Five Dead Canaries

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

As a rule, June Ingles didn’t get to see a morning newspaper. Her husband always bought one on his way to work, read it during his lunch break then discarded it before coming home. There’d been a radical change that day. Brian Ingles had not only bought three different newspapers, he kept reading their front pages at intervals as if he’d forgotten what news was being featured. When she caught him glancing at the headlines of one paper yet again, she was curious.

‘You must know that article off by heart now,’ she observed. ‘Why do you keep picking it up?’

‘I find it reassuring, June.’

‘Well, I don’t. I hate seeing Florrie’s name mentioned in print like that. It brings back that awful moment when we were first told what happened.’

‘But the police know who did it,’ he said, tapping the newspaper.

‘They only think they know, Brian.’

‘Inspector Marmion wouldn’t have released this name if he wasn’t pretty sure. People all over the country will know that this Herbert Wylie was responsible for the explosion. Someone is bound to spot him.’

‘What good is that to us?’

‘He’ll be caught, convicted and hanged.’

‘That won’t bring Florrie back, will it?’

‘No,’ he conceded, ‘but it will give us the satisfaction of knowing that the person who murdered her will get his just desserts.’ He put the paper aside. ‘I intend to be in court to see it happen.’

They were in the living room. The only bonus of their daughter’s death was that June had been able to enjoy her husband’s company for successive evenings. After work, he often dined at his club or went to a meeting of one of the societies of which he was an active member. It was only at weekends that they spent any time together. Though irritated by his regular recourse to one of the newspapers, she was pleased to see that his spirits had lifted. Immediately after the news of the explosion, Ingles had been close to despair. Instead of consoling his wife, he’d been in need of consolation himself. It was June who’d had to find the strength to carry the two of them through the initial horror. That had changed now. Ingles had recovered his habitual self-confidence and shrugged off his earlier torpor. What pleased his wife was that he was no longer talking about selling the house. She could now think of ways of improving their existing home.

‘We need new curtains in here,’ she said.

‘No, we don’t.’

‘Take a proper look at them, Brian. They’ve faded badly.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with them.’

‘But you promised me that I could choose some new ones.’

‘Did I?’ he said in surprise. ‘When was that?’

‘Months ago — don’t you remember?’

‘There are more important things to spend our money on, June, so you can forget about the curtains.’

‘But you said that we’d go to London one day to look at fabrics.’

‘That will have to wait,’ he said, brusquely.

‘I’ve been waiting for ages already.’

‘For heaven’s sake, June, stop blathering on about curtains!’

His harsh tone alarmed her. ‘I’m sorry.’

There was a hurt silence. He tried to make amends for his momentary outburst by offering her a conciliatory smile and a pat on the knee. After another glance at the headline in the newspaper on his lap, he changed the subject.

‘Did I tell you that I saw Neil Beresford this morning?’

‘No,’ she replied, ‘you didn’t.’

‘He’d just been to the newsagent’s. It was quite cold but he was wearing a singlet and a pair of shorts. Apparently, he’d been out running.’

‘Why?’

‘You’ll have to ask him. It seems a strange thing to do at a time like this.’

‘I envy him,’ she admitted. ‘Neil Beresford lost his wife but he’s young enough to find another one. We can never replace Florrie.’

‘Don’t go on about it, June.’

‘But it’s true.’

‘I know,’ he said, squeezing her hand, ‘but we mustn’t let it cloud our thoughts indefinitely. We have to build our lives anew — and so will the families of the other victims.’

Seeing the deep sorrow in her eyes and the sag in her shoulders, he tried to cheer her up. He put his newspaper aside and crossed to examine the curtains.

‘I can’t see them properly in this light,’ he said, holding the fabric, ‘but they do look as if they’ve faded a bit.’

‘We’ve had them for five years, Brian. We need a change.’

‘Perhaps we do. Let me think about it.’

‘Thank you.’

The telephone rang in the hall. Ingles was on the move at once.

‘That might be the inspector,’ he said, hopefully. ‘I asked him to ring the moment he had any positive news.’

He left the room and lifted the receiver with a smile on his face. But it was not Marmion at the other end of the line. It was a voice that chilled him to the bone.

‘Hello,’ said a man. ‘Do you remember me?’

The stationmaster was a mine of information. He knew the times of departure of every passenger train that came there during the day and he also knew when the regular goods trains were due. The detectives had not lost Niall Quinn, after all. They knew where he was going. According to the stationmaster, the goods train on which the Irishman had contrived a free ride was heading for a marshalling yard some fifteen miles or so away. Since it would maintain a reasonable speed all the way, it would give Quinn little opportunity to get off in transit. If they could get to the destination before the train, they stood a chance of catching the fugitive. It meant a mad dash in the car and considerable discomfort for the two passengers as they were thrown about in the rear seats but Marmion and Keedy raised no protest. They were willing to endure anything in order to overtake Niall Quinn.

‘We’ll just have to hope that the train doesn’t slow down at any point,’ said Marmion, ‘or he may be able to jump off.’

‘I don’t think he’ll be jumping anywhere, Harv. Didn’t you see the way he hung from that bridge so that he didn’t have so far to fall? That limp tells us that he’s hurt one of his legs,’ argued Keedy. ‘Otherwise, he’d have leapt off that bridge like the daredevil that Major Gostelow described. In any case, didn’t the stationmaster say that the goods train wouldn’t stop until it reached the marshalling yard?’

‘There could always be an emergency stop.’

‘Niall Quinn will want to go as far as the train will take him.’

‘You’re probably right,’ said Marmion, ‘and we do have one thing in our favour — he thinks he shaken us off. He doesn’t realise we’re after him.’

‘The surprise element is always useful, especially when someone is armed.’

‘We must take no chances, Joe.’

‘I’d feel a lot happier if we had guns as well.’

‘You’re not trained to use a firearm.’

‘I ought to be and so should you.’

‘Take it up with the commissioner,’ said Marmion, ‘though you’d be spitting in the wind. It’s a matter of pride to him that, in the main, we’re not armed. I know that constables on night patrol in certain areas do carry weapons but they’re the exception and their pistols are not always reliable. Don’t forget what happened at the Siege of Sidney Street.’

‘How could I?’ said Keedy, bitterly. ‘It was a disgrace. Our guns were useless and our so-called marksmen couldn’t shoot straight.’

It was only five years since the siege and it remained fresh in the memory. Three policemen had been shot dead while trying to arrest a gang of Latvian burglars. Just over a fortnight later, the police received information that two of the gang were hiding in a flat in Sidney Street. A gun battle developed. While the police used bulldog revolvers, shotguns and firearms more suitable for a rifle range, they were up against men with Mauser pistols capable of rapid and accurate fire. Eventually, the police had to ask for volunteer marksmen from the Scots Guards.

‘It really showed us up,’ complained Keedy. ‘When they saw how inadequate our guns were, they withdrew them from service, then reissued them as soon as the war broke out. Do we never learn?’

‘It’s a question of budgets, Joe. It always is.’

‘It’s a question of common sense.’

They swung hard to the left as the car turned a corner at a speed that took two of its wheels briefly off the ground. As it straightened, it was racing down a road that was parallel with the railway line. A passenger train thundered past in the opposite direction, half-hidden in billowing smoke. Buildings and trees obscured the line for a few moments but it soon came back into view. Seeing something ahead, their driver increased speed until he drew level with a goods train.

‘Do you think that’s the one Niall Quinn is on?’ asked Keedy.

‘I’m sure it is, Joe.’

‘How can you be certain?’

Marmion chuckled. ‘Didn’t you see him wave to us?’

Convinced that he was safe, Niall Quinn lay back and rested. Some of the wagons had been carrying coal but he chose one with a tarpaulin over it in the hope of a softer landing. He was in luck. Beneath the tarpaulin were large cardboard boxes. While he had no knowledge of what they contained, he was grateful for the way they’d softened his fall from the bridge. His first task had been to inspect the swollen ankle. Nothing was broken but it really hurt. Accustomed to improvising, he tore a long section off the bottom of his shirt to use as a bandage and give his ankle support. Feeling marginally better, he was able to relax and consider how best he could get to Anglesey and thence to Ireland. He was sorry to complicate the lives of the Quinn family by turning up unexpectedly and he was especially sad to have terrified his cousin, Maureen. Under other circumstances, he’d have liked the chance to get to know her better. But his commitment to the ideals of Sinn Fein came first.

Remaining in England was too dangerous. As long as he was there, he’d be hunted and he’d vowed never to be incarcerated in Frongoch again. Once he’d got back to the safety of Dublin, he decided, he might send a cheery postcard to Major Gostelow. The governor had a sense of humour. He’d appreciate it.

Their car had long since lost sight of the goods train and they had no idea if they were still ahead of it or indeed if it was the right one. They were in open countryside now with trees looming out of the dark.

‘I take it that Niall Quinn is no longer on your list,’ said Keedy. ‘If he only came back to the area today, he couldn’t possibly have set off that bomb at the pub.’

‘I accept that, Joe. He’s not the man we’re after.’

‘Then why are we chasing him?’

‘Would you rather let him go?’ asked Marmion.

‘Oh, no — he’s a danger to the public while he’s on the loose. When we’ve got a chance of nabbing him, we’ve got to take it. I’m not quite sure what Chat will make of it all, though.’

‘I think I do. If we arrest Quinn, he’ll rap us over the knuckles for straying away from our investigation, then he’ll enjoy bragging rights over Special Branch because we did their job for them. Chat always wants it both ways.’

‘What about the Quinn family?’

‘Technically, they were harbouring an escaped prisoner.’

‘They were doing it reluctantly,’ said Keedy. ‘I believe Maureen. Her cousin popped up like a jack-in-the-box and there was nothing she could do about it. If he hadn’t needed to reclaim his gun, Niall Quinn wouldn’t have gone anywhere near the house. We should remember that.’

‘We will, Joe. In fairness to Niall, he didn’t mean to get them into trouble. We happened to arrive on their doorstep at the wrong time.’

‘I’d have thought it was the right time.’

‘It is, in one sense,’ said Marmion. ‘When we found Niall there, we struck gold. He’s the one to blame, not the family.’

‘Maureen told us the truth,’ said Keedy, ‘I’m certain of it. I’m less certain that she told us the full truth about the night of the explosion.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘There’s always this sense that she’s holding something back.’

‘Most of the time, it will just be tears.’

‘Perhaps I’m not the best person to question her.’

‘I’d say that you did very well, Joe. After all, you were the one who got the name of Herbert Wylie out of her. That marked a huge advance for us.’

‘There’s more to come, if only I knew how to draw it out.’

‘We’ll both have a go at her next time.’

‘I’m not sure that that’s the answer, Harv. We’re men and she’s a young woman in a tragic situation. With the best will in the world, we can’t ever win her over completely.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s a job for a woman,’ suggested Keedy. ‘Maureen needs someone who can console her and gain her trust. That’s where the feminine touch has the advantage.’

‘We don’t have female detectives,’ said Marmion.

‘We have policewomen. In fact, you’ve got one in the family.’

‘Let’s not drag Alice into this.’

‘But she’d be the ideal person to talk to Maureen,’ said Keedy. ‘She’s patient, softly spoken and full of sympathy for anyone in distress. Also, she’s fairly close in age to Maureen. I think that Alice would know instinctively what to say to her. She’d win Maureen’s confidence in a way that we could never achieve.’

Alice Marmion got off the bus and walked in the direction of her flat. Though she was not directly involved in the case, she knew enough about it to make deductions of her own. It was a more pleasurable exercise than tramping the streets as she’d done when on duty that day. She envied her father and Joe Keedy. They were at the heart of a multifaceted investigation that kept throwing up new lines of enquiry. She longed to face such challenges. When she got to the house, she let herself in and instantly forgot all about the case. Waiting for her on the table was a letter sent from someone whose handwriting she’d recognise anywhere. Seizing the envelope, she tore it open and read the letter from her brother.

It was full of loving apologies for forgetting to say anything about her engagement to Keedy in his earlier letter. He admitted the mistake and gave her his warmest congratulations. Paul was less enthusiastic about her decision to join the police service but he admired her courage in doing so. Alice was ecstatic. Her anxiety had been unfounded. Her brother was ready to welcome Keedy into the family. She would count the days until she saw Paul again.

When he felt the train gradually slowing down, Niall Quinn craned his neck over the side of the wagon and saw lights ahead. They were coming into a marshalling yard. Even with the bandage on, his ankle would barely take his weight. It led him to wonder if he should stay where he was for the night. It was unlikely that the wagons would be unloaded until the next day. Even if someone came to check the cargo, he could evade prying eyes by crawling under the tarpaulin. On the other hand, he warned himself, escaping in daylight meant taking obvious risks. Anyone seeing him would take note of his limp and he couldn’t hope to outrun any pursuit. On balance, it was better to withstand the discomfort of travelling on foot and make his exit under the cover of darkness. As the train got ever slower, therefore, he braced himself to take a chance.

At least they knew that it was the right train. Having got to the yard five minutes ahead of it, the detectives had established that it had to be the one on which Niall Quinn had obtained a lift. There was no guarantee that he was still on it, however, but they remained optimistic. They watched the locomotive haul its load into a siding and come to a halt, hissing steam into the air. Marmion and Keedy set off. Keeping either side of the train, they walked towards the rear and checked every wagon. The fugitive had boarded the train somewhere about halfway down but it was not impossible that he’d made his way forward during the journey. Someone who could escape the high security of Frongoch had to be extremely resourceful. They made allowances for the fact, moving stealthily and careful not to show their hand too soon.

It was Marmion who saw him first. As he made his way along the wagons, he saw a head appear some twenty yards or so in front of him. Kneeling down in the shadows, he waited until a leg came into view. It was followed by the body of Niall Quinn, lowering himself gingerly to the ground. Since his back was turned to him, Marmion risked an attack. He stood up and ran towards the Irishman, hoping to catch him unawares. In seconds, he was staring down the barrel of a gun. Roused by the noise of footsteps, Quinn had swung round to face Marmion. Still yards away from him, the inspector came to a dead halt. He was able to take a good look at him and identify the man whose photograph he’d seen at the prison camp. It was definitely Niall Quinn. Knowing that Keedy was nearby on the other side of the wagons, he raised his voice and sought to distract the Irishman.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ he said. ‘If you go back to Frongoch, all you’ll have to face is a longer sentence. Use that gun and you’ll be signing your death warrant.’

Niall was puzzled. ‘Who the devil are you?’

‘I’m Inspector Marmion of Scotland Yard and I’ve followed you from the home of your uncle, Eamonn Quinn. The game is up, lad. Why don’t you hand that weapon over?’

Extending a hand, Marmion took a few paces towards him.

‘Stay back!’ warned Niall. ‘I’ll shoot if I have to.’

‘That will rouse the whole place. Dozens of people will come running. You can’t kill the whole lot of us, Niall. There’s no escape.’

‘I’m only trying to make it easy for you.’

‘How did you get here?’

‘We followed you in the car.’

Niall was wary. ‘Who are “we”?’ he demanded.

‘Me and my driver,’ replied Marmion, careful not to mention Keedy.

‘Where’s the driver now?’

‘He’s still in the car.’

‘Then I can borrow him for a while,’ said Niall, limping towards him. ‘I’ve got a hostage, you see. You’re my way out of here, Inspector.’

‘What if I refuse to go with you?’

‘Then I’ll shoot you dead where you stand.’

It was no idle threat. When the gun was levelled at him, Marmion knew that his life was in danger. But help was very near. Having worked his way along the wagons, Keedy had ducked under the buffers and come out on the other side. He was well behind Niall and creeping towards him. Marmion played for time.

‘Take the car,’ he said. ‘You don’t need us.’

‘I can’t drive with my ankle like this.’

‘Then accept that you’ve got no hope of getting away.’

‘There’s always hope.’

‘What happens when we take you where you want to go?’

‘That depends on how cooperative you are.’ He motioned with the gun. ‘Lead the way to the car and keep your back to me.’

‘As you wish, Niall,’ said Marmion, humouring him.

The two of them set off. It was the moment for Keedy to strike. Coming up behind Niall, he tried to dive on his back but the Irishman had a sixth sense. He spun round and lashed out with the gun, catching the sergeant hard on the side of the head and knocking his hat off. Keedy slumped to the ground. Before Marmion could move to his aid, the gun was pointed at him again.

‘How many more of you are there?’ asked Niall.

‘There’s only the driver — I swear it.’

‘Then keep moving.’

‘Let me see to the sergeant first.’

Niall put the barrel of the gun against Marmion’s forehead. It left its imprint on the inspector and persuaded him to do as he was told. With Keedy still motionless on the ground, the two of them walked along the track, Quinn at the rear, until they came to an exit that led to the place where the car was parked. Marmion was less worried about his own dilemma than about the injury suffered by Keedy. The gun had hit him with vicious force. He didn’t relish the thought of describing to his daughter what had happened. There was still some way to go and Marmion didn’t hurry. With his ankle causing him searing pain, Niall was content with the slow pace.

Keedy was still groggy as he hauled himself to his feet. It had been a glancing blow and his hat had taken some of the sting out of it but it had been enough to stun him and to draw blood. After rubbing his head gently, he made sure that he’d regained his balance before setting off. Dim figures were moving ahead in the middle distance. He could see that Marmion was taking an unnecessarily long route to the car. It gave him his opportunity. Keedy lurched after them, then struck off to the right, taking a short cut that would save him minutes. His head was pounding and his vision was blurred but he forced himself on. Marmion was at the mercy of a desperate man with no compunction about killing a police officer. He had to be rescued.

Niall Quinn stayed close behind his captive. When they reached the shade of a warehouse, he ordered Marmion to halt and put his arms out wide.

‘I don’t have a weapon,’ said Marmion.

‘I know that or you’d have drawn it on me when you had the chance. I’m not looking for a gun,’ said Niall, reaching inside the other’s coat. ‘I’m after this.’

With a deft flick of the wrist, he extracted Marmion’s wallet and slipped it into his own pocket. Then he nudged his prisoner forward with the point of his gun.

‘That’s very kind of you, Inspector. You not only lend me your car, you give me some money as well.’

‘You’re welcome to the money, Niall, but I would like the photographs inside it, please. They’re very important to me.’

‘You’re in no position to ask favours, Inspector, and I won’t grant you any.’

‘The photos are no use to you.’

‘Yes, they are — I’ll have fun burning them.’

Marmion struggled to prevent himself from turning round to confront him. Niall was heartless. Provoking him in any way could be a fatal mistake. As they reached the back of the warehouse, the car came into view. There was enough light for Niall to see that the only person in it was the man behind the driving wheel.

‘Thank you for your help, Inspector. This is where we part company.’

Before he could reply, Marmion felt the gun crash down on the back of his head. It sent him into oblivion. Stepping over him, Niall went towards the car.

Keedy, however, had got there before him and was bent down on the other side of it. Having warned the driver what to expect, he’d armed himself with the starting handle. Niall limped across to the car and pointed the gun at the driver, jamming it against the glass. It was as far as he got. Keedy suddenly came round the car and flung his weapon at the hand holding the gun. It was knocked from Niall’s grasp and fell to the ground. The driver then swung his door open, hitting the Irishman with enough force to make him fall backwards. Keedy rushed forward to kick the gun out of reach then dropped onto Niall, punching away at face and body. Flailing away with both fists, Niall fought back with a real ferocity, spitting into his attacker’s face and trying to bite him. But he was no match for two trained police officers. When the driver came to Keedy’s assistance, they soon overpowered the Irishman, turning him over and snapping handcuffs onto his wrists. He writhed madly on the ground and turned the air blue with expletives.

‘Save it for the trial,’ said Keedy, lifting him by the scruff of the neck and pushing him against the car. ‘You can swear all you like then.’

Picking up the gun, he thrust it under his belt then hurried across to Marmion, who was starting to move slightly. He brought an unsteady hand to his head.

‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘We caught him,’ said Keedy, gasping for breath.

Though they both needed hospital treatment, the detectives insisted on driving back to Scotland Yard first to hand over the prisoner. Claude Chatfield was still there. Unsure whether to praise them for their success or upbraid them for straying away from the murder investigation, he took pity on them and said that a full report could wait until the next day. The priority was to have their wounds examined. Knowing that she’d still be up worrying about him, Marmion rang his wife to assure her that he wasn’t seriously injured but that a driver was on his way to pick her up. In the event, Ellen got to the hospital before they did. When her husband appeared, she rushed over to him and saw the gash on his head.

‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ she asked.

‘I’m fine, love,’ he replied, hugging her. ‘You can order a coffin for Joe but I’ll be back on my feet tomorrow.’

Realising that she’d ignored Keedy, she turned to embrace him as well. His head wound would also require stitches. Marmion sent him off to be seen to first, then sat down with Ellen.

‘I’m so glad that Alice didn’t see Joe like that,’ she said, anxiously. ‘It would really have upset her.’

‘She’s a policewoman. Alice knows that we have a spot of bother from time to time.’

‘It’s more than a spot of bother, Harvey. That man could have beaten your brains out.’

‘I’ve got a thick skull and so has Joe. Besides, we both had hats on.’

‘They didn’t stop you from being knocked out.’

‘Don’t remind me,’ he said, one hand to his head. ‘The pain only eases when I can forget about it. Just be thankful I’m safe and sound. It’s all over now.’

Ellen was distraught. ‘He had a gun — you could have been killed.’

‘But I wasn’t, love. What does that tell you?’

‘It tells me that you take too many chances.’

‘We couldn’t let him get away.’

‘Has the superintendent given you time off to recover?’

Marmion laughed. ‘Claude Chatfield wouldn’t give us time off if we’d been run over by a train. He’ll expect us back to work tomorrow on the dot.’

‘That’s cruel.’

‘It’s the way the Metropolitan Police works, Ellen, and you know it.’ He kissed her on the cheek. ‘Isn’t there something you’ve forgotten?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘A word of congratulation wouldn’t go amiss.’

‘I just feel terribly sorry for the pair of you.’

‘We’ve caught a dangerous criminal,’ he told her. ‘He was sent to this country to cause havoc by setting off bombs. Joe and I will get a big round of applause in the press for this — and there’ll be cheering in Frongoch as well.’

‘Is that the place you went to in Wales?’

‘Yes, love. The governor is going to be very pleased with us.’

‘Then I should congratulate you as well,’ she said. ‘Well done, Harvey.’

‘The real hero is Joe. He actually arrested Niall Quinn.’ Marmion winked at her. ‘Would you like to know why?’

‘Yes, I would.’

‘When he held a gun on me, Quinn took my wallet. Joe saw him do it. I bet that’s what incensed him. Joe must have known there was a lovely photo of Alice inside it,’ said Marmion. ‘Nobody was going to get away with that.’