Текст книги "Five Dead Canaries"

Автор книги: Edward Marston

Соавторы: Edward Marston
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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

June Ingles was puzzled. At a time when all she could think about was the gruesome murder of their daughter, her husband was talking about selling the house. It disturbed her at a deep level. It not only intruded upon her grief, it suggested that Brian Ingles was not as preoccupied with mourning Florrie’s death as he should be. She’d accepted that he was at times arrogant and high-handed but he’d never been so determined to ignore her wishes before. A decision such as moving house was something that ought to be discussed with her in full and at a more appropriate moment. The sense of being disregarded gnawed away at her. The moment that June woke up that morning and saw that her husband was sitting up in bed, she returned to the subject.

‘I still don’t understand why you went to that estate agent yesterday.’

‘I wanted a rough valuation,’ he replied.

‘Why? We don’t need to sell it, Brian, and I certainly don’t want to.’

‘No more do I.’

‘Then what’s all the fuss about?’

‘It’s just a precaution, that’s all,’ he told her. ‘What happened to Florrie has made me think. All the plans we ever had for her disappeared in a flash. And it could happen to either of us, June.’ He flicked a hand. ‘I don’t mean that we’re likely to be blown up as she was but there are other reasons for sudden death. We could be killed in a car accident or die from some terrible disease.’

‘Don’t be so morbid.’

‘I’m just being practical. If I were to have a fatal heart attack tomorrow, you’d be in the most awful position. You’d be stuck in this big house with no idea of any outstanding financial commitments. It would be a nightmare. Moving to a smaller property would mean that everything was simplified for you.’

‘I’m not a child,’ she protested, ‘so you can stop patronising me.’

‘There’d be money in the bank. You’d have a safety net.’

‘But I already have that, Brian. This house is my safety net in every way.’

He got up and drew the curtains on the bay window, peering out to see a fine drizzle falling. A neighbour opposite was setting off to work with an umbrella. The milkman was working his way along the road. A stray dog was prowling.

‘Come back to bed,’ said June.

‘I’m up now.’

‘We need to settle this once and for all.’

‘No, June,’ he snapped. ‘It’s already settled. There’s nothing else to be said.’ By way of appeasement, he put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry to be so short with you but the fact is that I’m the breadwinner here and therefore entitled to make the major decisions about our future.’

‘Not without consulting me.’

‘You havebeen consulted.’

‘No, I haven’t,’ she said. ‘This idea came completely out of the blue. You’d made up your mind before you even spoke to me.’

‘Yes – and I’ve just explained why.’

‘This is ridiculous. You’re not going to have a heart attack, Brian. At your last check-up, the doctor said that you were as fit as a fiddle. And the chances of either of us being knocked down by a car are very remote.’ She hauled herself up and rested against the headboard. ‘Something’s going on, isn’t it? And you’re not telling me what it is.’

‘I’m just asking you to trust me.’

‘Why can’t I know the full truth?’

‘You already know it, June,’ he said. ‘Now why don’t we stop fighting over this issue and have a cup of tea instead? I’ll go and make one.’

‘You’re doing it again,’ she complained. ‘As soon as I ask you a question, you either cut me off or find a reason to change the subject. What’s going on, Brian?’

‘I’m making sensible plans for our future.’

‘There’s more to it than that.’

‘Florrie’s death has made me face reality.’

‘But you’ve always done that. What you’ve never done before is to threaten to sell this lovely house.’

‘It’s not a threat, June.’

‘It sounds very much like it to me.’

He inhaled deeply. ‘It’s just one option I’m considering,’ he said, irritably. ‘It may not be necessary. I hope that it isn’t. But I wanted to take stock of our situation. Now will you please stop nagging me?’

June brightened. ‘So we may be able to stay here, after all?’

‘It’s … a strong possibility.’ He took his dressing gown off its hook. ‘Can I go and get that cup of tea now?’

‘Yes, please. You’ve cheered me up. Thank you, Brian.’

Putting on his dressing gown, he gave her an ambiguous smile and left.

None of them had ever spent a night behind bars before but that’s what happened at Frongoch Camp. All three of them had locked up prisoners in the past but it was their turn to be ushered into cells. It was the only accommodation available for Marmion, Keedy and their driver. Each of them was given one of the cells in the segregation unit. Reserved for prisoners who needed to be kept in solitary confinement, they were small, bare and featureless, containing little beyond a bunk, a table bolted to the floor and a chair. Blank walls pressed in upon them, though closer inspection showed that they were not entirely plain. Earlier occupants had scratched their names or their artwork into the rough plaster. There was a plethora of obscenities and, in Harvey Marmion’s cell, the name of Niall Quinn was proudly recorded. The Irishman had left his mark on the camp in a number of ways.

The visitors were grateful that they didn’t have to face another long drive through the night. Marmion had already warned Ellen that he might not be home until the morrow, Keedy had nobody waiting up for him and their chauffeur, although married, had schooled his wife to accept that he’d be forced to work uncertain hours. All three of them enjoyed a hearty breakfast before being given a quick tour of the camp by Major Gostelow. Security was tight. The dogs were trained to attack. In order to escape, Niall Quinn had shown both courage and ingenuity.

Having entered Wales at night and having endured endless bumps and bends in the road, Joe Keedy had had an unfavourable impression of the country. Daylight helped him to revise his opinion. Early morning mist had been burnt off by the sun and they drove through areas of breathtaking natural beauty. A car was a rare sight in some of the tiny hillside villages so they always got attention and friendly waves. Now that the driver was able to see exactly where he was going, he could avoid the worst hazards along the way.

Marmion remembered the name scratched into the wall of his cell.

‘Niall Quinn is dangerous,’ he said.

‘We knew that before we set out,’ Keedy reminded him. ‘I’m not persuaded that we needed to come to Frongoch at all.’

‘When did you last drink such an excellent whisky?’

Keedy grinned. ‘Yes, I have to confess that it was rather special.’

‘So was the experience of being locked up in solitary confinement.’

‘My door was left open.’

‘I was speaking metaphorically, Joe,’ said Marmion. ‘As for our visit, I’d say that it might have provided us with another suspect. We learnt that Niall Quinn would have no compunction about blowing up young women.’

‘But why would he want to?’ asked Keedy. ‘And how would he know that the birthday party was taking place in that pub?’

‘There’s an easy answer to that – his cousin told him.’

‘Are you saying that Maureen Quinn wantedher friends killed?’

‘I’m reminding you that she wasn’t there when the bomb went off.’

‘Yes, Harv, and we know why. She was unwell.’

‘Was she?’ Marmion ran a ruminative hand across his chin. ‘If she’d been that poorly, she wouldn’t have gone to the party in the first place. And she didn’t look unwell when we saw her. She was jangled, yes, but who wouldn’t be? What I didn’t see were any signs of illness.’

‘Are you suggesting that she lied to us?’

‘All I’m saying is that I knew when either of mychildren was unwell. You only had to look at their faces – Alice, especially. They were either flushed or pale. If they had a temperature, you could spot it straight away.’

‘I still can’t see Maureen Quinn as part of a conspiracy.’

‘Neither can I,’ admitted Marmion, ‘but she could unwittingly have helped her cousin. She might have mentioned the party and he saw his opportunity.’

‘But why blow up five innocent young women?’

‘It was to get attention, Joe. Publicity is what Sinn Fein is after and they got plenty of that. Yes,’ he went on, anticipating Keedy’s rejoinder, ‘I know that they didn’t claim responsibility. That means nothing. They’re out to cause maximum disruption and spread fear. And consider a crucial fact. Someone like Quinn wouldn’t see the victims as innocent young women. In his eyes, they’re munition workers. Because they make weapons, they symbolise the hold that we have over Ireland.’

‘Only some brainless fanatic would think that.’

‘Quinn isa fanatic.’

‘No,’ said Keedy, thinking it over, ‘I’m not convinced. If an escaped prisoner turned up on Maureen’s doorstep, she’s more likely to have reported it to the police.’

‘What about her father?’

‘He’s different. He wouldn’t lift a finger to help us.’

‘Then don’t rule his nephew out.’

Keedy was adamant. ‘My feeling is that Herbert Wylie is still our best bet.’

‘What about the anonymous father of Florrie Duncan’s baby?’

‘We can’t even be certain that there wasa baby, Harv. At best, it was only guesswork. No,’ he continued, ‘ youcan add Quinn and Florrie’s secret lover to your list. It was Maureen who gave us our breakthrough. The culprit is Wylie.’

To burn off some of the energy that was coursing through him, Neil Beresford went for a run that morning, padding around the streets in shorts and singlet. The drizzle had stopped now and a wind had sprung up. He tried hard to still the ugly memories that clouded his mind. He’d got used to the idea that Shirley was a permanent fixture in his life. They’d known each other since school and a long courtship had followed. Married for almost four years, they were looked upon as the ideal couple. Since they worked at the same factory and were key figures in the football team, they were invariably seen together. A vast hole had suddenly opened in Beresford’s life and nothing could ever fill it. Though he pushed himself hard, he couldn’t outrun the agonising truth that he’d never see his wife again.

The physical effort finally began to sap his energy and make him puff hard. Slowing down as he approached a run of shops, he came to a halt and needed a couple of minutes to get his breath back. Beresford then went into the newsagent and bought a copy of the morning paper. As he stepped back onto the pavement, a car drew up at the kerb and came to a halt. When the engine was switched off, Brian Ingles got out of the vehicle and looked him up and down.

‘Good morning!’ he hailed.

‘Oh, hello,’ said Beresford, almost defensively.

‘You’ve been running, I see.’

‘I had to get out of the house, somehow. I felt trapped in there.’

‘Yes, the associations are powerful, aren’t they? Wherever you look, you must be reminded of your wife. It’s different with us because Florrie didn’t live at home.’

‘She told Shirley that she liked her independence.’

‘We still saw a lot of her,’ said Ingles, airily, ‘because she wasn’t far away. We’ve always been a close-knit family.’

It wasn’t what Beresford had been told by his wife. He was well aware of the fact that Florrie had been almost estranged from her parents but he didn’t dispute Ingles’s version. All that he wanted to do was to get away from the other man because he hated people who had a need to dominate a conversation.

‘It looks as if the collective burial will go ahead,’ said Ingles.

‘Does it?’ muttered Beresford. ‘I’m glad.’

‘I think that I was responsible for that. I not only persuaded Agnes Collier’s mother, I finally battered down the walls of Reuben Harte’s opposition. He’s fallen into line with the rest of us.’

‘Good.’

‘What does it say in the paper?’

‘I haven’t really looked,’ said Beresford, lifting it up so that he could see the front page. ‘It’s the main story – POLICE NAME PRIME SUSPECT.’

‘My God!’ exclaimed Ingles. ‘He did it, I’m sure. Wylie did it and he’ll hang for the crime. Excuse me,’ he went on, moving away. ‘I want to get my own copy and read the details.’

He went into the shop and left Beresford wondering why the man was in such a buoyant mood. His daughter had been killed in an explosion yet Brian Ingles was grinning happily as if she were still alive. Beresford had plenty to think about on the jog back to his house.

It was a flying visit but Ellen was delighted to see him. Marmion had returned to the house to apologise for his absence in the night and to change his clothing. He gave her very few details and she didn’t press for any. Having him back under the roof was enough for her. All she wanted to talk about was their son’s return and he found it easier to agree with everything that she suggested.

‘How was Alice when you met her yesterday?’ he asked.

‘She’s fine in herself, Harvey. Only one thing worries her.’

‘Is it that inspector who’s taken a dislike to her?’

‘I think that she can cope with that.’

‘So what is it that’s troubling her?’

‘It’s Paul,’ she replied. ‘He’s been told about Alice and Joe but he’s made no comment about it. That really hurt her. Joe is going to be his brother-in-law yet Paul couldn’t even be bothered to acknowledge the fact.’

He shrugged. ‘Perhaps he didn’t even get her letter. Mail does go astray.’

‘Alice wouldn’t believe that. She thinks that Paul definitely knows.’

‘He forgot to mention it, that’s all, love. It may be at the forefront of Alice’s mind but our son is more interested in fighting the enemy. Family matters don’t strike you as so important when you’re in that situation.’

‘I’d say that they were even more important,’ she contended. ‘Look how thrilled he was to be given leave. Paul couldn’t wait to get back to us. All of his previous letters were about the things he missed here.’

He patted her back. ‘It was your cooking that he really missed, Ellen. And he did send his love to Alice in his last letter. Isn’t that enough for her?’

‘No, Harvey. She thinks that he may support you.’

‘I’m not taking sides,’ he claimed, hands held aloft.

‘Yes you are so don’t try to pretend otherwise. You still can’t accept that Joe Keedy and our daughter are going to be married.’

‘It’s an established fact – I have to accept it.’

‘Then do so graciously.’

‘I must be off,’ he said, moving away.

She grabbed his arm. ‘It would make such a difference to Alice.’

‘Our daughter has made her choice, Ellen. I can’t change that.’

‘Then why can’t you make an effort to get used to the idea? Joe Keedy is a good man – nobody knows that better than you. He’ll make a fine husband. More to the point, he’ll make Alice very happy. Why do you have to cast such a shadow over her happiness?’

Marmion was about to reply when a car horn sounded outside the house.

‘My driver has arrived,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘Goodbye …’

After the long journey back, Joe Keedy had also wanted to change. He was far more aware of his appearance than Marmion. When he got to his flat, he stripped off, put on fresh underwear and a clean shirt then hung up his crumpled suit and reached for the other one. After straightening his tie in the mirror, he was ready to leave. The car was waiting outside to take him back to Hayes. On their way there, Marmion gave him his orders. When he was dropped off, the first place that Keedy called at was the Quinn house. Answering the door, Diane was not overjoyed to see him.

‘Maureen is very tired,’ she said. ‘She hasn’t been getting much sleep.’

‘I see.’

‘Could you come back another time, Sergeant?’

‘I don’t need to speak to your daughter, Mrs Quinn,’ he told her. ‘I only came to have a word with you.’

She was taken aback. ‘Oh – why is that?’

‘If you let me in, I’ll be able to tell you.’

Reluctant to do so, she nevertheless allowed Keedy into the living room. It would mean some harsh words from her husband when he found out but that was unavoidable. They sat down. Hat in his hand, Keedy tried to calm her with a smile.

‘Something has come to our attention,’ he said, quietly. ‘It appears that your husband has a nephew by the name of Niall Quinn.’

Diane started. ‘How ever did you find that out?’

‘It doesn’t matter. It’s true, isn’t it?’

‘Well, yes, but we never see anything of Niall. He lives in Ireland.’

‘I think you know that that’s not the case, Mrs Quinn. He was arrested a year ago for activities relating to a campaign run by Sinn Fein. He’s been imprisoned in a camp in Wales.’

‘I did hear some vague rumour about that,’ she admitted.

‘Your memory is letting you down, I’m afraid. He was caught in this very house with incriminating material in his possession.’ Biting her lip, she lowered her head. ‘There’s no point in denying it, Mrs Quinn.’

‘I didn’t want him here, Sergeant. He’s no relation of mine.’

‘How long was he in the house?’

‘He just popped in to see us for that one afternoon.’

‘So he didn’t stay here at all?’

‘No,’ she said, raising her head.

‘I’m sure you know the penalty for harbouring a fugitive.’

Diane was roused. ‘We did nothing wrong. When a member of the family knocks on your door, you don’t turn him away. Besides, we’d no idea that Niall was involved in … the things that got him sent to prison. It’s unfair of you to make me feel guilty. Anyway,’ she added, ‘it was a long time ago. I’ve tried to forget it.’

‘Did you know that Niall escaped recently?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘He hasn’t been in touch, then?’

‘I swear that he hasn’t,’ she said, vehemently. ‘If you’ve come to accuse us of helping him to escape, you might as well leave now. Neither I nor Eamonn had the slightest idea that he’d got out of prison.’

‘It’s an internment camp called Frongoch. I think you knew that.’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘But your husband paid a visit there.’

She was bemused. ‘When?’

‘It was not long after his nephew had been moved there.’

‘He never mentioned it to me.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I don’t even believe that it’s true.’

‘Oh, there’s no question about that, Mrs Quinn,’ said Keedy. ‘Inspector Marmion and I drove all the way to the camp last night to interview the governor.’ She recoiled from the information. ‘He told us about your husband’s visit. We also discovered what a very nasty young man Niall Quinn was.’ Diane was confused and hurt. He could see her flitting between bafflement and discomfort. ‘Why didn’t your husband tell you that he was going to Wales?’

‘I don’t know,’ she confessed.

‘Is he in the habit of keeping things from you?’

‘No,’ she said, resenting the implication. ‘Most of the time I know where Eamonn is. But he does go off with friends from time to time. They have outings. I don’t mind that. My husband has a tiring job. He deserves a treat.’

Keedy wanted to ask her why she wasn’t allowed an occasional treat herself but he felt that it would be too cruel. Diane clearly knew little about Niall Quinn’s movements and had been embarrassed to have him in her house. Evidently, she had no idea why her visitor was even asking about him.

‘Is your husband interested in politics?’ he asked.

‘He never discusses anything like that with me, Sergeant.’

‘That wasn’t what I asked. Does he go to meetings of any kind?’

‘He likes a drink at the pub, that’s all.’

‘Would that be an exclusively Irish pub, by any chance?’

She hunched defensively. ‘What are you getting at?’

‘I’m wondering if your husband supports the aims of Sinn Fein.’

‘I told you. He never talks about things like that to me.’

‘Yet you must have known that Niall was involved in their activities. Did your husband approve of what he was doing or condemn it?’

About to fling back a retort, Diane was checked by the painful memory of her husband’s declaration in favour of Irish nationalism. It had been under the surface all the time but it had never burst out like that before. Keedy watched her closely and wondered if he should apply more pressure. He was prevented from doing so by the arrival of Maureen Quinn. Having been listening to them outside the door, she wanted to protect her mother from further questioning.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked. ‘Did I hear Niall’s name being mentioned?’

It was mid-afternoon when Marmion got to the police station in Hayes. He’d already rung Claude Chatfield from his home to report on their visit to Frongoch and hoped that he wouldn’t have to speak to the superintendent again until the end of the day. Yet, as soon as he went into the room he was using as his office, he saw the note left on the table for him. It asked him to contact Scotland Yard immediately. He rang the number and heard the telephone being snatched up at the other end.

‘Is that you, Marmion?’ asked Chatfield.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I expected you to ring earlier than this.’

‘I’ve only just arrived here,’ said Marmion. ‘The traffic was heavy on the drive here and I had to drop Sergeant Keedy at Maureen Quinn’s house.’

‘Have you seen this morning’s paper?’

‘I caught a glimpse, sir.’

‘It’s done the trick,’ said Chatfield, excitedly. ‘We’ve had a response. In fact, we’ve had several but most of them could be easily discounted as hoax calls. One of them, however, has the ring of truth about it.’

Marmion was alert. ‘That’s very gratifying, Superintendent,’ he said. ‘Have you received a tip-off about Herbert Wylie?’

‘The tip-off came from the best possible source.’

‘Oh – what’s that?’

‘It was from the man himself, of course. Having seen his name in the paper, he walked into the nearest police station and gave himself up.’

‘Are they sureit’s Wylie?’

‘They are,’ said Chatfield, ‘and so am I. As he was being described to me, I was looking at that photograph you obtained from the works manager. In every detail, the description fitted him.’

‘What about his voice?’ asked Marmion. ‘If he came from Sheffield, he’d have had a Yorkshire accent.’

‘He’s got one.’

‘Where is he being held?’

‘He’s at Rochester police station. I think that congratulations are in order,’ the superintendent continued. ‘It was down to you and Sergeant Keedy that this man was identified. That was good detective work.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Marmion, savouring a rare compliment.

‘Well, off you go, then. Drive straight to Rochester and take this man into custody. When his confession has been verified and he’s been formally charged, I can release the information to the press.’ He gave a ripe chuckle. ‘Herbert Wylie is waiting for you. Go and get him.’