Five Dead Canaries (6 page)

Keedy took the opportunity to glance at the notes he’d been given. They were written in a neat hand and consisted largely of a series of quotations from friends of the deceased. They fleshed out the portraits that he and Marmion had been given at the Quinn house. He noted the kind words that were said about Maureen herself. Most of the
praise was reserved for Florrie Duncan but Enid Jenks was admired for her musical talent – she also played the piano – Agnes Collier was remembered for her girlish giggle and Jean Harte was liked best for her morose humour. Keedy was very interested in a snippet of information about Shirley Beresford.

It was minutes before Kennett reappeared. When he finally did so, he had an anguished Diane Quinn with him. She was startled to see Keedy there. He stood up so that she could have his chair and listened intently to her tale of woe.

‘It’s my fault,’ she said, chewing her lip. ‘I should have checked the moment I got up. Better still, I should have heard her sneaking out of the house. It never crossed my mind that she’d go anywhere. Maureen was dog-tired last night. After what she’d been through, it’s not surprising. But, when I went into her bedroom this morning, she simply wasn’t there!’ Apprehension darkened her features. ‘My husband will be so cross with me when he finds out. I must get Maureen back before he comes home. Where on earth can she be, Sergeant?’

‘I don’t know, Mrs Quinn. I assume that you’ve conducted a search?’

‘I’ve been
everywhere
. I even called on Sadie Radcliffe and that was a mistake. She was very spiteful about Maureen – don’t know why. Anyway,’ she continued, ‘I remembered reading this article once about people who have a dreadful experience being drawn back to the place where it happened. So I caught the train to Hayes and asked where the Golden Goose was. It was frightening. Well, you’ve seen the mess that the bomb made, Sergeant. It made my knees go weak. If Maureen had been caught in the blast, we’d never have been able to recognise her remains.’

‘That
is
posing a problem,’ admitted Keedy, ‘and I’m sorry that you had to see that pile of debris. What made you think your daughter may have come here?’

‘It was what she wanted to do but Eamonn, my husband, forbade it.’

‘I’m fairly certain that’s she’s not here,’ said Kennett, ‘because the other girls would have mentioned the fact when I talked to them. We’ll soon know the truth. My secretary will find out if she clocked in.’

‘She
has
to be here, sir. Where else can she be?’

Diane continued to insist that her daughter was in the factory somewhere and the two men consoled her as best they could. When the telephone rang, Kennett moved across to pick it up. The conversation was over within seconds. After putting the receiver down, he shook his head sadly.

‘Maureen is definitely not on the site, Mrs Quinn,’ he said.

She was devastated. ‘Are you quite sure?’

‘Yes, I am. If she
had
turned up here this morning, she wouldn’t have been allowed to carry on as if nothing had happened. For her own sake, we’d have turned her away.’ He looked at Keedy. ‘People sometimes think that we force our employees to work until they drop but we’re very humane. We always try to show compassion.’ His eyes flicked back to Diane. ‘You’ll have to look elsewhere, Mrs Quinn.’

‘But
where
?’ she wailed. ‘There’s nowhere else left.’

‘Yes, there is,’ said Keedy, ‘and it’s possible that it never occurred to you. If you were thrown into a panic, you probably just ran around in circles.’

‘That’s exactly what I did, Sergeant. I was like a dog with its tail on fire.’

‘Let’s see if we can put that fire out, shall we?’ He moved to the door and opened it. ‘Thank you for your help, Mr Kennett. I’ll be back in due course. At the moment, the search for Maureen takes priority.’ He smiled at Diane. ‘Are you ready, Mrs Quinn?’

Harvey Marmion was pleased to hear that many bomb fragments had been found and that they were being carefully pieced together. He would eventually know if they were dealing with an amateur or with someone who had some expertise in handling explosives. Looking at the rubble, he found it difficult to imagine where the bomb had actually been placed or what sort of timing device it must have had. The scene was a graphic illustration of cause and effect. A knot of people looked on with ghoulish curiosity. Uppermost in the mind of Leighton Hubbard was revenge. Standing beside Marmion on the pavement opposite his pub, he was quivering with fury.

‘Catch him, Inspector,’ he urged. ‘Catch him then hand him over to me.’

‘Let the law take its course, sir.’

‘Hanging is too good for an animal like that.’

‘We may be talking about more than one person,’ said Marmion. ‘It’s something we can’t rule out. Planting a bomb in its hiding place would have taken some time. The bomber might have needed a lookout.’

‘He needs a hand grenade up his arse, if you ask me.’

‘How did he gain access to the outhouse, that’s what puzzles me? You claim that it was kept locked.’

‘It’s supposed to be,’ said Hubbard, ‘and I always make sure that it is. So does the missus, for that matter. We protect our property. Because he only works here now and again, Royston is not so careful.’

‘Royston?’

‘He helps us out, Inspector. He’s a willing lad but he’s not very bright. When he tried to join the army, they turned him down on medical grounds but it could equally have been because of his stupidity.’

‘What does he do, exactly?’

‘He fetches and carries. That’s about all he can do. I’d never let him
behind the bar and he’d be hopeless dealing with money. What he can do is donkey work. Royston cleans beer glasses and moves crates of empty bottles.’

‘Where does he store the crates – in the outhouse?’

‘Yes,’ replied Hubbard.

‘Does he ever forget to lock it?’

‘I’m afraid that he does. Every time it’s happened, I threaten him with the sack but …’ the landlord hunched his shoulders ‘… well, the truth is that I feel sorry for the lad. You can’t help liking him.’

‘Where is the key to the outhouse kept?’

‘It hangs on a hook in the corridor.’

‘Where does the corridor lead?’

‘It’s the way to the Gents – that’s out in the courtyard. Well, it was,’ said Hubbard, bitterly, ‘but that went up in smoke as well. It’s only a shed with a corrugated iron roof. Thank God nobody was taking a piss out there at the time.’

The landlord was still simmering. Marmion gave him a few minutes to expel his bile about the temporary loss of his livelihood. Hubbard blamed everyone he could think of for the disaster, ending with an attack on the police for not guarding his premises. Marmion leapt to their defence.

‘How were they to know that your outhouse was in danger?’ he challenged. ‘Police resources are very stretched, Mr Hubbard. They have to identify the most vulnerable targets and keep an eye on them. No disrespect to the Golden Goose but your pub hardly merits comparison with the munitions factory. Had a bomb been planted there, far more deaths would have resulted.’

Hubbard had the grace to look shamefaced. He even shrugged an apology.

‘Right,’ said Marmion, ‘now that you’ve calmed down, you can start to help us and, by extension, help yourself.’

‘Eh?’

‘I’m bound to ask the obvious question. Do you have any enemies?’

‘Yes, Inspector – I’m in business. Every other landlord in Hayes is my enemy.’

‘Would any of them go to the length of bombing your outhouse?’

‘No, they wouldn’t – but I daresay they’re rubbing their hands with glee now that the Goose is out of action for a while. As for customers I might have upset, there have been plenty of those but most of them are in the army now and the others wouldn’t dare do a thing like this to me.’

‘How many people knew about the birthday party in advance?’

‘Apart from me and the wife, almost nobody was told. There’d have been strong objections from a few of the regulars, especially Ezra Greenwell. Oh,’ he added as he scratched his head, ‘Royston would have known, of course. He was there when the booking was made.’

‘Would he have spread the word about the party?’

‘I told him not to but that probably went in one ear and out the other. Royston lives in a world of his own. He goes around with this half-witted grin on his face. It was still there last night when he was watching my outhouse blazing away.’

‘What’s his full name?’ asked Marmion, taking out his notebook. ‘And where does Royston live?’

‘He can’t tell you anything, Inspector.’

‘Nevertheless, I think that it’s time he and I got acquainted.’

Alice Marmion schooled herself to be patient. In joining the police, she realised, she’d expected too much too soon. The concept of a female constabulary was still relatively new and the force had an ill-defined role. Again, it was fiercely resented in some quarters, as Alice had swiftly discovered. The war, which had depleted the police force, had given women the opportunity to move into its ranks and show what they could do. At best, they faced a grudging tolerance from male counterparts; at worst, they had to endure stinging criticism of their limitations. Alice had learnt to ignore their acid comments and simply get on with her job. She’d made some good friends among the other women but their support was offset by the hostility of a superior officer.

Meeting her in a corridor, Inspector Thelma Gale pounced on Alice.

‘There you are,’ she said, ‘dawdling as usual.’

‘I’m taking this report to Sergeant Reeves,’ explained Alice, holding up some sheets of paper. ‘She wants it urgently.’

‘“Urgency” is not exactly your watchword, is it?’

‘What do you mean, Inspector?’

‘I mean that you trudge instead of walking briskly. I mean that you’re slow of mind and even slower of body.’

‘That’s unfair,’ said Alice, smarting at the reproof.

‘I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Others have complained as well.’

Alice knew that it was untrue but she was in no position to argue. The more she defended herself against the inspector, the harder she’d be slapped down. Thelma Gale was a stout woman in her forties with short hair and a flat, plain face twisted into an expression of permanent disapproval. Her natural authority was enhanced by the smartness of her uniform. She was a formidable character in every way and few people got the better of her in argument.

She tapped Alice’s shoulder. ‘What did I tell you?’

‘You’ve told me a vast number of things, Inspector.’

‘This concerned your father.’

‘Oh, that – yes, I remember.’

‘I warned you not to trade on the fact that you’re the daughter of Detective Inspector Marmion. Admirable as his achievements have been, they don’t entitle you to any preferential treatment.’

‘I neither expected nor sought it.’

‘And don’t you dare go running to Daddy with complaints about cruel Inspector Gale,’ said the other, wagging a finger, ‘because it will have no effect. I don’t answer to your father. I rule the roost here. Is that clear?’

‘You’ve made it abundantly clear, Inspector.’

‘Try to do
your
job properly for once and let your father get on with his. He obviously has his hands full at the moment.’

‘Yes, he does.’

‘Five young women blown to pieces – it’s an appalling crime. They
were already risking their lives and ruining their looks by working in that munitions factory. I regard them as unsung heroines.’

‘So do I, Inspector.’

Thelma leant in closer to her. ‘What has your father said about the case?’

‘He hasn’t discussed it with me.’

‘Inspector Marmion must have said
something
.’

‘When he comes through the door at home, he leaves his work outside. My mother appreciates that. Besides,’ Alice went on, ‘I don’t live there any more. I have a flat of my own.’

‘But you’re also engaged to Sergeant Keedy. What has
he
told you?’

‘Nothing at all.’

‘Come now – you must have wheedled something out of him.’

‘It’s not my place to do so, Inspector.’

Alice’s face was expressionless under the searching stare of the other woman. To admit that she had taken an interest in the case would have been foolish. It would have unleashed a torrent of denunciation from the inspector, accusing her of trying to get involved in something that was totally outside her remit as a police officer. Behind the censure would be a deep envy. Thelma Gale would be suffused with jealousy at the notion that a junior member of her force was engaged, even tangentially, in such an important investigation. Alice got an even harder tap on the shoulder.

‘Get about your business,’ said Thelma, ‘and be sharp about it.’

‘Yes, Inspector,’ replied Alice. ‘Do excuse me. Please.’

Stepping past the older woman, she strode along the corridor and turned a corner, gasping with relief. The first thing she saw was one of her colleagues coming in through the main door and letting in a blast of cold air as she did so.

‘It’s so windy today,’ said the woman, straightening her hair.

‘Yes,’ agreed Alice. ‘Gale force.’

Marmion had no difficulty in finding Royston Liddle. He lived with his widowed mother only two streets away from the Golden Goose. When his visitor called, Liddle was feeding two rabbits who were scrabbling about in their hutch. He opened the side door of the yard and called up the entry that ran between the houses.

‘Who is it? I’m down here!’

Marmion peered down the entry. ‘Mr Liddle?’

‘That’s me,’ said the other, grinning broadly.

He was a short man with a compact frame. Though still young, he was totally bald. He had large protruding eyes with the gleam of innocence in them. Beneath his snub nose was a pencil-thin moustache that looked like a supplementary eyebrow. On a chill morning, Liddle wore nothing more than a collarless shirt, a pair of crumpled trousers and some dog-eared slippers.

‘I was just feeding Mild and Bitter,’ he said. ‘They’re my rabbits. When people go to the pub, they ask for mild or bitter. I like both, see? So that’s what I named them.’ He gave himself a congratulatory giggle. ‘Clever, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Mr Liddle.’

Marmion introduced himself and explained why he was there. The grin never left Liddle’s face. He invited his visitor into the house and took him to the living room, a small, cluttered space with hideous green wallpaper and an abiding smell of boiled cabbage. Royston Liddle had to move a pile of clothing off the settee so that Marmion could sit down. Perched on an upright chair, he nodded away.

‘Mummy isn’t here at the moment,’ he explained. ‘She works in the shop.’

‘Actually, it’s about
your
job that I came, Mr Liddle.’

‘Everyone calls me Royston.’

‘So I gather.’

‘Which job do you mean, Inspector? I’ve got five altogether.’

He chuckled as if it was some sort of record. It transpired that he worked part-time at two pubs other than the Golden Goose. He also helped to deliver milk every morning and did two afternoons at a furniture warehouse. Liddle was anxious to display his full range of abilities.

‘Mummy cleans the big house on Wednesdays,’ he said, ‘and I sometimes help her, though of course, I don’t get paid for that.’

Marmion could see that the landlord had got the man’s measure. Royston Liddle was a willing simpleton. His glaring lack of intelligence was balanced by a burning desire to please, in whatever mundane station in life. Jobs that others might view as beneath them constituted a legitimate career in his view. When Marmion talked about the explosion at the Golden Goose, Liddle expressed shock and outrage but his grin nevertheless remained intact.

‘Where were you at the time?’ asked Marmion.

‘I was down the cellar of the Black Dog,’ said Liddle. ‘I was moving a barrel when the explosion went off. I heard it clearly even though I was five streets away.’

‘Mr Hubbard said that you did some work earlier for him.’

‘That’s right. I had to sweep the floor of the outhouse and put up that table. There was a birthday party there.’

‘And you did that when the pub was closed, I understand.’

‘Yes, Inspector.’

‘Did you lock up after you?’

‘Oh, yes, I have to or Mr Hubbard gets angry.’

‘Did you notice anything unusual when you went to the outhouse?’

Liddle was baffled. ‘Unusual?’ he echoed.

‘Was there anything out of place?’

‘No, Inspector, there was just the usual pile of crates. I moved them out of the way so that the girls had some room. Oh, and I used the brush to get rid of the spiders in the roof beams. I know that some people are scared of them.’ He thrust out his chest. ‘I’m not. I like spiders.’

‘Tell me about the key to the outhouse.’

‘It hangs on a hook in the corridor.’

‘I know that. Has it ever gone missing recently?’

Liddle became furtive. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Well,’ said Marmion, ‘from what I hear, it would have been easy for any of the customers to take that key and let themselves into the outhouse. Is that true?’

‘I suppose it is.’

‘Mr Hubbard confirmed it.’

‘Then it could happen.’

Marmion watched him carefully. The grin had now become sheepish and Liddle’s body had hunched protectively. Patently, he was hiding something.

‘You do realise that this is a murder investigation,’ said Marmion, putting some steel into his voice. ‘You are aware that withholding evidence is an offence, aren’t you?’

‘I’ve done nothing wrong, Inspector,’ bleated Liddle.

‘Let me be the judge of that.’

‘I just looked the other way.’

‘What are you talking about?’

Royston Liddle wrestled with his conscience and ran a hand across his pate. It suddenly occurred to him that he might be in trouble and his mother was not there to speak up for him, as she habitually did. He was alone and hopelessly unequal to the situation. He started to bite his nails and his grin was almost manic.

‘I think you’re holding something back, Royston,’ said Marmion. ‘You can either tell me what it is right here or we’ll go to the police station and have a formal interview. Is that what you’d prefer?’

Liddle emitted a squeak of terror. Having lived a blameless life, he’d never had the slightest trouble with the police. He was a fixture in the area. Constables on patrol treated him with amusement. The idea that he might be arrested by a detective from Scotland Yard sent a shudder through him. He got apologetically to his feet.

‘It only happened a few times, Inspector,’ he confessed. ‘And it wasn’t really my fault. I mean, he’s a friend of mine. I just did him a favour.’

‘Who are we talking about?’

‘He gave me two shillings once but that’s all.’

‘What did you have to do to earn it?’

‘I had to pretend I didn’t notice,’ said Liddle, ‘and say nothing to Leighton.’ He put his hands together in prayer. ‘You won’t tell him, will you, Inspector? If you do, I could lose my job there.’

‘It all depends on what you actually did for this friend of yours.’

Liddle breathed in deeply and gnashed his teeth. ‘I didn’t report it when that key disappeared on the hook. They wanted to use the outhouse.’

‘Who are
they
?’ pressed Marmion.

‘I don’t know her name but she lives in Hyde Road somewhere. On Tuesday, they were only in there for half an hour. I know that because I checked that the key was back on the hook. No harm was done. It wasn’t a crime or anything like that.’

‘What you’re telling me is that someone had unauthorised access to that outhouse and that you were aware of it.’ He stood up to confront Liddle. ‘Who is this friend of yours and where can I find him?’

Maureen Quinn sat in the gloom with her hands in her lap and her head on her chest. Time meant nothing to her. She was so preoccupied that hours slipped past unnoticed. Unknown to her, people had come and gone throughout the morning. When the heavy door squealed back on its hinges yet again, she was unaware of it. Even the clang of the iron latch being replaced failed to rouse her. It was her mother’s voice that finally brought her out of her meditation.

‘Maureen!’ cried Diane Quinn. ‘Thank heaven we found you!’

‘I had a feeling that she might be here,’ said Keedy.

Diane rushed to the pew at the rear of the church and embraced her daughter. It was a poignant reunion, both of them weeping copiously. It was some while before Diane was able to offer an explanation. She indicated Keedy.

‘When he came to the house yesterday,’ she said, ‘the sergeant noticed that you were wearing a crucifix. I told him that we don’t go to church very often because your father hates it. That’s why I never even thought to try here. It was Sergeant Keedy who suggested it.’

‘How are you, Maureen?’ he asked, gently.

Her voice was distant. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’

‘Why didn’t you tell us you were coming here?’ demanded Diane.

‘Daddy would have stopped me.’

‘I thought you’d gone to work.’

‘I wanted to,’ said Maureen, ‘but I came here instead.’

‘I was at the factory when your mother came looking for you,’ said Keedy. ‘I went to see Mr Kennett. He was able to tell me something about … the people at that birthday party. He’d gathered a lot of information about them. People said some very nice things about you, Maureen. You have a lot of friends there.’

‘The best ones have all gone.’

‘Is that why you came here – to pray for them?’

Maureen nodded. ‘I needed to think.’

‘I’ll take you home now, darling,’ said Diane, hugging her.

‘I’d like to stay for a bit, Mummy.’

‘But you’ve been here for ages. You must be famished.’

‘I don’t want anything to eat.’

‘At least come away with me. You can think at home.’

‘It’s not the same.’

Maureen continued to protest but her mother wouldn’t be denied. She wanted her daughter where she could see her. Keedy was anxious to return to the factory but he stayed long enough to hear Maureen’s desperate plea.

‘Don’t tell Daddy about this, will you?’ she said. ‘He wouldn’t understand.’

It was Marmion’s turn to meet the works manager. Like Keedy, he found him both pleasant and accommodating. Bernard Kennett answered all his questions readily and offered him free access to the site whenever he wanted it. Factories involved in the war effort were not always so welcoming. Marmion had had tussles with hidebound security systems on more than one occasion. Some managers sought to put the preservation of their rule book above a police investigation. Kennett took the opposite view. In the interests of solving a crime that had unsettled the entire workforce there, he would bend the rules to the full extent. In fact, Marmion drew a blank on his visit but he wasn’t dismayed. Establishing a rapport with Kennett was important. It was something he’d not yet managed to do with the irascible landlord of the Golden Goose.