Five Dead Canaries

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Unconfirmed reports of sightings of Herbert Wylie had come in regularly. Claude Chatfield had collated them and dismissed those that were clearly of no use to him. Some were deliberately misleading, sent in by people who patently derived a thrill from causing mischief. He was still sifting through the latest batch when Harvey Marmion appeared in the open doorway. Chatfield glanced at him. For a man sometimes on the verge of looking scruffy, the inspector was noticeably smart for once. He saw the question in the superintendent’s eyes.

‘It’s my best suit, sir,’ he explained. ‘The one I had on yesterday got rather dirty. My wife refused to let me go out in it.’

‘That’s very commendable of her,’ said Chatfield, ‘but I wasn’t expecting you for another hour.’

Marmion held up some sheets of paper. ‘I had a report to write. You’ll want to know all the details of yesterday’s adventures.’ He handed the pages over. ‘It’s not fully accurate. I missed the actual arrest. Sergeant Keedy will tell you about that.’

‘How are you now?’

‘I’m feeling much better, sir.’

‘No permanent damage, I hope?’

‘When the stitches are taken out, I’ll be as right as rain.’

‘The commissioner is going to be singing your praises.’

‘I’m always glad to get plaudits from Sir Edward.’

‘Well, don’t rest on your laurels,’ said Chatfield, becoming businesslike. ‘There’s still a murder investigation to be resolved. Don’t expect an ovation from me until it’s all over and done with.’

‘Is there any more news about Wylie?’

‘There’s far too much. The British public seems to have invented a new game. The object is to befuddle us by making false claims.’

‘That’s an indictable offence,’ said Marmion, ‘as our friend in Rochester found out. Did you ever discover his real name?’

‘Forget him. The real Herbert Wylie is still at large. If I hear anything reliable, I’ll phone the information through to you. Make sure that you check your calls at regular intervals.’

‘I will, sir.’

‘Where will you begin today?’

‘At the place where we left off yesterday,’ said Marmion, ‘and that’s the Quinn house. They’ll want to know what happened to Niall and whether or not they’ll be prosecuted. You’ll see from my report that I recommend leniency. They didn’t invite him there and he had no intention of going into the house when he returned there. All he was after was the gun he’d hidden.’

‘Nevertheless, he was on the premises when you called there.’

‘That was a coincidence.’

‘They gave sanctuary to a man on the run.’

‘That’s not quite what happened, Superintendent.’

Chatfield sniffed. ‘I’ll make my own judgement about that when I’ve read your report.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Marmion. ‘You’ll notice that I’ve given our chauffeur a special mention. While I was still seeing stars, he was assisting in the arrest of an armed man. He and the sergeant should be singled out for their bravery.’

‘And so should you,’ said the other, grudgingly. ‘Has the sergeant arrived yet?’

‘Yes, sir, he was here before me. Sergeant Keedy is very resilient.’

‘That’s something we must all strive to be. Is he waiting in your office?’

‘No,’ replied Marmion, ‘I believe he had someone to see.’

Alice Marmion was shocked to learn of the injuries to her father and to Joe Keedy. When the sergeant met her outside Scotland Yard, he explained how the bruising on his face had got there and how he and the inspector had finished up in hospital. She scolded him for not sending for her but he told her that he didn’t want to disturb her at that time of night and that her mother had been able to supply enough succour for both of them. Alice insisted on seeing the head wound and there was a sharp intake of breath when she saw the stitches.

‘They won’t stay in for long,’ said Keedy, replacing his hat.

‘You shouldn’t have tackled an armed man, Joe.’

‘What were we supposed to do — buy him a train ticket and wave him off?’

‘I’m serious. You might have got hurt.’

He indicated his head. ‘I was hurt, Alice. But my pride would have suffered far more if we’d let him escape. I’ve been cursing Chat for sending us all the way to Merionethshire but it seems worthwhile now. We caught the man who escaped from there even though it wasn’t really our job.’

‘How’s my father?’

‘You can ask him yourself. He’ll be out in a moment.’

‘Over the years, he’s had so many injuries on duty.’

‘They haven’t deterred him, Alice — or me, for that matter.’

She hugged him impulsively and he pulled her close. They were still entwined when Inspector Gale marched up. She cleared her throat to indicate displeasure and the two of them stood apart.

‘I warned you when you first joined,’ she said, oozing disapproval. ‘I don’t allow fraternisation with male officers. It’s unprofessional behaviour.’

‘Sergeant Keedy and I are engaged,’ Alice reminded her.

‘Not when you’re on duty. Domestic matters are irrelevant then.’

‘That’s a matter of opinion, Inspector.’

Gale’s eyes blazed. ‘Do you dare to criticise me?’

‘Of course not,’ said Keedy, acting as a conciliator. ‘Alice understands that the job takes precedence. It’s a lesson she’s learnt from her father.’

‘Well, she still has several other lessons to learn,’ said the older woman, tartly, ‘when she can spare the time to learn them, that is.’

On that sarcastic note, Thelma Gale headed for the door and went into the building. Alice tried to suppress her irritation. Keedy stepped in to lift her chin up with a finger so that he could kiss her on the lips.

‘If that’s unprofessional behaviour,’ he said with a wicked grin, ‘then I have to say that I’m all in favour of it.’

The events of the previous evening had left the Quinn family in disarray. Diane feared that they’d all be arrested, Maureen blamed herself for letting her cousin into the house and Lily was chastised by her father for raising the alarm and alerting the detectives. Eamonn Quinn himself swung between bravado and apprehension, boasting that he’d defy any attempts by the police to arrest him, then sharing in the general unease. When he went off to work, he warned them once again to say as little as possible to Marmion and Keedy.

Left alone together, the female members of the household began to speculate.

‘What do you think happened to Niall?’ asked Lily.

‘I’m sure they’ll tell us,’ said her mother.

‘Well, I hope that he got away.’

‘I don’t,’ said Maureen.

‘He’s our cousin. You don’t want him caught, do you?’

‘I don’t like the idea of him being on the loose with that gun, Lily. Somebody could easily get killed. Besides,’ Maureen went on, ‘if they did arrest him, it could help us. Niall could tell them that we weren’t really hiding him at all.’

‘Daddy would have let him stay here all night, if need be.’

‘There’s no point in going on about it until we know what’s happened,’ said Diane. ‘Inspector Marmion and Sergeant Keedy have got to know us quite well by now. They’ll realise that we wouldn’t willingly break the law.’

‘Daddy did,’ Lily piped up.

‘That’s different.’

‘He got himself banned from that pub.’

‘Be quiet, Lily. You don’t know anything about it.’

‘Yes, I do. The girls at school told me about him being arrested.’

‘That’s all in the past,’ said Diane with a gesture to indicate that the discussion was over. ‘What are you going to do today, Maureen?’

‘I thought I might go to church,’ she replied.

‘Do you want to see Father Cleary again?’

‘In time, perhaps — I just want to be somewhere where I can sit and think.’

‘Lily and I might come with you.’

‘But Daddy doesn’t like us going to church,’ said Lily.

‘He doesn’t have to know, does he?’ asked Diane, giving each of them a stern look. ‘Since Maureen survived that explosion, we have a lot to be thankful for. It’s high time we got down on our knees to pray.’

June Ingles had spent so many years letting her husband pay all the bills and make all the decisions that she never dared to challenge his authority. It suited her to accept his domination because she was also cosseted most of the time. She was permitted an occasional whinge but it rarely went beyond that. As she watched him that morning, however, she saw that he was a changed man and decided that it was perhaps the moment that she underwent a transformation herself. Lost in thought, Ingles was walking up and down the living room. She planted herself in front of him.

‘This has gone far enough, Brian,’ she said, firmly.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’m talking about the state you’re in, of course.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’

‘Yes, there is. Ever since you took that phone call yesterday, you’ve been in the most peculiar mood. You wouldn’t even tell me who rang you.’

‘It’s none of your business, that’s why,’ he snapped.

‘Was it the police? Was it someone at work?’ When he turned away from her, she walked around to face him once more. ‘We never used to have secrets. Why start now?’ He avoided her gaze. ‘We’re in the middle of a crisis, Brian. We’ve simply got to stick together.’

‘I know,’ he mumbled.

‘So who was it on the phone?’

‘It was … a friend of mine.’

‘Is it someone I know?’

‘No, June,’ he said, evasively. ‘He’s more of an acquaintance than a friend. He just gave me some useful information, that’s all.’

‘What about?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Will you please stop lying to me,’ she begged. ‘I’ve lived with you long enough to know when something’s getting you down. You look hunted and in pain. What on earth did this acquaintance of yours tell you?’

‘I’d rather not go into it.’

‘Is it something to do with your job?’

‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘yes, it is. I don’t want to bother you with the details, June. It’s all rather petty, to be honest.’ He dredged up an unconvincing smile. ‘As for being hunted, nothing could be further from the truth.’

‘It’s all part of a pattern,’ said his wife, trying to work it out in her head, ‘and it started before Florrie was killed. You were more tetchy than usual and you stayed out later. Also, you began to drink more. I assumed that you’d had a bad time at work. Then came the news about Florrie and I thought you were going to have a heart attack. The next minute, you were talking about selling our home.’

‘That may still be on the agenda.’

‘But you said that we could stay here,’ she protested.

‘I said that it was a possibility.’

‘You were even ready to talk about new curtains.’

‘Well, you might as well forget about those,’ he said with controlled fury, ‘because we’re not going to buy them. I have things to sort out, June. Is it too much to ask that I can be left alone without having you breathing down my neck all the time? Stop being such a confounded nuisance, woman!’

June was aghast. They’d had their disagreements before and warm words had been exchanged but she’d never been put down with such venom and it was humiliating. All she could do was to stand there and stare at him open-mouthed. Overcome with guilt at his outburst, he hung his head. The telephone rang and he stiffened visibly.

‘Do you want me to answer that?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he grunted. ‘Stay here.’

Going out of the room, he closed the door firmly behind him.

Before they could leave for church, they saw the car pull up outside. When they let the detectives into the house, they demanded to know what had happened to Niall. Tense and frightened, all three talked excitedly at once. After calming them down, Marmion told them that he’d been caught and arrested. No decision had yet been made on whether or not they’d be prosecuted but he had recommended sympathy for their predicament. Lily was sent up to her room so that the visitors could talk alone with Maureen and her mother. Both of them gasped when Keedy removed his hat to reveal the stitches in his head wound. Marmion’s wound was also clearly visible but he forbore to tell them how the injuries had been acquired. He wanted to concentrate on the investigation into the explosion. Diane was ready with a question.

‘Why were you asking about Florrie’s private life?’ she said. ‘I don’t see that it has anything to do with the case.’

‘We have to explore every avenue, Mrs Quinn,’ he told her, ‘and this is a valid one. If Florrie really was pregnant, the man involved may have been very upset by the news.’

‘He could equally well have been pleased, Inspector.’

‘I don’t think so. We have evidence to suggest that she’d been let down by whoever it was. Why did she hold that party in the first place? If she was in love with a man, he was the obvious person with whom she’d have celebrated the birthday.’

Keedy looked at Maureen. ‘You told us that she was very happy when you got to that outhouse,’ he recalled, ‘but that she began to drink as soon as you arrived. Was she maudlin in any way?’

‘Well …’ said Maureen, uncertainly.

‘Was she tearful, sentimental or full of remorse about something?’

‘I didn’t really stay long enough to find out.’

‘Wait a moment,’ said Diane in disbelief. ‘Are you saying that this man might have planted the bomb? I thought you already knew who did that.’

‘We believe we know,’ said Marmion, ‘but this other man is of interest to us as well. That’s why we need Maureen’s help. Yesterday,’ he went on, ‘we were interrupted at a crucial point. I asked you if Agnes Collier had ever described this friend of Florrie’s to you.’

Maureen nodded. ‘She told me a little bit about him, Inspector.’

‘And?’

‘Well, she only saw them together that once. It was an evening when I’d stayed behind for a meeting of the football team. Agnes wasn’t in that, so she went home on her own for once. I remember her telling me that she was making her way to the railway station when this car pulled up at a junction.’ Maureen shrugged. ‘She saw Florrie in the front seat beside the driver. He was an older man.’

‘It could have been her father,’ said Diane.

‘It couldn’t have been Mr Ingles because Agnes had met him. Anyway, this man wasn’t as old as that. She said he might be in his late thirties.’

‘Go on,’ encouraged Marmion.

‘Agnes only saw him for a few seconds but she did say he was handsome and had a dark moustache. Also,’ she said, slowly, ‘it was a new car.’

‘Didn’t she ask about it the next day?’

‘Of course — but Florrie said it was just an old friend who’d given her a lift. Agnes didn’t believe her because she was all dressed up. She didn’t dare to have a row about it with Florrie. You didn’t argue with her, Inspector.’

‘How long was this before the birthday party?’

‘Oh, it was two or three weeks at least.’

‘And she was never seen with the same man again?’

‘Does that satisfy you?’ asked Diane, worried at the pressure that her daughter was clearly feeling. ‘There’s nothing else Maureen can tell you.’

‘Yes, there is,’ said Keedy. ‘Let’s go back to the party.’

Maureen gulped. ‘I’d rather not.’

‘You left early because you were feeling unwell.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Did you feel ill when you were at work?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘What exactly was wrong with you?’

‘I don’t see what this has got to do with the case,’ complained Diane.

‘Answer my question, please.’

‘I had an upset tummy,’ said Maureen, feeling her stomach.

‘It must have been bad if you were forced to leave a celebration like that.’

‘It was, Sergeant.’

‘Were you sick when you got back here?’

Maureen moistened her lips. She looked from Keedy to Marmion and back again. Both were gazing at her intently. She felt as if a great weight was pressing down on her. It seemed to get heavier and heavier. Her heart began to race and her cheeks were burning. The pain was steadily increasing. When she could no longer bear it, she burst into tears and buried her head in her hands.

Diane put an arm around her and glared at the detectives.

‘Do you see what you’ve done to her now?’ she said, angrily.

Neil Beresford was still trying to distract himself from his grief with frantic activity. Dressed in shorts and singlet once again, he was pushing himself harder than ever. On the last leg of his run, he sprinted the length of the street, then paused at the corner to recover, using the lamp to support himself.

‘Someone is feeling energetic this morning,’ said a voice.

Beresford looked up. ‘Oh, it’s you, Mr Jenks.’

‘You won’t find me doing anything like that.’

‘I like to keep myself fit.’

‘That’s what Enid told me,’ said Jonah Jenks, who’d just come round the corner. ‘The first time she came to watch a football match, she saw you jogging around it before the match with the whole team.’

‘It was a good way to warm them up and it paid off. Most of the teams we beat just couldn’t match us for fitness. We wore them down in the last fifteen minutes.’

‘Are you still planning to contest the cup final?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Beresford, ‘I’ve written to everybody who’ll be in the team. My wife and Jean Harte are no longer here, of course, and I’ve had to leave out Maureen Quinn. It would be an imposition to include her.’

‘She may want to come and watch the match.’

‘That’s highly unlikely, I’m afraid.’

‘Well,’ said Jenks. ‘You know her best. She’ll be at the inquest, no doubt. I was hoping they’d have made an arrest before that takes place. I’m still shocked that my daughter was indirectly involved. This whole business started when Herbert Wylie took an unhealthy interest in Enid.’

‘That’s no reflection on her.’

‘Why haven’t they caught that monster yet?’

‘Have patience,’ advised Beresford. ‘The search is nationwide. It’s only a question of time before they find Herbert Wylie.’

With his collar turned up and his hat pulled down over his forehead, the man let himself into the church and closed the heavy door behind him. The only other person there was the cleaner, using a dustpan and brush in the side chapel. He hurried across to the bell tower and went in, climbing the first of many stone steps on the circular staircase. He was slow but methodical, going ever higher as he brushed his shoulder against the ancient wall. When he reached the bells, he didn’t even pause to look at the dangling ropes. He simply opened the little door that led to a second flight of steps. They seemed to curve up to infinity and his legs began to tire. By the time he finally reached the top, he was panting for breath and aching all over. Unlocking the last door, he went out onto the balcony and stared over the parapet. People moving below resembled a colony of giant ants, darting in all directions.

It took a supreme effort to haul himself up onto the parapet. After a prayer for forgiveness, he fell forward and hurtled through the air towards destruction.

Over a cup of tea at the police station, Marmion and Keedy wondered why Maureen Quinn had reacted so dramatically to their questioning. Keedy had felt all along that he’d never got the full details from her of the events on the day of the birthday party. He was more convinced than ever now that she was hiding something but it was difficult to prise it from her when her mother was there to protect her. One way or another, the Quinn family was causing them a lot of problems.

‘Oh,’ said Keedy, ‘I forgot to mention something that Alice told me.’

‘What was that?’

‘She’d had a letter of her own from Paul. He wanted to make it clear that he was very happy with the fact that she and I had got engaged.’

‘I see.’

‘It meant so much to Alice — and to me, of course.’

‘Could we keep our minds on the case, please?’ asked Marmion with undue sharpness. ‘We’re not here to discuss family matters.’

‘I thought you might be interested, that’s all.’

‘And I might be — at a different time.’

‘You can’t keep shying away from it for ever, Harv,’ said Keedy, reasonably. ‘I’m going to marry the woman I love and that just happens to be your daughter.’

‘I hear the message loud and clear.’

‘I just don’t want it to come between us.’

‘Then stop going on about it every minute of the bloody day!’

Marmion immediately regretted his momentary loss of control and he gestured an apology. The telephone rang several times before he picked it up. Claude Chatfield was on the line and he gave Marmion scant opportunity to say anything. For the most part, the inspector was confined to nods of agreement and expressions of surprise. When he put the receiver down, he slumped into his chair.

‘Bad news?’ asked Keedy.

‘Yes — they’ve found Herbert Wylie.’

‘That’s good news, surely. Where was he?’

‘Splattered all over the ground,’ said Marmion. ‘He chose a church with one of the tallest spires in London and committed suicide by jumping from it.’

‘It will save the cost of a trial, anyway.’

‘There would’ve been no trial, Joe. He didn’t plant that bomb. Wylie left a long suicide note, explaining why he was innocent of the crime. He fled because he couldn’t bear the thought of staying at the factory where he’d met Enid Jenks. After some sleepless nights in a cheap hotel,’ said Marmion, ‘he decided that he couldn’t live without her. You know the rest.’

Keedy needed a few moments to assimilate the information. Having been so certain that Wylie was the bomber, he was flabbergasted to hear of the man’s innocence and death. It emphasised the full intensity of his unrequited love for Enid Jenks. While condemning the man for stalking her, he also felt very sorry for Wylie. A sad life had been ended in a grotesque way.

‘We’ve got a problem, Harv,’ he admitted. ‘We’re running out of suspects. We lost Niall Quinn and we can now cross Herbert Wylie off the list. That only leaves the supposed lover of Florrie Duncan. At least the other two suspects did actually exist. Our third man could turn out to be a figment of our imagination.’

‘He was real,’ Marmion argued. ‘Agnes Collier saw him.’

‘What she saw was Florrie being given a lift by a nameless man. He could have been a friend, a relative or someone with whom she did business. There’s nothing that identifies him as her lover,’ said Keedy, ‘still less as the father of a baby who may turn out to be another false assumption.’

‘Don’t lose faith, Joe. We need to trace this man.’

‘I know. He’s all we’ve got.’

Maureen Quinn went to church with her mother and her sister and they all prayed together. When it was time for the others to leave, she insisted on staying there alone. Diane withdrew with Lily, telling her elder daughter that she mustn’t wallow in guilt because no blame was attached to her for the tragedy. Maureen watched them go and stayed near the confessional box until she saw Father Cleary coming towards it. As soon as he disappeared behind the curtain, she entered the box on the other side.

‘Forgive me, Father,’ she said, ‘for I have sinned.’

The Golden Goose looked forlorn. Still covered in scaffolding, it gazed down on the detritus of the building site. Almost every vestige of the outhouse had been taken away, leaving a gaping hole. Leighton Hubbard was arguing with one of the workmen and didn’t hear the police car draw up. It was only when the detectives hailed him that he became aware of their presence. The landlord came quickly over to them.

‘Have you caught him?’ he demanded. ‘Have you arrested the blighter who ruined my pub?’

‘I’m afraid that we haven’t, sir,’ said Marmion.

‘Why ever not?’

‘He’s rather elusive, Mr Hubbard, and we don’t have unlimited resources.’

‘But you’ve got his name and photograph. What more do you need?’

‘Herbert Wylie didn’t blow up your outhouse, sir. That line of enquiry has been abandoned because he is no longer a suspect. Sadly, Mr Wylie committed suicide in London today.’

When he recovered from his shock, the landlord berated them for their incompetence and Marmion had to assert his authority, warning him that they deserved respect for their efforts. He explained why they’d returned to the pub.

‘We missed something,’ he said. ‘When we first interviewed you, we were dealing with a man who was in a state of despair.’

‘Do you blame me? I lost everything.’

‘That’s not true,’ said Keedy, indicating the pub. ‘You still have the main premises and you’ll be back in business.’

‘When you gave your account of what had happened,’ resumed Marmion, ‘it was rather garbled. We’re not blaming you for that. You told us about events immediately before the birthday party. We should have gone back a bit further.’

Keedy referred to his notebook. ‘What the inspector means,’ he said, ‘is that we didn’t ask about how Florrie Duncan came to book the outhouse in the first place.’

Hubbard hunched his shoulders. ‘I thought I told you that.’

‘Remind us when the booking was made.’

‘It was two or three weeks beforehand.’

‘Did she come here on her own?’

‘Yes,’ replied the landlord, ‘though she was anxious to be on her way. I showed her the outhouse and gave her a price. We shook on the deal and off she went. That’s all I can tell you.’

‘She wasn’t alone,’ said a voice.

Royston Liddle had crept up so that he could overhear the conversation. When the three of them turned to him, he giggled readily, pleased at the attention.

‘I was here,’ he continued. ‘I was on duty that evening.’

‘What happened?’ asked Marmion.

‘Don’t trust him,’ sneered Hubbard. ‘He’s got a memory like a sieve.’

‘What happened?’ Keedy repeated.

‘She came in a car,’ said Liddle. ‘I remember her getting out of it and going into the bar. He stayed out here.’

‘Who did?’

‘The driver, of course — he was reading a paper. I know I forget most things,’ he went on, ‘but I remember that because it was such a nice car. I haven’t seen many like that around here.’

‘Can you describe the man?’ asked Marmion.

Liddle pointed at Keedy. ‘He was about his age — maybe older — only he was better looking. And he had this little moustache.’ He grinned inanely. ‘I’ve always wanted to have a moustache but I can’t seem to grow one.’

‘Let’s go over this again,’ said Marmion, curbing his impatience. ‘This man brought Florrie Duncan-’

He broke off when he saw a uniformed constable cycling towards him. The man was semaphoring with one arm. When he reached them, he put the message into words.

‘There’s someone to see you, Inspector,’ he said, adjusting his helmet. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt but you’re to come back to the station urgently.’

When she finally emerged from church, Maureen Quinn was both chastened and relieved. The terrible burden of guilt she bore could never be wholly removed but it already felt lighter. It had been a continuous ordeal in the confessional box. The effort it had taken to get her there had been immense and it had told on her. Maureen was now sagging with fatigue. All she wanted to do was to go back to her bedroom so that she could collapse on the bed. But somebody was now standing in the way.

‘Hello, Maureen.’

She backed away. ‘What do you want?’

‘I saw you go into church with your mother and sister. You were in there for ages. I thought you were never coming out again.’

She raised a palm. ‘I don’t want to talk.’

‘Did you read my letter?’

‘I burnt it.’

‘But I meant what I said, Maureen.’

Neil Beresford had kept her house under observation until he saw her come out with Diane and Lily. After trailing them to the church, he’d waited in a lane on the opposite side of the road. When he saw her mother and sister leave, he knew that he’d have the opportunity to accost Maureen alone. Beresford gave a nervous smile.

‘It’s so good to see you again,’ he said.

‘Leave me alone, Neil.’

‘I’ve thought so much about you.’

‘I want to go home.’

‘And you’ve thought about me as well — admit it.’

‘Yes,’ she said, anger rising, ‘I did think about you and I felt ashamed. What we did was terrible, Neil. It was sinful.’

‘But we didn’t actually do anything,’ he complained. ‘You were on your way to my house when that bomb went off. Shirley would have stayed at that party for hours. We’d have been alone at last.’

‘It was a punishment for us. The bomb was our punishment.’

‘That’s what I thought at first and I felt as guilty as you did. But there was another way of looking at it. Instead of being a punishment, it was a blessed release. Shirley was only a wife in name,’ he told her. ‘She had such a horror of childbirth that she slept alone most of the time. I wasn’t allowed to touch her. That’s not a real marriage. We can be together now,’ he went on, taking her by the shoulders. ‘I don’t mean right away. There’d have to be a decent interval first. But later on — when it’s proper — we can have what we’ve both wanted.’

‘No,’ she said, stepping back out of his hold. ‘Everything has changed, Neil. I don’t want anything to do with you ever again. It was wrong of us and it was cruel to Shirley. She was your wife. You shouldn’t have come after me.’

‘I don’t remember you complaining,’ he said with rancour. ‘You were as willing as I was.’ Beresford’s tone became more conciliatory. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I don’t mean that the way it sounds. Give it time, Maureen. Wait until all this goes away. If you read my letter, you know how I feel about you. We were meant to be together,’ he insisted. ‘Don’t worry about what happened in the past. Nobody will ever know about that.’

Maureen glanced at the church. ‘Someone already does.’

It took a cup of tea and several minutes before they could calm June Ingles down enough to get articulate information out of her. She seemed ready to lapse into hysteria at any moment. Marmion and Keedy were alone with her at the police station. With a combination of patience and understanding, they drew the story out of her.

‘What makes you think your husband is in trouble?’ asked Marmion, gently.

‘I listened,’ she replied. ‘Brian had two phone calls and started to behave wildly. He refused to tell me what was going on. So I listened, Inspector. When he made a phone call himself, I opened the door of the kitchen and eavesdropped.’ Tears welled up in her eyes again. ‘He was telling the estate agent to come to the house as soon as he could to give him a valuation. Why?’ she cried. ‘We love the house. It’s ideal for us. The other day, Brian said we wouldn’t have to move. All of a sudden, he’s putting the house on the market.’

‘Did you challenge him about it, Mrs Ingles?’ asked Keedy.

‘Yes, I did. It made me livid.’

‘What did your husband say?’

‘I’ve never seen him so angry,’ she replied. ‘When he realised that I’d been listening, he used the most disgusting language. And then he …’

The memory was too fresh in her mind to bear repetition. June needed a few more minutes before she could go on. Marmion assured her that there was no hurry. Taking down her statement, Keedy was equally considerate. Both of them recognised the significance of what she was telling them. When she was ready to continue, she made a pathetic effort to put on a brave face.

‘What did your husband do, Mrs Ingles?’ prompted Marmion.

‘I still can’t believe it.’

‘Why?’

‘We’ve always been so … contented together. Brian’s been a good husband,’ she declared, anxious to say something in his defence. ‘Some people might say that he spoilt me. And it meant so much to me, you see.’

‘What did?’

‘My jewellery — he demanded that I sold it at once.’

They’d heard more than enough to be convinced that Ingles had been plunged into some sort of financial crisis. Petrified at the death of his daughter, he’d rallied soon after and regained something of his former swagger, but phone calls to the house had given him an edge of desperation. He was even about to sell off the jewellery he’d bought his wife throughout their marriage. The urgency of it all was frightening.

‘What did you say, Mrs Ingles?’ asked Keedy.

‘I refused,’ she replied. ‘I put my foot down and refused to hand over my jewellery. It was very precious to me — and I don’t mean in terms of its value.’

‘How did your husband react?’

There was another strained silence as she fought to compose herself.

‘He hit me,’ she said, lower lip trembling. ‘Brian went berserk and slapped me across the face. He’s never done anything like that before. He wouldn’t have dared. Then, instead of apologising and trying to comfort me, he went charging off upstairs to grab my jewellery box. My husband’s lost control,’ she wailed, ‘and it’s all to do with those phone calls he took.’

‘Where is he now?’ asked Marmion.

‘He’s at home. Brian said that I had to leave for a couple of hours because he had an important business meeting. Just think of that,’ she said, eyes widening in despair. ‘We’ve been married for thirty years and I get thrown out of my own house. You’ve got to help me, Inspector. Since that bomb went off, I’ve been living with a madman.’

Brian Ingles sat white-faced on the edge of an armchair in his living room. The man who stood over him was tall, lean, well featured and almost twenty years younger. Wearing an expensive suit, he fingered his moustache as he looked down at Ingles, relishing the power he had over him. He listened to a long list of promises from the other man.

‘It’s not enough,’ he said, coldly, ‘and it’s not soon enough.’

‘You have to give me more time,’ pleaded Ingles.

‘You’ve already had far too much time. Debts must be paid.’

‘And I’ll pay them in full if only you’ll bear with me for a while. It’s the worst possible moment. We’re in mourning for our daughter, for God’s sake! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’

‘It means a great deal.’

‘Then show some compassion.’

‘You exhausted my supply of that a long time ago.’ He took some sheets of paper from his inside pocket and held them up. ‘We have a contract. I expect it to be honoured.’

‘I did honour it,’ asserted Ingles. ‘I paid you thousands.’

‘All you were doing was to pay off some of the interest. You’re nowhere near settling the whole debt. The longer you delay, the higher the interest becomes,’ he went on with a taunting smirk. ‘You borrowed so much that the bank won’t give you any more credit. Find the money elsewhere. It will take more than this house and a jewellery box to get me off your back.’

‘You’re bleeding me dry, you bastard!’

‘I didn’t ask you to catch the gambling bug. When you risk your future on the turn of a card, you have to be ready to pay a high price. You’re a loser, Brian, a born loser. You’ve had such success at everything else in the past that you thought you couldn’t fail. But you did,’ said the man with grinning satisfaction. He stuffed the contract back into his pocket. ‘You failed and failed again. Failure costs money.’ His face hardened. ‘I warned you that I wasn’t a man to be trifled with. You pushed me to the limit.’

‘I thought it was someone else,’ said Ingles, head in his hands. ‘When I heard that they had a suspect, I really believed that the police knew who’d done it. It was such a relief. You hadn’t carried out your threat, after all.’

‘Yes, I had — I don’t make idle threats, Brian.’

‘I never thought you’d stoop to murder.’

‘Oh, I stooped much lower than that,’ said the other, exultantly. ‘When I was in the army, I learnt three vital lessons, you see. I learnt how to make an explosive device that went off when I wanted it to. I learnt how to play cards and win because there’s a lot of spare time when you’re a soldier. And — most important of all — I learnt that, when you’ve got hold of an enemy, you never let him go.’

‘I should have gone to the police at the very start.’

‘You signed a legal document. It’s binding.’

Ingles tried to get up. ‘I’ll ring them now and tell them the truth.’

‘Sit down,’ ordered the man, pushing him back down. ‘You’re not stupid enough to get the coppers involved. It’s the one thing in your favour. You know what I’d do, Brian. Cross me and you won’t have a house left to sell.’ He looked around the room. ‘It will burn very nicely.’

‘You’ll never let us off the hook, will you?’

‘It’s where you deserve to be.’

Ingles was horrified at his impotence in the face of his visitor. After luring him into a token friendship, the man had slowly stripped him of almost everything that he held dear and the worst of it was that Ingles could do nothing about it. Naked fear paralysed him. Even though the man had been responsible for the death of his daughter, Ingles felt powerless against him. It was almost as if he were hypnotised. ‘What did you mean?’ he asked, quietly. ‘When you said that you’d stooped lower, what did you mean? Wasn’t cold-blooded murder enough for you?’

‘I hate waste,’ said the man, airily. ‘Florrie was an attractive woman and she was feeling lonely. So I got to know her a little. We became friends. When I heard it was her birthday, I even drove her to the pub to make the arrangements. Florrie was going to tell them, you see. When we had the party, I was going to be unveiled as the best birthday present she’d ever had. But I disappointed her,’ he went on with a callous laugh. ‘I dropped her like a stone and let her go off with the rest of those doomed canaries.’

Ingles sat forward. ‘You knew Florrie? You spent time with her?’

‘We did more than spend time, Brian. I’ll let you into a secret.’ The man leant forward to whisper. ‘You and June were about to become grandparents.’

The horror of it all was too much to endure. When he realised what his tormentor had actually done, Ingles lost his fear and his inertia. The man had not only seduced Florrie then killed her in an explosion, he was glorying in villainy. Ingles’s rage surged and he leapt up to grapple with the visitor. The brawl was quickly over. The man was younger, stronger and far more accustomed to fighting. After subduing him with some heavy punches, he got a hand to his throat and held Ingles at arm’s length. He was about to administer further punishment when he heard a loud knock at the front door. Swinging round, he saw a face peering at him through the window.

The evidence given them by June Ingles had sent the detectives to her house. For her own safety, they’d left her at the police station. While Keedy knocked on the door, Marmion moved to the front window and looked in. One glance was enough to tell him that Ingles was in difficulties.

There was a lengthy delay, then the door was opened by a stranger.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked, politely.

‘We’ve come to see Mr Ingles,’ said Marmion.

‘He’s not available at the moment, I’m afraid. We’re in the middle of a business discussion.’

‘And do your business discussions always involve physical assault?’

‘I really don’t know what you mean.’

Marmion looked him in the eye. ‘I saw you with your hand around Mr Ingles’s throat.’

The man laughed. ‘Oh, that was all in fun.’

‘I’d like to hear Mr Ingles confirm that, sir.’

‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Inspector Marmion from Scotland Yard and this is Sergeant Keedy.’ He indicated his companion. ‘We’re investigating a murder that occurred at a public house in Hayes. Mr Ingles’s daughter was one of the victims.’

‘Yes,’ said the man with apparent sympathy. ‘I was sorry to hear about that. In fact, I was just offering my condolences to him. I came here to discuss the sale of his house. He and his wife have decided to move.’

‘That’s not what Mrs Ingles told us,’ said Keedy, looking him up and down. ‘Her husband is planning to sell the house against her will.’

‘Might we have your name, sir?’ asked Marmion.

‘Yes, of course,’ replied the other, reaching inside his coat. ‘I’ll give you my business card.’ But what he pulled out was a gun that he pointed menacingly at them. ‘Out of my way,’ he ordered. ‘Don’t give me an excuse to kill you because I’d be happy to take it.’

They backed away so that he could hurry past them to his car. He got in, gave them a wave then drove off. They were after him at once. Running to their own vehicle, they leapt in and slammed the door behind them. The driver needed no instruction. He set off at once.

As they picked up speed, Marmion and Keedy realised that their quarry answered the description they’d been given of Florrie Duncan’s alleged admirer. He was dark, handsome, wearing a moustache and approximately the right age. Also, the car they were following was the latest Daimler. While the police vehicle was older and less flashy, it had an expert driver at the wheel. Even though the Daimler turned corners without warning, it could not shake off the pursuit. Every move was matched by the police car, dodging oncoming vehicles, braking wildly and even mounting the pavement on occasion. After a hectic chase through Hayes itself, they accelerated past the munitions factory and on into open country. The Daimler was fast but the police car nevertheless slowly began to overhaul it.

‘What do you want me to do, sir?’ asked the driver.

‘Stop him,’ said Marmion.

‘It could cause a lot of damage, sir.’

‘I don’t care two hoots.’

‘Superintendent Chatfield will care a lot and I’ll be answerable to him.’

‘You can leave Chat to me,’ said Marmion, determinedly. ‘That man is a suspect. Whatever you have to do, just do it.’

Relieved of responsibility for any damage to the vehicle, the driver took it up to its full speed. Ordinarily, the Daimler would have been too swift to catch but there was extra power under the bonnet of the police car. It surged forward and was about to draw level when a lorry came round the bend directly ahead and sounded its horn angrily. The police car had to drop back to avoid a collision. As he shot past, the driver of the lorry waved a fist. Marmion was more interested in the man behind the wheel of the Daimler. If he had a gun, they needed to neutralise its danger somehow. There was no point in stopping his car when he had a weapon to hand.

‘Force him off the road,’ he urged.

‘Yes, Inspector.’

‘Make him crash the car.’

The driver accelerated once again, caught up with the Daimler, waited for the right moment, then moved alongside it and slowly edged in front of it. Waving the gun with one hand, the man couldn’t fire accurately because he needed to keep his eyes on the road ahead. When he did pull the trigger, the bullet went harmlessly past the other car. A second shot was equally wide of the mark. As they approached another bend at top speed, the man needed both hands to keep his vehicle on the road. The police car suddenly cut across the Daimler at an angle, forcing it to veer sharply to the left to avoid a collision. Both cars were going far too fast to negotiate the bend safely. The police car went into a skid, turning round and round in circles on screeching tyres until it landed up on a grass verge, facing the wrong way. The Daimler had fared far worse, leaving the road and bouncing off a tree before careering uncontrollably along the verge, then plunging into a ditch.

Keedy was out of the police car before it actually came to a halt. Running across to the Daimler, he saw that the driver had been thrown forward at the moment of impact and had smashed through the windscreen. Rivulets of blood ran down his face and he was clearly dazed. Before the man could even think of using his gun, Keedy yanked open the door, pulled him out, then seized the weapon from his hand. He tossed it to Marmion who’d now come to help him. Danger was past. The man revived enough to offer some token resistance but Keedy quickly overpowered him and snapped handcuffs onto his wrists. Stuck at an acute angle in the ditch, the Daimler was badly damaged. One of its wheels had come off and there was a huge dent in its bodywork. The windscreen had been shattered.

The man was absolutely horrified at the state of his vehicle.

‘Look what you made me do!’ he howled. ‘My car is ruined.’

‘Don’t worry, sir,’ said Marmion, pulling out a handkerchief to stem the blood on the other’s face. ‘You won’t need a car where you’re going.’

Ellen Marmion could not have been happier. They were all together for once. Her daughter helped to prepare the meal and set out the cutlery beforehand. Harvey Marmion was home early and he brought Joe Keedy with him. Since Paul Marmion would soon be joining them on leave, they had a cause for celebration. While Ellen was simply glad that the investigation was finally over, Alice hunted for details.

‘What was his name?’

‘Eddie Gregg,’ said her father. ‘And I was right about him being a local man. Gregg was born and bred here. In younger days, he’d drunk at the Golden Goose. He was as ruthless as he was cunning. When he came out of the army, he worked at a gambling club and gradually took it over.’

‘He had a nose for people’s weaknesses,’ explained Keedy. ‘Once he’d identified a target, he simply reeled them in. Brian Ingles is a case in point. He was given blandishments at first — free drinks, discounts on meals — and, of course, he was allowed to win small amounts until he was addicted to the card table. Gregg could then begin fleecing him.’

‘What a horrible man!’ exclaimed Ellen.

‘You don’t know half of it.’

‘I’m not sure that I want to know.’

‘The full story will be in the papers, love,’ said Marmion, taking a long sip of his beer. ‘Gregg had two strings to his bow. He was a crooked club owner who made sure that he always won in the end and, when his customers ran out of money, he loaned them more so that they could go on playing in the vain hope that they could recoup their losses. They’d usually had a fair bit to drink before they signed a contract for the loan and didn’t realise that they’d be charged exorbitant rates of interest.’

‘He was a shark,’ said Keedy. ‘He ate his victims alive.’

‘When that bomb went off, Ingles thought Gregg had planted it because he’d threatened to kill Florrie if Ingles didn’t pay off his debt. But then,’ Marmion went on, ‘we named Herbert Wylie as our main suspect. Ingles must have danced with joy at that point because he thought it proved that Gregg was not the bomber, after all. He knows better now.’

‘The person I’m sorry for is Mrs Ingles,’ said Ellen. ‘Imagine how she’ll feel when she learns about the terrible mess her husband landed them in. Indirectly, he was responsible for the murder of their daughter.’

‘It will haunt him for the rest of his life,’ said Marmion.

‘Underneath her self-confidence,’ suggested Keedy, ‘Florrie Duncan must have been a vulnerable woman. She was lonely, widowed and she scared off most men. Then someone rolls up to pay court, tell her she’s wonderful and spend lots of money on her. Gregg was obviously a charmer when he wanted to be and he was wealthy. His car was expensive and the suit he was wearing made me green with envy.’

‘Murder and intimidation,’ said Alice. ‘Those were his weapons. I get plenty of intimidation from Gale Force,’ she added with a laugh, ‘but, to give her credit, she’s unlikely to start detonating bombs. When I hear what Mr Ingles had to endure, I think that I get off lightly at work.’

‘You could always go back to teaching,’ Ellen reminded her.

‘It’s too late,’ said Keedy. ‘She’s one of us now.’

‘And that’s the way it will stay,’ decided Alice.

‘Police work can be gruelling but there are wonderful rewards.’

‘Yes,’ said Marmion, chuckling, ‘we had two of them earlier on. When we got back to Scotland Yard, the superintendent promised to recommend us for a King’s Police Medal for tackling two armed men — Niall Quinn and Eddie Gregg.’

‘That’s marvellous, Daddy!’ cried Alice, clapping her hands.

‘It doesn’t mean that we’ll get it,’ said Keedy.

‘It’s the thought that counts,’ said Marmion, ironically. ‘Our other reward is more tangible. Major Gostelow was so delighted that we shipped an escaped prisoner back to Frongoch that he’s sending us a bottle of his excellent whisky.’

‘I’ll enjoy helping you to drink it, Harv.’

‘I thought we’d save it until Paul gets back.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Ellen, ‘he’d appreciate that.’

‘We’ll just have to hope that nobody gets murdered before he comes, love,’ said Marmion. ‘We pulled out all the stops to solve this case and be free to welcome Paul home. I’m going to be on that platform when his train pulls in,’ he vowed. ‘It will be wonderful to see him. We’ll be a complete family once again.’ He smiled at Keedy. ‘That includes you, Joe.’