Текст книги "Five Dead Canaries"

Автор книги: Edward Marston

Соавторы: Edward Marston
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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The pain would not go away. It had subsided to a dull ache but it was always there. The only way that Neil Beresford could cope with it was to throw himself wholeheartedly into frenetic activity. His mother was amazed when he started to clean the house and do a range of odd jobs that he’d hitherto postponed. For the first time she could remember, he even worked in the garden with enthusiasm. His bursts of energy provided a distraction without actually curing the underlying condition. Anguish pulsed away inside his brain, giving him a permanent headache. While the death of his wife might have weakened the football team he’d so lovingly created and coached, he was determined that it wouldn’t falter completely. Thanks largely to the brilliance of Shirley Beresford, they’d reached the cup final. It fell to the remaining members of the team to end the season on a note of triumph.

Beset as he was with worries about the inquest and the funeral, Beresford never lost sight of the importance of the cup final. When he ran out of things to do at home, therefore, he walked to the factory with a football under his arm. Recognised at the gate, he was allowed in and given some words of commiseration. He strolled out to the pitch on which so many training sessions and games had been played. His overriding memory was of the goals that his wife had scored there. Dropping the ball to the ground, he dribbled it the length of the pitch then smashed it past an invisible goalkeeper. Beresford reclaimed the ball from the net and set it on the penalty spot. He did exactly what his wife had been taught to do and aimed for the top right-hand corner of the goal. It left the invisible goalkeeper hopelessly stranded. He was taking his third penalty when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone coming towards him. Beresford broke off and turned to face the newcomer.

He was slightly alarmed when he saw Bernard Kennett, assuming that the works manager had come to scold him on the grounds that, if he was able to play football, he was fit enough to return to his job. In fact, Kennett gave him a welcoming smile tinged with sadness.

‘I saw you walk past my window,’ he said, ‘and guessed that you might be coming here. You have my deepest sympathies, Neil. I was shocked to learn of the death of your wife. Football meant so much to the pair of you.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Beresford. ‘Shirley was a wonderful all-round athlete but this was the sport at which she excelled.’

‘Between you and your wife, you put Hayes Ladies’ Team on the map.’

‘It wasn’t only down to us, Mr Kennett. There were ten other players ready to give blood for the team. Shirley couldn’t have scored goals if she hadn’t been given a steady supply of the ball.’

‘There’s a rumour that we may yet take part in the cup final.’

‘We’ll do more than take part, sir – we’ll win the game!’

Beresford’s conviction was absolute. His single-mindedness was inspiring. With huge numbers working in the Cartridge Section, Kennett could only know the bulk of them by sight. Neil Beresford was an exception. Because of what he’d done for the reputation of the factory, he was a familiar figure there. Kennett had often spoken to him and they were on friendly terms.

‘I had a phone call from Inspector Marmion,’ said the works manager. ‘He told me that they’ve identified a prime suspect.’

‘I know,’ said Beresford. ‘I was at Mr Jenks’s house when the inspector arrived. It was good of him to show us such consideration.’

‘It was reassuring to hear that a culprit had been tracked down but, I must admit, that I’d rather he didn’t work here. If this Herbert Wylie really isguilty, it will leave a nasty stain on the factory.’

‘The police have to catch him first.’

‘Inspector Marmion and Sergeant Keedy are both very able.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Beresford, ‘but Wylie would have had a head start on them. Arranging that explosion would have taken a lot of forethought so he’s obviously a calculating man. That means he’d have planned his escape well in advance.’

‘There’s nowhere for him to hide. Police forces all over the country will have been put on the alert. There’s a full-scale manhunt for Wylie.’

‘I still think he’ll prove elusive.’

‘They’ll catch him somehow.’

‘What if he’s gone abroad?’

‘Then they’ll go after him,’ said Kennett. ‘Nothing daunts them. According to Sergeant Keedy, they had two suspects last year who went off to France with their regiment. They were pursued, arrested and brought back to face justice. I have faith in Inspector Marmion and the sergeant. They’ll travel anywhereto get their man.’

The driver insisted on going. Even though he’d be committing himself to several hours behind the wheel, he wanted to atone for what he felt was his incompetence. Knowing that there was a mechanical fault with the car, he should have reported it and taken an alternative vehicle from Scotland Yard. Fortunately, the car he’d been driving was easily repaired and he was able to pull up outside the police station just before Marmion and Keedy emerged. Startled by the news that they were going to North Wales, he adjusted quickly and volunteered his services. It meant that the detectives could sit together in the rear of the car and discuss the case.

The journey was long, cold and uncomfortable. It was late March and the wind still had considerable bite. Since there was no source of heating in the car, its three occupants were soon shivering when evening plucked all vestiges of light from the sky. With headlamps giving them only restricted vision of the road ahead, they were reduced to a moderate speed. Keedy had the uneasy feeling that they’d never reach their destination.

‘This is madness!’ he complained. ‘We’re going to the back-of-beyond in a car that could easily run out of petrol.’

‘Orders are orders,’ said Marmion. ‘Every time we find a petrol station, we’ll fill the tank.’

‘Why couldn’t we go tomorrow in broad daylight?’

‘The superintendent can’t wait until tomorrow.’

‘Then it’s Chat who should be freezing his balls off in here and not us. If he wants answers today, let him come and get them. Better still,’ he went on, ‘why not simply ring this place for the relevant details?’

‘He tried that, Joe. What we’re after is classified material. It won’t be given over a telephone with no safeguards in place. If we want it, we go and get it.’

‘What’s the place called?’

‘Frongoch – it’s a former distillery used as a prisoner-of-war camp.’

‘Why does it have to be so remote?’ said Keedy.

‘To make it more difficult for prisoners to escape,’ replied Marmion. ‘If they do get out, they find themselves in the Merionethshire wilderness.’

‘I feel as if we’rethe ones in the wilderness, Harv. If we do have to go there, why didn’t Chat send us by train? Surely, it would have been quicker.’

‘You’re maligning our superintendent unfairly. The first thing he did was to check the timetables and where we’d need to change trains. London to Frongoch usually takes six hours but it would have taken half as long again this evening. Believe it or not,’ said Marmion, ‘this is probably the fastest way.’

Keedy grimaced. ‘Walking would be faster!’

‘Try to be philosophical about it, Joe. There was a time when you liked the adventure of going to strange places and there’s nowhere stranger than Frongoch.’

Marmion passed on the information given him by Claude Chatfield. Over twenty-five years earlier, a whisky distillery had been built beside a clear stream near Bala but it had been unable to compete with its Scottish rivals and went out of business. It was taken over at the start of the war and converted into an internment camp for German prisoners. Its isolation and strict regime also recommended it for use as a prison for Irish republicans who’d launched terrorist attacks in mainland Britain.

‘So Niall Quinn is being held as a politicalprisoner,’ said Keedy.

‘That’s right.’

‘Then it’s out of our jurisdiction. This is a case for Special Branch.’

‘The superintendent feels that we have an interest as well and he’s managed to secure permission for us to speak to the governor. They want Niall Quinn caught by whoever tracks him down first.’

‘Supposing that he’s hopped on a boat back to Ireland?’

‘Why do you keep inventing obstacles for us?’

‘Because I think we’re on a wild goose chase.’

Marmion smiled. ‘I’m very partial to the taste of wild goose.’

‘I’m serious, Harv. Okay, maybe this Irish hothead likes to set off bombs but there’s nothing to connect him with the crime that we’re investigating. I know that Sinn Fein are taking advantage of the fact that our police force has been depleted by the war,’ said Keedy, ‘but why on earth should one of its members take an interest in an obscure pub in Hayes, Middlesex?’

‘There’s something you ought to know, Joe.’

‘What is it?’

‘Niall Quinn came over from Ireland with the express purpose of blowing up a stretch of railway line near Uxbridge station. Moreover,’ Marmion went on, ‘he was arrested at his uncle’s house with bomb-making equipment in his possession.’ He raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Now why didn’t Eamonn Quinn mention that to us?’

When the meal was over, he sent the children upstairs so that he could talk to his wife in private. Maureen and Lily were glad to run off. Their father was in a surly mood and that never boded well. Left alone with her husband, Diane Quinn had a piece of news to pass on.

‘Who told you that?’ he asked.

‘I met Sadie Radcliffe when I was out shopping.’

‘That woman is a witch.’

‘Eamonn!’ she exclaimed.

‘She said some nasty things about Maureen and I’ll always remember that. How did she hear about this Herbert Wylie?’

‘Sergeant Keedy went to see her.’

‘Do the police think that he put that bomb in the outhouse?’

‘They seem to have good reason to name him as a suspect,’ she said, ‘and all because Maureen told them about the man. It’s a feather in her cap.’

‘I’m not happy at the way they keep on at her.’

‘They’ve only been here a few times, Eamonn.’

‘They’re badgering our daughter,’ he argued, ‘and she’s not in a fit state to be questioned time and again. What if she blurts out something she shouldn’t?’

‘Maureen wouldn’t do that. She has more sense.’

‘I’ll give her another warning.’

‘No, don’t do that,’ advised Diane. ‘She’s not feeling well.’

‘What’s wrong with her?’

‘I’m not sure. All I know is that she’s been behaving in an odd way since I got back from the shops. Maureen was fine when I left. Well,’ she corrected herself, ‘as fine as she could be, that is. Later on, she was shaking all over. I thought she’d caught a chill or something and wondered if I should take her to the doctor.’

‘No,’ he decreed. ‘Doctors cost money.’

‘We can’t let her carry on like that, Eamonn.’

‘I didn’t see anything wrong with her.’

‘Well, I did and it worries me. It’s something to do with her mind.’

‘That’s why I want to keep those detectives at arm’s length,’ he said, jabbing a finger at her. ‘They always ask too many questions. If they keep on and on at her, she might forget what I told her.’

‘She won’t mention Niall, I promise you.’

‘It could be awkward for me, if she did.’

‘I don’t see why.’

‘Use your head, Di,’ he chided. ‘Niall spent the night here. If the police had found that out, I’d have been in the dock beside him. It was only because I talked my way out of the situation that I didn’t get arrested.’

‘It might have been safer if you’d turned Niall away.’

‘He’s family. I got loyalties.’

‘He frightened me,’ she admitted. ‘He’s full of such anger at the government. Why does he have to get involved in politics at all? He’s Maureen’s age. He should be thinking about settling down.’

‘Niall has a mission.’

‘I know – and it involves killing people.’

‘All he was trying to do was to cause a disruption on the railway. He was going to take great care that nobody was hurt. Niall is not a killer, Di. He’s a brave lad who sticks by his principles.’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘but what terrible principles they are. He’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants. Why can’t he live a normal life like the rest of us?’

Quinn was peremptory. ‘There’s nothing wrong with what he believes in,’ he said, tapping his chest. ‘I share his convictions. Ireland has been ground down by the British for far too long. We need people like Niall. More power to his elbow!’

Diane was quietly horrified. She’d never heard him speak like that before.

The installation of the telephone at the Marmion house brought many benefits. It meant, for a start, that he could no longer be hauled out of bed in the small hours by a messenger rapping on the front door. A summons from Scotland Yard could be made by telephone. It also enabled Marmion to contact his colleagues directly from home and to arrange for a driver to pick him up. Yet it remained a novelty to Ellen and she still viewed it with mixed feelings. Its loud ring always unsettled her even when she was expecting a call. The sound caught her off guard that evening and she almost dropped the cake tin she was about to slip into the oven. Putting it on the stove, she wiped her hands on her apron and went into the hall. The ring seemed to have an accusatory note. She lifted the receiver cautiously.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s me, Ellen,’ said Marmion.

She relaxed at once. ‘Where are you?’

‘We’re on the other side of the Welsh border. I’m ringing from a police station in a town whose name I wouldn’t even try to pronounce. It has no vowels in it.’

‘Whatever are you doing in Wales?’

‘Joe is cursing the superintendent for sending us here and I’m hoping that it’s not a wasted effort. I can’t go into details, love. I just wanted to warn you that I’ll be back very, very late tonight. Don’t wait up for me.’

‘I can’t sleep properly when you’re not here.’

‘Try a bit harder. There’s a possibility that we may have to spend the night at the camp. In that case, you won’t see me until tomorrow.’

‘What camp are you talking about?’

‘I’ll tell you when I see you.’

‘Have you got a suspect?’

‘We have two at the moment, love, and a third on the horizon.’

‘This case is getting more and more complicated.’

‘That’s its attraction,’ he said, breezily. ‘It would be far more convenient if we were operating entirely within London but we have to go where the evidence takes us. Is there any news at your end?’

‘I knitted another pair of socks today.’

‘Well done!’

‘Oh – and Alice called in to see me at the centre. That inspector of hers has sent her out on patrol, looking for prostitutes.’

He chortled. ‘She’ll find plenty of those roaming the streets.’

‘It’s nothing to laugh at, Harvey.’

‘I’m glad, for her sake. Alice will be out in the fresh air and she’ll get some experience of the seamy side of life. It will toughen her up.’

‘I don’t want her toughened up. I want her to stay as she is.’

‘We all have to grow and develop, Ellen. Anyway,’ he said, ‘I must be on my way. Joe sends his love and has made a decision about where he and Alice will spend their honeymoon.’

‘Oh, that’s good. Where will they go?’

‘Anywhere but Wales – that’s official.’

He rung off and the line went dead.

Royston Liddle had never felt his weakness so keenly. Convinced that Alan Suggs was responsible for the outrage, Liddle wanted to avenge the deaths of his rabbits but he had neither the strength nor the cunning to do so. All that he could do was to follow the killer whenever he could and watch his every move from the shadows. That way, he could at least direct his hatred at Suggs. The explosion at the pub had been a major event and Liddle had been unable to take in the enormity of it all. The murder of his pets was another matter. It was more personal and direct. In his limited codex, five dead canaries couldn’t compete against two dead rabbits.

Having waited for Suggs to return home from work, he hid nearby and kept the house under surveillance. When a light came on in the bedroom, he decided that his quarry had gone upstairs to change out of his working clothes. There was another wait in a doorway while – as he assumed – the driver made himself a meal. Liddle was patient. The longer he stayed out of sight, the darker it was getting. When he finally came out, Suggs was wearing a suit and had changed his flat cap for a trilby. Walking with a swagger, he made his way to the nearest pub and went in for a drink. Liddle could see him through the window, quaffing a pint and chatting to some of the other patrons. At one point, Suggs came over to the window and Liddle had to duck sharply to avoid being seen. It was a false alarm. In fact, Suggs hadn’t spotted that he was under scrutiny. Having removed his hat, he used the window as a mirror in which to check his appearance.

Half an hour later, he came out of the pub and looked in both directions to make sure that he was not observed. He then moved off furtively down a side street until he reached the house on the corner. After a second check that nobody else was about, he knocked on the front door. It was opened almost immediately and he was whisked inside. Royston Liddle gave a silent cackle. Perhaps there was a way to get his revenge, after all.

Silhouetted against the night sky, Frongoch camp looked all the more forbidding. Its high perimeter fence was topped with barbed wire. Guard dogs could be heard barking. The building that had once housed the whisky distillery was now largely given over to staff accommodation. Internees and other prisoners were locked away in crude huts fitted with wooden bunks. It was late when the detectives arrived and they had to show their credentials to the armed guards at the gates before they were let in. The interminable drive along winding roads had been an ordeal for the chauffeur. Left alone in the car, he fell instantly asleep.

Once inside the fence, Keedy’s curiosity got the better of his discontent. He looked around with interest, noting the number of armed guards on patrol. Marmion was grateful to be liberated from the car. It had explored every pothole on its way there and he was aching all over. When the visitors were conducted to the governor’s office, they rallied at the sight of the bottle of whisky on his desk.

Major Hugh Gostelow was a genial host. He beamed at his guests.

‘Welcome to Frongoch, gentlemen,’ he said, cheerily. ‘May I offer you something to keep out the cold?’

‘Yes, please,’ replied Marmion.

Keedy was more wary. ‘It isn’t Welshwhisky, is it?’

‘No,’ said Gostelow. ‘It’s the best Scotch – single malt, of course.’

He poured the drinks and handed them to the newcomers, reserving a generous portion for his own glass. After introductions had been made, they all sat down. Tall, angular and still in his forties, the governor had an air of gentlemanly authority. His uniform was impeccable and he was noticeably well groomed.

‘What’s this all about, Inspector?’ he began. ‘When I spoke to your superintendent, he only told me what he felt was necessary to get my cooperation.’

Marmion gave him a fuller version of the investigation. When he heard details of the explosion, Gostelow winced. He asked some pertinent questions and thanked the inspector for being so articulate and concise. Then he reached for a folder on his desk and handed it to Marmion.

‘That’s your man,’ he said as the detectives read the file together. ‘As you can see, Quinn has packed rather a lot into the twenty years he’s been on this planet. The police want him for a string of offences in Dublin and he’s suspected of being involved in many Republican activities on this side of the Irish Sea. Pity, isn’t it?’ he added. ‘He’s a good-looking young fellow.’

Marmion and Keedy looked at the photograph of Niall Quinn. He had close-cropped dark hair and a faint resemblance to his cousin, Maureen. The scowl on his face couldn’t hide the fact that he was arrestingly handsome. He looked older than twenty and his gaze was challenging.

‘How did he escape?’ asked Keedy.

‘It was during the night,’ said Gostelow. ‘He’d bribed one of the Germans to take his place at roll-call so that we thought he was still with us. It was hours before we found the tunnel. Quinn was a human mole. He’d been working on that tunnel for months, by the look of it.’

‘Did nobody else go with him, Major?’

‘No – it was a solo run.’

‘Was a search mounted?’

‘Of course it was, Sergeant. We scoured the whole county for him but there are lots of places to hide in Merionethshire. My feeling is that he went to ground somewhere. We know he’d been hoarding food so he wasn’t short of rations.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘The rogue even helped himself to a bottle of my Scotch.’

‘He sounds like an enterprising chap,’ said Marmion.

‘He was, Inspector. When he put his mind to it, he could be quite engaging. It was only a means of camouflage, however. He tried to convince us that he wasn’t really so eager to plant bombs in the name of Sinn Fein but we weren’t fooled.’

‘Do you have many Irish prisoners here?’

‘They’ve increased in number recently and I fancy that we’ll have many more. I don’t know how conversant you are with events across the water,’ said Gostelow, ‘but Sinn Fein and the so-called Irish Citizens Army have both stepped up their activities. It’s only a matter of time before something really serious happens. My fear is that it will spill over into this country.’

‘Do you have room for more prisoners?’ asked Keedy.

‘Not if they come in substantial numbers. If that’s the case, our German guests will have to be moved to Knockaloe Camp on the Isle of Man. That’s a shame because most of them are perfectly harmless individuals with the misfortune to have German parentage. The Irish are different. They hate us simply because we’re British. If they had the chance to blow Frongoch up, they’d take it.’

Having perused the documents, Marmion handed them back to the governor.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I notice that Niall Quinn was arrested under Defence Regulations.’

‘It’s a vital tool in a wartime situation,’ said Gostelow before taking another sip of his whisky. ‘It saves us the time and trouble of going through the courts. DORA has been a boon to us. I know that it produced howls of protest from people who thought their freedom was being taken away, but the Defence of the Realm Act was one of the best pieces of legislation passed by the government.’

‘How well did you get to know Quinn while he was here?’

‘Oh, it was very well – he made sure of that. Prisoners tend to keep their heads down and keep clear of me but Quinn had the cheek of the devil. He spoke up whenever he had the chance and he was always causing trouble. I had him in here on many occasions to answer charges of various kinds.’ Gostelow smiled at the memory. ‘He’s the only prisoner I’ve ever met who could be both obsequious and taunting at the same time. He made two failed attempts to escape before he actually did get away. In one sense, I’m glad to be rid of the little so-and-so.’

‘What do you think he’ll do with his freedom?’ asked Keedy.

‘Oh, there’s a short answer to that, Sergeant,’ replied Gostelow. ‘He’ll go straight back to what he was sent to this country to do – planting bombs.’

‘Will they be designed simply to damage property or are they likely to kill people as well?’

‘Quinn has no concern for human life. One of the guards overheard him boasting to his friends that he was ready to blow up British men, women and children to achieve his ends – particularly young women.’

‘Why is that?’

‘They bear children. Murder them and you stop British babies being born.’

Keedy exchanged an uncomfortable glance with Marmion. Both were thinking of Florrie Duncan. They let Gostelow ramble on. Everything they heard about Niall Quinn marked him out as a ruthless and dedicated young man.

‘In his file,’ said Marmion, ‘I saw that he had a few regular visitors.’

‘Yes,’ said the governor. ‘They were Irish Members of Parliament. As soon as we lock up anyone from the Emerald Isle, they’re here to protest about poor food, dreadful accommodation, punitive discipline and so on. It’s all nonsense, of course, but they feel they have to speak up for their fellow countrymen. What really upsets them, however, is that we limit visits to a mere fifteen minutes.’

‘That would upset me as well,’ volunteered Keedy. ‘It’s a hell of a long way to come for a quarter of an hour of conversation.’

‘At least, they get to speak to someone, Sergeant. As Members of Parliament, they have that right. People who just roll up at the gates are usually turned away. That’s what happened to the first visitor who tried to see Niall Quinn,’ explained Gostelow. ‘When I knew that you were coming, I looked up his name out of interest.’

‘Who was it?’ asked Marmion.

‘It was his uncle – a Mr Eamonn Quinn.’