Five Dead Canaries (16 page)

‘Who cares about your bloody house?’ she said to herself. ‘In case you forgot, Florrie died in that explosion with Agnes. How can you think about anything else but your daughter?’

Harvey Marmion felt that Leighton Hubbard deserved to know about the emergence of a suspect before he read it in the newspapers the next day. As
a courtesy to the landlord, therefore, he and Joe Keedy drove to the pub in search of him. Repairs were still under way and the landlord was watching like a hawk. When the car drew up beside the pavement, he ambled across to it. The detectives got out and surveyed the scene of the bomb blast.

‘It looks very different now, Mr Hubbard,’ said Keedy.

‘They tell me that it will have to look worse before it looks better,’ said the landlord. ‘The scaffolding is there to hold the Goose up. They discovered cracks in the brickwork almost everywhere. The work will cost a fortune.’

‘I take it that you’re insured,’ said Keedy.

‘Yes, Sergeant – the bills will be paid in full. What you can’t insure against is all the heartache we suffered and all the customers we must have lost. It’s been such a trial that there’ve been times when I wished
I’d
be blown up with those women.’

‘You can’t really mean that, sir.’

‘Everything we loved about this place has been destroyed.’

‘Then perhaps you’d like some news to raise your spirits,’ said Marmion.

Hubbard’s eye kindled. ‘You’ve made an arrest?’

‘We hope to do so before very long.’

‘Who’s the villain? Is it one of my rivals?’

‘He’s not a publican, sir. He works at the munitions factory. Thanks to that list you gave me, I was able to see that he was a patron of yours.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Herbert Wylie.’

‘Do you recall him?’ asked Keedy.

Hubbard nodded grimly. ‘Yes, I do. He’s not one of my regulars.’

‘We’ve seen a photograph of him and I talked to his foreman. It seems that Wylie was not really a sociable type.’

‘He wasn’t, Sergeant. He’d only come into the Goose now and then and never had more than a pint. I could never work out if he was mean with his money or just not thirsty. Anyway, he didn’t mix with the other customers. He liked to sit in a corner and stare into his beer. You get people like that.’

‘What else can you tell us about him?’ asked Marmion.

‘That’s it – excepting that he didn’t stay long. He always slunk off early.’

‘He’s slunk off again. It may only be a coincidence but he hasn’t been seen at work since the explosion. We went to his address but he’d taken most of his things and gone off somewhere.’

‘Wylie is on the run,’ decided Hubbard, scowling. ‘Tell me where he is, Inspector, and I’ll go after him, however far away he might be.’

‘Leave him to us, sir.’

‘Yes,’ said Keedy. ‘His name and description will be in every newspaper tomorrow. Everyone will know that we’re hunting for Herbert Wylie in connection with what happened here. He’ll find it almost impossible to avoid being seen.’

‘Are you certain that it was him?’ asked the landlord.

‘You can never be completely certain in this game.’

‘But we’re confident enough to release his name to the press,’ said Marmion. ‘We’ve linked him closely to one of the women at that birthday party. We know that he’s an expert bomb-maker. We found evidence that he’d been constructing one at the house where he lived. And you confirmed that he drank at your pub and was therefore aware of the fact that the key to the outhouse could easily be borrowed from its hook.’

Keedy spread his arms. ‘What more evidence do we need?’

‘Herbert Wylie,’ said Hubbard, grinding his teeth. ‘I didn’t realise he was such a scheming little runt.’

‘We’re assuming that he acted alone.’

‘In his mind,’ said Marmion, ‘he probably saw it as a crime of passion.’

‘That’s not how I see it, Inspector. It was premeditated murder. Either way,’ said Keedy, ‘he’ll face an appointment with the public executioner.’

‘Let’s not prejudge him. He has to be considered innocent until proven guilty.’

‘What was this about him knowing one of those women?’ asked Hubbard.

‘He was rebuffed by the young lady. That may have given him a motive.’

‘Oh, I see. That’s all it takes, is it? Because some girl won’t let him put a hand up her jumper, he thinks it’s all right for him to kill her and her friends then destroy part of my pub into the bargain.’

The sight of the detectives brought neighbours out of their houses in search of information about the latest developments in the case. Marmion and Keedy didn’t even get the chance to repeat the news because Hubbard did it for them. Accepting Wylie’s guilt as proven fact, the landlord launched into a long denunciation of him and wished that he’d had the forethought to poison the man’s beer. The knot of people grew into a small crowd. Seeing no reason to linger, the detectives moved to the car. The landlord hurried after them.

‘Hang on a moment,’ he said. ‘I have to pass on a message.’

‘Who gave it to you?’ asked Marmion.

‘Royston Liddle.’

‘What’s his problem?’

‘He’s been the victim of a terrible crime, Inspector.’

‘Oh?’

‘Someone’s stolen his rabbits.’

‘With respect to Mr Liddle, we can’t marshal the full force of Scotland Yard in a search for missing rabbits. I think you’ll agree that the murder of five innocent young women must take priority.’

‘Don’t forget the damage to my property.’

‘I don’t think you’ll ever
let
us forget it, sir,’ said Keedy, ‘and you’re right to do so. As for the rabbits, whoever stole them has probably had them in a stew by now. You can’t charge someone with a crime when the evidence has been eaten.’

The sense of injustice festered inside Royston Liddle. He had a number of chores to complete throughout the day and he did them in a daze. All that he could think about was the atrocity in the rabbit hutch. The culprit was obviously Alan Suggs. He’d not only sworn to get back at Liddle, he knew just how much the rabbits meant to him. Stealing them would cause lasting pain to their owner. Suggs had been a friend once and Liddle had got both amusement and excitement out of watching him with a naked woman in the outhouse. It was Liddle who’d made that tryst possible and this was his reward. He tried to think of an appropriate act of revenge but he knew that he was too law-abiding to inflict it on Suggs. The crime had to be solved by the police.

As he trudged home after a day’s work in various places, he was bereft. The rabbits were far more than pets. They were part of the family. Instead of letting himself into the house by the front door, he went to the back entrance. As he came into the garden, he had a strange feeling that his rabbits had come back. Suggs had either relented or been overcome with guilt. Liddle was thrilled. Rushing to the hutch, he pulled the door open and looked inside. The rabbits were indeed there but not in their entirety. All that remained of them were their heads.

Because he’d never even made it past the front door on his previous visit, Marmion paid a second call on Reuben Harte. He was hoping to find the man in a slightly more hospitable frame of mind. Fortune favoured the detective. As he approached the house, Marmion was spotted through the window by Brian Ingles. Identified by him, he was allowed in by Harte and ushered into the living room. Sensing that the visitor might have brought news about the investigation, both men were markedly more welcoming than they had previously been towards him. With an apologetic smile, Ingles was quick to explain away his behaviour at the earlier meeting with Marmion.

‘You caught me at a difficult time, Inspector,’ he said.

‘I appreciate that, sir.’

‘Only someone whose child has been murdered could understand the pulverising effect that the news can have. It leaves you utterly bewildered.’

‘Brian is right,’ said Harte. ‘I felt exactly the same. Losing a loved one knocks you for six. I’m still stunned.’

‘And so was I,’ said Marmion, seizing the opportunity to show them that he’d been through a similar experience. ‘It shook me to the core. My father was killed while on duty as a policeman, you see. It took me days to accept the awful truth. When I did that, other feelings took over. I had this overpowering urge to go after the man who’d committed the murder. That led in time to my joining the police force.’

The information had a different effect on the two men. While Ingles had more respect for Marmion after the revelation that he’d been through the same horror, Harte was both annoyed and hurt, as if the inspector had somehow reduced his status as a father mourning a murder victim. Ingles was more open but Harte came close to sulking.

‘I’m glad to find the both of you together,’ Marmion began.

‘I was just on the point of winning an argument,’ explained Ingles. ‘I daresay that you can guess what it was about.’

‘Was it the offer made by Mr Kennett?’

‘Indeed, it was.’

‘I’ve agreed to nothing,’ said Harte, stonily.

‘But you were at least listening to sense at last,’ said Ingles. ‘And now that four of us are in agreement, you’re feeling uneasy at being isolated.’

‘You don’t know
how
I feel, Brian.’

Ingles was tactful. ‘Then I’ll not press you on the matter. In any case,’ he went on, ‘I’m sure that the inspector didn’t come here to join in the discussion.’

‘That’s true,’ said Marmion.

‘What news do you have for us?’

‘We’ve identified a suspect.’

Harte perked up immediately. ‘Who is he?’

‘It’s a man by the name of Herbert Wylie.’

‘I’ve never heard of him.’

‘No more have I,’ said Ingles.

‘He worked at the munitions factory,’ Marmion told them. ‘At least, he did until the day of the explosion. After that, he seems to have packed his bags and vanished. We’ve released his name to the press and there’ll be a nationwide search for Wylie. We’re very anxious to speak to him.’

‘When police use that phrase, it usually means that they think a particular person is almost certainly guilty. Am I right, Inspector?’

‘You can deduce what you wish, sir. We need to find this individual as a matter of urgency but there’s no absolute guarantee that he’s our man.’

‘What can you tell us about him?’

‘Simply that he was in the right place at the right time,’ said Marmion. ‘He knew the pub in question and seems to have had a thwarted passion for one of the young women attending that party. Neither of your daughters, I hasten to say,’ he added, ‘was the person in question. They had the misfortune to be there when this man – as the evidence suggests – took his revenge.’

‘How did you find all this out?’ asked Ingles.

‘We are fortunate enough to have a survivor of the blast.’

‘Ah, of course – Maureen Quinn.’

‘She supplied the name that led to a series of productive enquiries.’

Ingles was overcome with relief. ‘Thank heaven!’ he exclaimed.

‘Why didn’t she tell you about this man earlier?’ asked Harte.

‘For the same reason that you wouldn’t let me into your house on my first visit, sir,’ said Marmion with a half-smile. ‘She was stunned by what happened and couldn’t begin to think straight. Her instinct was to withdraw into herself. It’s exactly what I did when my father was murdered. I just brooded for hours on end.’

‘I can understand that only too well, Inspector.’

‘Anyway, I wanted you both to know about Wylie in advance so that it won’t come as a complete shock when you read the newspapers tomorrow. But I must emphasise that the case is very far from being closed,’ said Marmion. ‘We still have some way to go so don’t make any assumptions.’

‘Thank you so much for your consideration,’ said Ingles, beaming. ‘I can’t speak for Reuben but this news has really lifted my spirits. I can’t tell you how pleased I am.’

‘Yes,’ conceded Harte. ‘It is a consolation.’

‘If this fellow was not pursuing either Florrie or Jean, who
was
he after?’

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 tomorrow.’

‘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.