ he said.

‘What did Mr Kennett say?’

‘Supposing that you’d planted that bomb, Joe. When it went off, what would you do next?’

‘I’d run like hell,’ replied Keedy.

‘It looks as if Wylie did the same. He hasn’t been at work since the night of the explosion.’ Marmion tapped his notebook. ‘I’ve got his address here. Let’s pay a visit and see if he’s hiding under the bed.’

Diane Quinn was increasingly worried about her daughter. Maureen was somnolent, withdrawn and looking distinctly unwell. Whenever her mother suggested calling a doctor, however, she insisted that there was nothing wrong with her. She just wished to be left alone. Diane couldn’t even prise out of her the details of her conversation with Joe Keedy. Once the detective had left, Maureen had effectively clammed up. Diane was preparing lunch when she heard the door knocker. Fearing that it might be some more reporters, she went to the door with trepidation. When she opened it, however, she was astonished to see that her visitor was Sadie Radcliffe. They embraced impulsively, then Diane brought her into the house and took her into the living room. They stayed in each other’s arms for minutes. Sadie then broke away.

‘I came to apologise,’ she said.

‘There’s nothing to apologise for,’ insisted Diane.

‘Yes, there is and that’s why I had to come. I was so shocked by what happened that I lashed out in all directions. I said things about Maureen that …’ she paused in order to dab at moist eyes with a handkerchief ‘… that I regret very much. Instead of moaning because
she survived when Agnes died, I should be sharing your relief. Maureen is a lovely girl. She was a good friend to my daughter.’

‘She loved Agnes. They got on so well together.’

‘That’s what I should have remembered, Di.’

‘Sit down,’ invited Diane, easing her onto the settee and sitting beside her. ‘I wanted to come and see you but the truth is that … Eamonn thought it best not to.’

‘He was right. I was in a terrible mood when I first heard. I’m ashamed of what I said. And I was even ruder when you called on me, Di.’

‘That’s all in the past. No need even to think about it again.’ Diane looked at the grief burnt into the other woman’s face. ‘It must be unbearable for you.’

‘I’ll get by. It’s Terry I feel sorry for, not myself. He’ll have heard by now. They sent a telegram.’

‘Is there any chance that they’ll let him come back for the funeral?’

‘I don’t think the army does things like that. But I’m glad you mentioned the funeral. It’s something I wanted to discuss with you.’

She told Diane about the offer made by the factory and how it had thrown her into confusion. Annoyed at first that they should even think of trying to take over something as private as a family funeral, she’d come to see that there was some worth in the gesture. It would enable her daughter’s remains to be buried alongside those of her friends. She believed that that was what Agnes would have wanted.

‘What would you do, Di?’ she asked. ‘If it was Maureen, I mean.’

‘I wouldn’t make the decision – Eamonn would.’

‘And what would he say?’

‘I think he’d look for the advantages,’ said Diane. ‘If someone else was paying and taking over the arrangements, he’d think it was a load off his back.’

‘But would he want to share the actual burial?’

‘He might – but, then again, he might not. Eamonn is funny sometimes.’

‘I’ve no idea what the other families think about it. I wish I did. What I really came for was to ask Maureen’s opinion. She knew all the parents.’

A voice piped up behind them. ‘What did you want to ask me, Mrs Radcliffe?’

They turned to see Maureen standing in the doorway. Sadie’s response was to leap to her feet and wrap her arms around her with an amalgam of fondness and remorse. Maureen was perplexed. Agnes’s mother had never been quite so demonstrative before. Diane explained about the offer from the factory management. All three of them sat down to talk about it.

‘What do you think the other families will do, Maureen?’ asked Sadie.

Maureen shook her head. ‘I can’t really say.’

‘Put yourself in their shoes.’

‘I don’t know that I can, Mrs Radcliffe.’

‘Just try,’ urged her mother. ‘How will Florrie’s parents react, for instance?’

‘I fancy they’d be against it,’ said Maureen. ‘They’re nice people but Mr Ingles does give himself airs and graces sometimes. Florrie used to tease him about it. Because he earns a lot of money, he thinks that he’s above most people. My guess is that he wouldn’t want to share anything.’

‘What about Jean’s family – or Enid’s – or Shirley’s?’

‘I really don’t know,’ replied her daughter in obvious discomfort. ‘To be honest, it’s something I’d rather not discuss.’

‘I don’t have that luxury,’ said Sadie. ‘They want an answer fairly soon.’

‘Why not contact one of the other families?’ suggested Diane.

‘I don’t really know them.’

‘You’re Agnes’s mother. They’re bound to be sympathetic.’

‘I was hoping that Maureen might help out.’

Maureen tensed. ‘What can I possibly do?’

‘Well, you’ve met them all and been to their houses. I wondered if you’d be kind enough to come with me if I caught the train to Hayes. I’m sure that you’d like to express your condolences to them, in any case,’ Sadie went on. ‘You can introduce me and I can ask about that letter from Mr Kennett.’

‘Yes,’ said Diane, ‘you could do that, Maureen, couldn’t you?’

‘No,’ said her daughter, flatly.

‘But it would be such a help to Mrs Radcliffe.’

‘It would,’ endorsed Sadie. ‘I’d be ever so grateful.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Maureen, jumping to her feet, ‘but I just can’t do it. You’ll have to find someone else, Mrs Radcliffe. I simply want to be left alone.’

Without another word, she flounced out of the room and could be heard running up the stairs. Diane was crimson with embarrassment.

In telling her to avoid confrontation with a senior officer, Joe Keedy had given Alice Marmion sound advice. It was, however, easier to accept than to follow. Though she did her best to evade Inspector Gale, she couldn’t disobey a summons to meet her. Before she went into the office, she made sure that she smartened her uniform. Her tap on the door was met with a curt command so she went in. Thelma Gale was studying a report. Without even looking up, she beckoned
Alice towards her then kept her standing there for several minutes. It was a deliberate means of humiliating her but Alice didn’t complain, even though she could see that the inspector was not actually reading the words in front of her. When she finally sat back and looked up at Alice, the other woman was disappointed not to be able to find fault with her appearance.