Текст книги "Five Dead Canaries"

Автор книги: Edward Marston

Соавторы: Edward Marston
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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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 askto 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’vebeen 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 soundslike 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.

‘I’m going to send you out on patrol,’ she said, crisply. ‘Your introduction to the police service has been far too cosy.’

Being rapped over the knuckles every day was not what Alice would have called ‘cosy’ but she didn’t respond. Getting out of the building would be a boon to her. Apart from anything else, it took her well beyond the inspector’s reach.

‘Too many girls are being drawn into prostitution,’ said Thelma, ‘and they need to be warned about the risks to their health and – in some cases – to their lives. We’ve had some of them so badly beaten that they’re disfigured for life. There have also been two murders.’

‘The war is partly to blame, Inspector,’ suggested Alice. ‘Soldiers have had a dreadful time at the front. They’ve seen friends die all around them. When they come back on leave, they’re desperate for some female company and – if they have no wife or girlfriend – they’re more than ready to pay for it. Sometimes, they get carried away and don’t realise how violent they’re being.’

‘You seem remarkably well informed. Have you been talking to Daddy?’

‘No, Inspector – it’s common knowledge.’

‘And how knowledgeable are you about the services these girls provide?’

‘On that score, I’d have to admit that I’m rather ignorant.’

‘Then patrolling the streets will be an education for you,’ said Thelma. ‘It will open your eyes to the ways of the world and take your mind off this major crime that you’re helping your father to solve.’

‘I’m doing nothing of the kind,’ retorted Alice.

‘Don’t take that tone with me, young lady!’ snapped the other.

‘I’m sorry, Inspector.’

‘I’m entitled to obedience and respect, or didn’t your father tell you that?’

Alice bit back a rejoinder. ‘You’re right,’ she said at length.

‘If he didn’t, then Sergeant Keedy should have done so. He’s been here long enough to appreciate the structure of command.’ Thelma narrowed her eyelids. ‘Has he been telling you how the case is proceeding?’

‘We see very little of each other, Inspector.’

‘What do you think he’ll say to this latest assignment of yours?’

‘Sergeant Keedy knows that I’ll do what I’m told and that it’s the essence of police work to take orders and act on them promptly.’

‘Ah,’ said Thelma with a cold smile. ‘You havebeen listening, after all.’

‘To whom do I report?’

‘Don’t rush off. I haven’t finished talking to you yet.’

‘As you wish …’

Thelma appraised her shrewdly. ‘Has something happened?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Oh, I think you do. Ever since you came into this office, you’ve been trying to hide a smile. Do I look comical to you? Is that it?’

‘No, it isn’t, I assure you.’

‘Perhaps you think that the women police are a subject for amusement.’

‘Not at all,’ said Alice, firmly. ‘Had I done so, I’d hardly have been so eager to join. If you do detect a smile, it’s because we’ve had some good news.’

‘Are you ready to share it with me?’

‘It’s of no interest to you, Inspector.’

‘Everything about you is of interest to me,’ said Thelma, sitting forward, ‘because it affects the way you do your job. What is this good news?’

‘Paul – that’s my brother – is coming home on leave next week.’

‘When did you last see him?’

‘It was ages ago,’ recalled Alice. ‘It’s getting on for the best part of a year.’

‘Where is he stationed?’

‘He’s in a camp near the Somme.’

‘When he gets back here, he’ll be very relieved.’

‘We’re giving him a welcome party.’

‘Is he married?’ asked Thelma.

‘No, Inspector.’

‘Does he have a sweetheart?’

‘Paul is single and fancy-free.’

‘Then you’ll be in a position to offer him some guidance, won’t you?’ Alice looked confused. Thelma had a gibe ready. ‘When you eventually discover what it is that ladies of the street actually do, you’ll be able to tell your brother to keep away from them or he may be going back to France with a nasty itch.’

It took them a long time to find the address they’d been given. There were three streets with very similar names and they went astray. Marmion wished that he’d asked Kennett to spell the name of the street. It would have saved them a lot of trouble. In the end, the car did find the right place and it nosed its way along the gutter before pulling up outside a Victorian artisan’s cottage. Herbert Wylie, they learnt from the landlady, rented a room there and was an ideal tenant. He always paid her on time and spent most evenings alone in his room. Mrs Armadale was a garrulous old woman with hair dyed an unnatural ginger colour. Having lost her husband the previous year, she’d taken in a lodger because she felt so lonely. From the way that she talked about Wylie, it was evident that he’d become a friend and did all kinds of odd jobs for her. He’d even taken over the little garden at the rear of the house.

When asked to describe him, she had nothing but praise. A picture slowly formed in the detective’s mind. Wylie was short, slim and in his thirties. Whenever he went out, he always took care with his appearance. The landlady spoke with approval of the attention he lavished on his shoes, polishing them every day and making them gleam if ever he went out of an evening. She was unaware that he’d briefly had a girlfriend named Enid Jenks.

‘When do you expect him back?’ asked Marmion.

‘I don’t know, Inspector,’ she replied. ‘A few days or so, he said.’

‘And he didn’t tell you where he was going?’

‘No, he didn’t.’

She was very happy to answer their questions until they asked if they could see Wylie’s room. Suddenly, she became defensive, wondering what had really brought them there and why they were so keen to speak to her tenant. Keedy took over and invented a plausible story concerning an accident at the factory that Wylie had witnessed and about which he’d promised to deliver a written report. The combination of Keedy’s charm and Marmion’s rank persuaded her that she should let them have their way. Once inside the room, they began a thorough search.

‘Thanks, Joe,’ said Marmion, opening a wardrobe. ‘You saved us the trouble of getting a search warrant.’

Keedy sniffed. ‘Would you want to live in room like this? It stinks.’

‘I think that Wylie came to the same conclusion.’ He indicated the empty wardrobe. ‘The cupboard is bare. What’s in those drawers?’

The sergeant opened them one by one. ‘Nothing – he’s made a run for it.’

Wylie had taken almost all of his clothing and personal items. All that he’d left behind were a few books and a grubby shirt hung on the back of the door. They could find nothing that indicated where he’d gone. Marmion was disappointed that they’d found no evidence to connect Wylie to the explosion at the pub. The man had either been careful to remove all trace of it or had not been implicated in the first place. They were about to leave when Marmion caught sight of the little shed in the garden. If Wylie looked after the lawn and the flowerbeds, he’d have free access to the shed. The landlady was puzzled by their request to go into the garden but she raised no objection. Keedy led the way and lifted the hook on the door of the shed. There was barely room for the two detectives to step inside. It was filled with garden implements. Marmion managed to trip over a watering can and Keedy’s shoulder dislodged a flowerpot from a shelf.

But the visit yielded a clue that made the pair of them grin broadly.

‘Do you see what I see, Joe?’ asked Marmion.

‘I do, indeed,’ replied Keedy.