Five Dead Canaries

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The news that her son was at last coming home on leave had filled Ellen Marmion with a delight that never faded. As she did her housework that morning, she was almost radiant. Her only complaint was that she’d not yet had time to discuss with her husband or daughter the welcome they should prepare for their returning hero. Paul’s letter had talked about his need for a long rest but there would be other members of the family eager to meet him, so there had to be a big celebration. Plans for a party began to form in her mind. Taking wartime food shortages into account, Ellen even went through the meal that would be served. It was when she got to her son’s bedroom that she felt real exhilaration. Though he’d been away for a long time, she’d cleaned the room regularly and dusted all of his trophies. Paul had been a talented sportsman. He’d won cups for his prowess at athletics and tennis, but the award he valued most was the shield his football team had acquired when winning the league title in their last full season. A photograph of the eleven players stood on the mantelpiece and Ellen could see her son smiling proudly in the back row.

Her stomach lurched slightly as she glanced at some of the other young men. Heartened by the fact that they could all be in the same regiment if they joined up together, the whole team had rushed off to the recruiting office. Some of the players had already been killed and others had been sent home with missing limbs and disturbing memories. While luxuriating in her own pleasure, Ellen spared a passing thought for families less fortunate than her own. When she picked up the photo to examine it more closely, she was struck by something that Marmion had told her about the investigation. Some of the victims were members of a ladies football team. Such a thing had never existed in her youth and Ellen was not sure that it ought to exist now. While she saw the necessity for change, she was fearful of the way that the boundaries between the two sexes were being blurred and, in some cases, eradicated altogether. Women now played football, drove buses, ran canteens and refugee centres, filled shells in munition factories, joined the police service and did almost everything else that had once been the exclusive territory of their male counterparts. Some, like Ellen herself, sewed and knitted with varying degrees of skill in order to send gloves, socks and other items to soldiers at the front.

It was unsettling for a woman with the values of her generation. Particularly worrying for Ellen was the rise of the suffragettes. Having suspended their campaign at the outbreak of hostilities, they’d devoted themselves to unflagging war work as a means of attesting their patriotism and of proving that they could match what men did and should therefore be given an equal right to vote. That was going too far, in Ellen’s view, and she was unnerved by the support that Alice gave to the notion of female emancipation, hoping that her daughter’s marriage to Joe Keedy would return her to a more traditional role. Dusting the photo before replacing it, she wondered what her son would make of the way that Alice had changed since the outbreak of war. As children, they’d been very close but they’d slowly drifted apart. Ellen had watched with disquiet as her daughter had gone from being a teacher to wearing a police uniform. An army uniform might have wrought even more profound changes in her son. He would certainly not be the person they’d waved off after his last leave. All of a sudden, her elation began to dim slightly.

‘What’s the fellow’s name?’

‘Herbert Wylie.’

‘Where did he work?’

‘In the Cartridge Section at the munitions factory.’

‘When did he last turn up there?’

‘On the day of the explosion,’ replied Marmion.

‘What did you find at his digs?’

‘We saw evidence of bomb-making ingredients, sir.’

‘Anything else?’ asked the superintendent.

‘It looks as if he’s flown the coop.’

After their visit to Wylie’s house, the detectives had returned to the police station. In view of what he felt was a significant discovery, Marmion had rung Claude Chatfield to tell him what had been found in the garden shed. He praised Keedy for drawing the information out of Maureen Quinn that one of her friends had been stalked by a man at the factory who was frighteningly obsessive.

‘What do we know about him?’ enquired Chatfield.

‘We know very little, I’m afraid,’ said Marmion. ‘Mr Kennett only knew him by sight and Wylie’s landlady gave us an idealised portrait of him. She seems to treat him like the son she never had. If he can win her over so completely, he must have some redeeming features.’

‘Did you tell her that he’s now a suspect in a murder inquiry?’

‘No, sir — it seemed too cruel to shatter her illusions. Besides, we don’t know that he was the bomber. We’ve had strong evidence in the past that turned out to be annoyingly misleading.’

‘My instinct tells me we’ve picked up the scent of the man we want,’ said Chatfield, emphatically. ‘I’ll release his name to the press and say that we’re anxious to trace him. He’s gone to ground somewhere and we need to flush him out.’

‘I agree, Superintendent.’

‘What will you and the sergeant do in the meantime?’

‘Sergeant Keedy has gone back to the factory to talk to people who knew Herbert Wylie rather better than the works manager. With luck, there might even be a photograph of employees that includes the man. I know that there are group photos of female workers because I saw one on the wall in Mr Kennett’s office. Hopefully, they pointed the camera at the men as well.’

‘You haven’t told me what you’ll be up to, Inspector.’

‘I’m going to pay a second visit to Mr Jenks.’

‘I thought he denied that his daughter had any interest in boyfriends.’

‘He did,’ said Marmion. ‘What he’s going to learn about Enid will come as a severe blow. Jonah Jenks felt that he controlled his daughter’s life.’

Jonah Jenks sat at the piano and played a few chords. The sound was still echoing when the door knocker introduced a note of disharmony. He answered the door and, moments later, brought Neil Beresford into the living room. Though they’d never met before, their mutual sorrow gave them an immediate rapport. After declining the offer of a cup of tea, Beresford explained why he’d called.

‘By rights,’ he said, ‘I should be at work but I overslept this morning. I’d set the alarm when I went to bed but my mother removed the clock while I was asleep and I woke up far too late.’

‘Your mother probably did you a favour, Mr Beresford.’

‘I’ve told her I’ll go back tomorrow but she thinks it would be too soon.’

‘I’m inclined to agree with her. I’ve taken leave from work for the foreseeable future.’

Beresford looked as if he needed as much rest as he could get. Fatigue had painted his features a deep grey and hollowed his cheeks. Yet there was an intensity and animation about him that contradicted his appearance.

‘I really came to ask you about the letter from Mr Kennett. Have you reached a decision yet?’

‘Yes,’ said Jenks. ‘I’ve come round to the view that the offer should be accepted. I’d like Enid to be laid to rest with her friends.’

‘Mr Ingles wants his daughter to be part of a joint burial,’ Beresford told him. ‘He called round to see me early on and persuaded me that it’s the right thing to do. That makes three of us who are of the same mind. I can’t speak for the others.’

‘Reuben Harte is against the idea.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I tackled him about it earlier but he wouldn’t commit himself to the notion. He prefers a quiet funeral involving only the immediate family.’

‘What about Agnes Collier?’

‘I don’t know her family at all, Mr Beresford. Agnes lived near Uxbridge close to Maureen Quinn. We’ll have to wait and see how they react to the offer. My hope is that — seeing three of us in favour of it — they’ll decide to join us. If it’s a case of four to one,’ Jenks continued, ‘then the pressure will tell on Reuben Harte. His resistance might well crumble. What do you think?’

Beresford was distracted and the question had to be repeated for him.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said with a disarming smile, ‘I was admiring that photo of your daughter. She was a beautiful young lady.’

‘One newspaper described her as a canary — along with your wife, I may say. It’s a dreadful name. I hate it. But you know Reuben Harte, don’t you?’ Jenks went on. ‘Whenever his daughter played in the football team, he came along to support her.’

‘Yes, he was always there on the touchline. A lot of parents were.’

‘What will happen to the team now?’

‘We’ll fight on,’ said Beresford with conviction. ‘We owe it to the players we’ve lost to play and win that cup final. Woolwich may think it’s theirs for the taking and that will make them complacent. We’ll take them by surprise.’

‘I wish you good luck.’

They sat down and discussed the apparent lack of progress in the police investigation. Neither of them could offer any clue as to the identity of the person who’d planted the bomb or what his motives could possibly be.

‘My mother feels that it could be a Woolwich supporter,’ said Beresford, ‘but even a fanatic would have more respect for human life than to kill five innocent women. I’m wondering if it was a tragic accident.’

‘It was certainly tragic,’ said Jenks, sadly.

‘Why would anyone deliberately want to cause such pain and suffering?’

‘The German army is doing just that as we speak, Mr Beresford.’

‘You expect horrors in a war,’ said Beresford, ‘but not on your doorstep.’

‘When did you first hear?’

‘I knew that something had gone wrong when …’ he paused to grapple with his emotions ‘… when Shirley didn’t come home after the party. The Golden Goose is less than twenty minutes’ walk away. I was about to go there when a police car pulled up outside the house. Hearing the news was like being hit by a thunderbolt.’

‘I felt the same. Enid was my sunshine. I couldn’t believe she’d died.’

‘My wife used to say what a fine musician she was.’

‘We’ll never know just how good she could have become,’ said Jenks, flicking his eyes to the photograph on the piano. ‘The war robbed her of a chance to develop her talents and the explosion robbed her of her life. It’s so unjust.’ He took a deep breath before conjuring up a smile. ‘Have you had any reporters hounding you?’

‘Quite a few have come to the house but my mother sent them away.’

‘They’re like vampires, feeding off the dead.’

Beresford was philosophical. ‘I suppose they’d say that they were only serving the public interest. It’s a big story that must have got national coverage. Every newspaper wants inside information.’

‘Well, they won’t get it from me.’ He looked up as he heard the door knocker. ‘If that’s another of them, he’s going to go away empty-handed.’ He got up from his seat. ‘Excuse me.’

Jenks went out of the room and opened the door. The caller was Harvey Marmion. After apologising for disturbing him, the inspector asked if they might speak in private. Jenks brought him into the living room. Marmion was surprised to see Beresford there but pleased to have caught the two of them together. It enabled him to ask about the funeral arrangements. Both men confirmed that they would accept the offer and that Brian Ingles planned to do so as well. Jenks hoped that Marmion had brought some good news about the investigation.

‘Do you have something to tell us, Inspector?’ he asked.

‘It’s really for your ears only,’ said Marmion.

‘You may speak freely in front of Mr Beresford. After all, he’s rather more than an interested party.’

‘That’s true,’ said Beresford. ‘I’d like to hear what you’ve found out.’

Marmion looked from one to the other before putting a question to them.

‘Does the name Herbert Wylie mean anything to either of you?’

‘No,’ replied Jenks. ‘I’ve never heard about him.’

‘What about you, Mr Beresford?’

‘There’s a chap at work called “Herbert” but I’ve no idea what his other name is. He puts detonators into shells.’

‘That sounds like our man. Could you describe him, please?’

After explaining that he didn’t really know the man, Beresford gave enough details about his appearance to convince Marmion that it was indeed Wylie. The description tallied with that given by his landlady.

‘Why are you so interested in this fellow?’ asked Jenks.

‘What I’m looking into is Wylie’s interest in your daughter,’ said Marmion, gently. ‘I suspect that you didn’t realise that Enid once went out with him.’

‘That’s nonsense!’

‘We have it on good authority, Mr Jenks.’

‘Enid would have told me. She wasn’t deceitful in any way.’

‘This occasion was the exception to the rule, sir. Wylie did take her out and your daughter chose not to mention it to you because the evening ended unhappily. Enid told him that she never wanted to see him again.’

‘Wait a moment,’ said Beresford, snapping his fingers. ‘My wife used to work beside Enid at the factory. I vaguely remember her saying that someone was pestering Enid. I didn’t realise that it was Herbert.’

Jenks was puce with anger. ‘I still refuse to believe that my daughter went out with any man,’ he asserted. ‘Her whole life was here with me and her music. What else did she need?’

‘Whatever it was,’ said Marmion, ‘she obviously didn’t find it in Wylie. For his part, he was livid at being rejected and determined to win her over. It seems that he pursued her with single-minded dedication. He even turned up in the church congregation at one point, simply to be close to her.’

‘You’re making this up,’ said Jenks.

‘I’m only reporting what I was told, sir.’

‘And I can support it,’ said Beresford. ‘Now I recall it, Enid always lurked at the factory gate so that she could go in with Shirley. I thought she was just being friendly but it’s more likely that she needed a bodyguard.’

Jenks was furious. ‘If Enid was being harassed, she’d have told me.’

‘It’s precisely because you’re her father,’ argued Marmion, ‘that she couldn’t turn to you. It would have meant owning up that she’d once encouraged this man’s interest in her.’

‘Where did you get this monstrous tale?’

‘If only it were monstrous, sir.’

‘Who is your informant?’ demanded Jenks.

‘It was Maureen Quinn. Your daughter confided in her and Maureen would hardly have invented a story like that. She struck me as a truthful young woman.’ Marmion looked at Beresford. ‘You know her well, Mr Beresford, because she is in your football team. Would you say that Maureen was honest by nature?’

‘Yes,’ said Beresford, ‘I would. She’s very honest.’

Marmion turned back to Jenks. ‘Facts are facts, sir, however distasteful they may be. You’ll simply have to accept the truth.’

Jenks was dazed. The daughter whom he’d loved and trusted was changing before his eyes and it was a distressing transformation. He was so shocked that he dropped down into an armchair with his head in his hands. All that Marmion and Beresford could do was to wait until he began to rally. Sitting up straight, Jenks looked at Marmion with apprehension.

‘What other revelations do you have about my daughter?’ he asked.

‘I know of nothing to her discredit,’ said Marmion. ‘The fault, it seems, lies entirely with Wylie. When you read a newspaper tomorrow morning, you’ll see that he’s been identified as a chief suspect.’

‘Then why, in God’s name, haven’t you arrested him?’

‘He’s disappeared and we don’t know where he is.’

‘Have you been to his house?’

‘Sergeant Keedy and I called there earlier. What you need to know, Mr Jenks, is that Wylie kept sending notes to your daughter. One of them is of special interest to us because,’ said Marmion, solemnly, ‘it contained a threat that, if he could not possess Enid, then nobody could.’

‘It was Herbert!’ cried Beresford. ‘I bet he planted that bomb.’

‘We’re working on that supposition, sir. The search has begun.’

Jenks was horrified. ‘Are you saying that Enid caused this disaster?’

‘Not at all,’ stressed Marmion. ‘She was an innocent victim and so were the other four people at that birthday party.’

‘If she’d told me, I could have tackled this devil and sent him packing.’

‘Perhaps she found it difficult to confide such things in you, sir.’

‘I still can’t accept that she lied to me, Inspector.’

Beresford stood up. ‘How sure are you that Herbert was behind the crime?’

‘The evidence speaks for itself, sir.’

‘Well, he’d certainly know how to make a bomb. It was his job.’

‘We found items at his address that proved he had the means to construct an explosive device. And when someone suddenly vanishes from the scene, it’s often because he wants to escape justice.’

‘I’d like to tear him apart,’ growled Jenks, rising to his feet.

‘So would I,’ affirmed Beresford.

‘He must have put my daughter through hell. If he turned up at church, Enid must have realised that there was nowhere to hide. The poor girl must have been at her wits’ end.’ He wrung his hands. ‘Why ever didn’t she turn to me?’

‘That’s a question only you can answer, sir,’ said Marmion, quietly.

Everyone to whom Keedy talked said the same thing about Herbert Wylie. He was a quiet, industrious, rather lonely man who did his job but who made few friends at the factory. Those who realised that a detective would only take an interest in their colleague if he was suspected of something expressed their surprise. Alf Rutter, the foreman under whom Wylie worked, refused to countenance the notion that the man was capable of committing a crime. Rutter was a bull-necked man with a bald head and a toothbrush moustache that wiggled as he talked. He was also very fond of gesticulating as a means of underlining any points he was trying to make. Keedy felt that it was like talking to a human windmill.

‘Herb Wylie?’ said Rutter. ‘He wouldn’t say boo to a goose.’

‘What about a Golden Goose?’ asked Keedy.

‘You’ve got the wrong man, Sergeant.’

‘Did he have a girlfriend?’

‘No, he was far too shy. A barmaid only had to smile at him and Herb would blush bright red. Now, in my case,’ boasted Rutter, hands whirring away, ‘it was different. I was in the merchant navy. I saw a bit of the world, if you take my meaning.’

‘What about hobbies?’

‘There’s no time for hobbies in this place. You work till you drop then stagger home to bed. The only thing that any of us have any time for is a reviving pint and a natter with the missus.’

‘But Wylie wasn’t married.’

‘He had this landlady who doted on him. She couldn’t do enough for Herb. That was his idea of a girlfriend — someone old, kind and wanting to look after him.’

‘What about his family?’

‘I don’t think he had anything to do with them, Sergeant. He left home years ago. He was from Sheffield originally and came south to look for work. God knows how he ended up in Hayes but he did. As for his work,’ said Rutter, arms still flailing away, ‘I got no complaints. Herb was slow but he kept at it. He was … what’s the word?’

‘Tenacious?’ suggested Keedy.

‘That would sum him up perfect. He was tenacious.’

‘You mean that once he got his teeth into something, he’d never let go.’

Rutter grinned. ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself, Sergeant.’

It was an aspect of Wylie’s character that indicated he could well be the person described by Maureen Quinn. When he went through what he knew of the victims, Keedy could see why the reportedly shy Wylie had settled on Enid Jenks. Florrie Duncan would have been too daunting a challenge for him while Jean Harte was still mourning the death of her fiancé and repelled all male interest. Shirley Beresford and Agnes Collier were both married, the former having a husband on the premises. When he added Maureen Quinn’s name to the list, Keedy decided that she’d be more able to stand up for herself, especially with Florrie at her back. Of the six women who went to the birthday party, Enid Jenks was the most likely recipient of Wylie’s unsought addresses. She was, by all accounts, a quiet, gentle soul with few interests outside her music. Because of her father’s vigilance, she had no opportunity to find a boyfriend or to enjoy some experience of real adult life. As a target, she would have been docile and unable to strike back. Wylie had watched her for a long time before moving in.

‘Where would he go if he wanted to hide?’ asked Keedy.

Rutter was combative. ‘Who says he’s in hiding? I reckon he’s just gone off for a few days’ holiday. To tell the truth, he looked a bit odd last time he was here, like he was ill or something.’

‘Was he jumpy?’

‘No, he just did his job then rushed out.’

‘Thank you, Mr Rutter. You’ve been very helpful.’

‘I’ve saved you a lot of wasted time, Sergeant. There’s no need to go after Herb. He wouldn’t have the courage to look at them girls, let alone blow them up.’

He semaphored with both arms then turned on his heel and strode off. Keedy was glad to have spoken to the foreman. Unwittingly, the man had told him something about the suspect that confirmed his potential as a suspect. When he returned to Kennett’s office, a bonus awaited him. The works manager had dug out an old photograph of some employees about to depart on an outing. A dozen or more men were standing on a platform at the railway station and grinning happily. Wylie was lurking on the edge of the group as if he was not really part of it. Head bent forward and eyes screwed up in concentration, he stared defiantly at the camera.

‘Can we borrow this, Mr Kennett?’ asked Keedy.

‘Yes, of course,’ replied the other.

‘I’d like the inspector to see it and it will enable us to give the press a more detailed description of the wanted man.’

‘It will be a stigma on us if he does turn out to be guilty.’

‘Why is that, sir?’

‘It will look bad, Sergeant — very bad. Personally, I feel very uneasy at the thought that we may be harbouring a killer in this factory.’

‘Then there’s something you haven’t noticed,’ said Keedy, unable to resist the comment. ‘Everyone who works here is engaged in the production of dangerous weapons. It looks to me as if you’re harbouring several thousand killers.’