Текст книги "Five Dead Canaries"

Автор книги: Edward Marston

Соавторы: Edward Marston
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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Eamonn Quinn was less than pleased with what his wife told him.

‘Sadie Radcliffe came here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then why the hell did you let her in?’

‘She came to apologise, Eamonn.’

‘I’d have sent her on her way,’ he said, vengefully.

‘She’s Agnes’s mother,’ Diane reminded him, ‘and you should have some sympathy for her. Because our daughter left that party early, we were very lucky. Sadie wasn’t. I admire her. With all that she has to cope with, she nevertheless felt that she wanted to say sorry for things she said about Maureen.’

‘I’ll never forgive her for that.’

‘We’d have done the same in her position. If our daughter had died and Agnes had survived, we’d have been bitter and said things we didn’t really mean.’

Quinn was adamant. ‘I always mean exactly what I say.’

After washing his hands in the sink, he dried them and took his seat at the table. Diane prodded the potatoes and decided that they needed a few more minutes in the saucepan on the stove. She told her husband how her visitor had asked for advice with regard to the offer made by the factory. Her husband’s reaction was instant.

‘Stupid woman!’ he exclaimed. ‘She should snatch their hands off.’

‘Sadie was undecided.’

‘Think of the money she’d save.’

‘She has to put Agnes first. Money doesn’t really come into this.’

‘Yes, it does,’ he insisted. ‘The factory owes those girls something. They work their fingers to the bone and come home looking like refugees from Peking. The least they deserve is to have their funeral expenses covered.’

‘It’s the idea of a burial all together that worries me,’ said Diane, ‘and I think it would worry Father Cleary as well.’

‘Why?’

‘We’re Roman Catholics and the other families are not. Father Cleary would want us to keep apart from them.’

‘I’d do what I wanted and not listen to him.’ He sat back as she put four plates on the table. ‘What did Sadie decide in the end?’

‘She really wanted to know what the other families thought. Since they’re all strangers to her, she asked if Maureen would go with her because she knew where the parents of the other victims lived.’

‘Then she’s got a damn cheek, if you ask me!’

‘It was a simple enough favour to ask, Eamonn,’ said his wife. ‘Agnes would have done the same for me if she’d been the one to survive. As it was, Maureen refused. It really upset her to be asked. She just ran off upstairs.’

‘Maureen did the right thing.’

Diane went to the door and called to her daughters. Maureen and Lily came into the kitchen and took their places at the table. Their mother put out the cutlery before draining the potatoes. She then served them directly onto the plates. Thin slices of mutton followed with some peas. Bread and thinly-spread butter were already on the table. Quinn began to eat the moment that food was put in front of him. His daughters waited for their mother to slip off her pinafore and join them at the table. After giving Maureen a warning glance, Diane braced herself.

‘We had another visit from Sergeant Keedy,’ she said.

Quinn glared. ‘Why is he still bothering us?’

‘He wanted to talk to Maureen alone.’

‘Well, I hope you told her that he couldn’t. I don’t care who he is, Di. He can’t come barging in here and bombarding Maureen with questions. She’s still recovering from what happened.’ He pointed his knife at Diane. ‘You should have refused outright. Did you?’

‘No – but they were only alone together for a short while.’

‘Two minutes would have been too long!’ he protested.

‘He felt that Maureen could help the investigation.’

‘I didn’t mind,’ said Maureen, coming to her mother’s aid. ‘Sergeant Keedy was very nice. He didn’t make me feel uncomfy or anything. He just wanted to know a little more about the others.’

‘The best way to do that,’ said Quinn, ‘is to talk to their families.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ said Diane. ‘They’re still struggling with the shock of what happened at that pub. Besides, they could only say what their daughters were like at home. Maureen knew them at work where they behaved differently.’

His gaze shifted to Maureen and there was menace in his tone. ‘Don’t you dare tell me that you talked to him about our family. I warned you against that.’

‘Sergeant Keedy didn’t ask about us,’ said Maureen.

‘So what didyou tell him?’

‘I just told him the truth. I liked them all. They were friends. I miss them. The person that the sergeant was really interested in was Enid.’

‘Enid Jenks – she the one who plays the violin?’

‘Yes, she played the piano as well.’

‘And what did you say about her?’

Maureen hesitated, looking at her sister to indicate that Lily was perhaps too young to hear the information. Quinn became restive. He spoke through a mouthful of half-chewed potato.

‘Well – what did you say, girl?’

‘I told him that Enid was having trouble with a man at work.’

‘What sort of trouble?’

‘He wouldn’t leave her alone.’

Meals of any kind always posed a problem during an investigation. Marmion and Keedy had to eat on the hoof, grabbing whatever they could at whatever unlikely time it might be. It was mid-afternoon before they finally managed to have some lunch. Back at the police station, they munched sandwiches and sipped lukewarm tea. Keedy’s visit to the factory had given them a much more rounded picture of their chief suspect and the photograph was an added bonus. As he reached for another sandwich, Marmion studied the face of Herbert Wylie.

‘What do you see when you look at him, Joe?’ he asked.

‘I see an ugly little bugger in a decent suit.’

‘You’d never think he was off on a works outing, would you?’

‘Maybe he didn’t want to spend a day with a load of other men,’ said Keedy. ‘His idea of fun is to be alone with Enid Jenks.’

‘Alan Suggs was no oil painting but, compared to this sour-faced chap, he was dazzlingly handsome. If he wanted to impress women, why didn’t Wylie learn to smile properly?’

‘Who knows?’ He looked over Marmion’s shoulder at the photograph. ‘There’s a mean glint in his eye. You can imagine him stalking his prey.’

‘That’s only because you know what he did to Enid Jenks,’ said Marmion. ‘If you didn’t, you’d probably have said that he needed spectacles. I mean, look at this character over here,’ he went on, pointing to a plump individual in the middle of the group. ‘He’s got the face of merciless killer, if ever I saw one, yet he’s probably a devoted husband and father who’s led a spotless existence. The camera doeslie sometimes.’

‘That’s a fair point,’ conceded the other. ‘I daresay that anyone looking at a photo of me would think I was a homicidal maniac. And remember how Harte reacted when he first set eyes on you? You’re a highly respected detective inspector yet he thought you looked shifty.’

‘There’s no need to bring that up,’ complained Marmion.

‘It shows you that you should never judge a sausage by its skin.’ Keedy glanced at the telephone. ‘Are you going to ring Chat for a chat?’

‘He’ll be too busy claiming credit for unmasking our new suspect.’

‘We do the digging and he gets the pat on the back.’

‘It was ever thus in the police force.’

‘You could have been superintendent, if you’d really wanted the job.’

‘I like it the way it is, Joe.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, I’m serious.’

‘But it would have meant more money, more power and regular meals.’

‘It would also have kept me caged up in Scotland Yard, missing the dubious pleasure of your company. I’m good at what I do and I’ll settle for that.’

Keedy drank some tea. ‘How did you get on with Enid Jenks’s father?’

‘It was much as I expected.’

‘Did he refuse to believe that his daughter had deceived him?’

‘Yes, he did – and I had some sympathy with him there. It rattled him,’ said Marmion, pressing on quickly before Keedy could respond to the veiled reference to Alice. ‘He thought that Enid did everything that he told her and that she’d never developed a mind of her own. He knows differently now.’

‘Didn’t he have the faintest inkling that she was being hounded?’

‘No, Joe, he’s not the most observant of men. In retrospect, of course, it was another story. When I told him that Wylie had turned up at their church on one occasion, he said that he knew when that must have been because his daughter began to behave strangely one Sunday. She not only dragged him away as soon as the service was over, she held his arm all the way home and she hadn’t done that for years. When he asked if something was wrong, Enid said she felt unwell.’

‘It must have been a torment for her, suffering in silence like that.’

‘She just didn’t feel able to confide in him. By chance,’ continued Marmion, ‘Neil Beresford was there when I called. He’s made an amazing recovery. Last time I saw him, he was almost at death’s door. He’d come to see Jenks to discuss the letter they’d both received from Mr Kennett.’

‘What was their verdict?’

‘They’re both going to accept the offer.’

‘That’s very sensible of them.’

‘So is Mr Ingles, apparently.’

‘I remember him,’ said Keedy. ‘He threw us out of the house.’

‘We touched a sensitive spot, Joe.’

‘My memory of Mr Ingles is that he was a compound of sensitive spots. You had to be careful what you said. Talking to him was like walking barefoot over broken glass. Next time you go there, Harv, you go alone. There was one thing in his favour, mind you,’ he went on, unable to hide a smirk. ‘At least he didn’t think you were shifty.’

Sadie Radcliffe was in the middle of putting wet dungarees through the mangle when the visitors called. Drying her hands, she went to the door and opened it to a smartly dressed couple whom she’d never seen before. Brian Ingles introduced himself and his wife and asked if they might speak to her. Since the living room was full of baby things, Sadie was embarrassed to take them into it but she had no alternative. After waving them to the settee, she perched on a stool beside the fireplace. She noticed the quality of June’s coat and the pearl necklace at her throat. Ingles took control. Accustomed to giving orders at work, his question sounded more like a demand.

‘Have you come to a decision concerning that letter, Mrs Radcliffe?’

‘Yes,’ replied Sadie. ‘I have more or less.’

‘Then I trust that you had the sense to accept. That’s what my wife and I have done and I can speak for Neil Beresford, Shirley’s husband, as well. I talked to him earlier. I also know that Jonah Jenks is sympathetic to the idea because Reuben Harte told me when I went to see him today.’

‘Mr Harte is against it,’ said June.

‘I’ll persuade him,’ said her husband, testily. ‘I rarely fail to win people over to my viewpoint.’ He smiled condescendingly at Sadie. ‘May I take it that you’ll follow where we lead?’

‘Yes, Mr Ingles.’

‘It will simplify everything,’ said June.

‘It will also make it possible to set a date for the funeral,’ added her husband. ‘All I have to do is to get Reuben Harte on our side and the job is complete. The five victims can be interred together, as is only right and proper.’

There was an awkward pause. Sadie wondered if she ought to offer them some refreshment but held back because she felt that their tea service would be markedly superior to hers. When she did speak, she blurted her question out.

‘You’re the ones with the big house in Hayes, aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ said June, smugly.

‘Agnes told me that you have a garden at the front and the back.’

‘It’s everything we ever wanted, Mrs Radcliffe.’

‘Though, actually,’ said Ingles, ‘we’re about to put it on the market.’

‘We can’t do that, Brian,’ urged June. ‘I love that house.’

‘So do I, my dear, but it’s far too large for our needs.’

‘I’d rather have too much room than too little,’ said Sadie.

‘That’s my feeling exactly,’ said June. ‘Besides, the house holds so many fond memories for us. I’d like to stay there indefinitely. My husband thinks that the place feels empty now that Florrie has died but she hasn’t lived there since she got married.’ She looked at her husband. ‘You never worried about it being too big when Florrie was alive. What’s changed?’

‘Need we discuss this here?’ he said, irritably.

‘I’d just like to know.’

‘Very well – I’ll tell you. What changed are the associations with the house. As you said earlier, it holds fond memories but they’ve been overshadowed by Florrie’s death. As long as we stay there, we’ll be reminded of it. I’m sorry, June,’ he went on, ‘I know it’s difficult for you to grasp but we have to get well away from there and make a fresh start. We have to build our lives anew.’

‘I wish I could do that,’ moaned Sadie. ‘I’d love to be able to sell up and move far away but there’s no chance of that happening. We’re stuck here for ever.’

‘I want to get far away from that confounded factory,’ declared Ingles. ‘And I want a smaller house that’s easier to manage.’

‘It can’t be muchsmaller, Brian. That would be intolerable.’

‘Leave this to me.’ He stood up. ‘Thank you, Mrs Radcliffe. I’m glad that the journey here has paid dividends. I can go back to Reuben Harte and tell him that he’s the fly in the ointment. He must accept the majority decision.’

‘I agree,’ said June, now on her feet.

‘God willing, I should be able to phone Mr Kennett later this afternoon to tell him what we’ve all decided. The funeral will be a harrowing experience for us all. If the five of them are buried at the same time, however, we can each draw support from others in the same unfortunate position.’

Sadie led the way. ‘I’ll show you out.’

She was relieved to get rid of them. June had been looking around the living room with polite disdain and Ingles had annoyed her by the way in which he’d taken the arrangements for the burial into his hands. Sadie felt that she hadn’t been given free rein to express her opinions. As she watched them going off down the street, she could still hear them arguing about whether or not to sell their house.

‘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’dbe 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 letus 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.