Five Dead Canaries (12 page)

‘It amounts to the same thing. It was on my premises.’

‘Which would have been worse?’ asked Marmion, looking him in the eye. ‘A bomb planted in the outhouse or one hidden in your cellar?’

‘One in the cellar, of course – we’d all have been killed then.’

‘Please bear that in mind, sir. Instead of moaning about being a victim, you should be grateful that you’re a survivor.’

But the landlord could only see the explosion in terms of what it had cost him. He drifted away to talk to one of the workmen. His place was taken by Royston Liddle, grinning and nodding simultaneously.

‘Good morning, Inspector,’ he said.

‘Hello, Mr Liddle. Perhaps you can help me.’ Marmion took out the lists given him by Leighton Hubbard. ‘Have a look at those, please.’ The grin vanished and Liddle took a step backwards. ‘Ah, I see. You can’t read. In that case, I’ll go through the names of people in whom I’m interested. Tell me what you know about them.’

‘I can read a bit,’ said Liddle, ‘but I’m very slow.’

‘Let’s start off with Les Harker.’

‘Oh, he comes in here a lot. He works at the factory.’

‘All the people that I want to hear about work there.’

There were over a dozen names on the list. Marmion went through them one by one. Liddle knew them all by sight and was able to supply a lot of detail about some of them. The last name required no comment from him.

‘You’ve already told me enough about Alan Suggs,’ said Marmion.

‘He said that you talked to him.’

‘Oh, I did. We had a long and fruitful conversation. Mr Suggs has a very complicated private life, but I daresay you know that.’

‘Alan came after me.’

‘Did he threaten you in any way?’

‘He did more than that, Inspector,’ said Liddle, rubbing his shoulder gingerly. ‘He pushed me so hard against a fence that I’ve got bruises. I saw them in the mirror. He chased me down the alleyway. If I hadn’t run so fast, he’d have really hurt me.’

‘I warned him against reprisals.’

‘What are they?’

‘Never mind,’ said Marmion. ‘I’ll speak to him again.’

‘Tell him that I didn’t mean to get him into trouble. I’m his friend.’

‘He might take some convincing on that score.’ Folding the pieces of paper again, he slipped them into his pocket. ‘But thank you for your help with those names. You’ve saved me bothering with most of them.’ The praise made the other man beam. ‘Keep your eyes open. If any of the people we talked about show up here at night just to gloat, let me know.’

‘I’ve always wanted to be a policeman,’ said Liddle, excitedly.

‘Don’t wish too hard,’ cautioned Marmion. ‘The hours are terrible, the work is never-ending and a lot of people think it’s their mission in life to tell you dreadful lies. You’re better off doing odd jobs, Mr Liddle. It’s a lot safer in every way.’

When he was shown into the room, Keedy was astonished to see how barely furnished it was. Apart from the desk and the chair behind it, there were only two upright chairs and a bookcase. The floor was uncarpeted and the only wall decoration was the large crucifix above the fireplace. Father Cleary was amused by his reaction.

‘What did you expect, Sergeant?’ he asked.

‘It’s so Spartan.’

‘The Catholic priesthood is not a road to luxury, you know. This study is ideal for me. It has no clutter and nothing to distract the eye. That’s my idea of an ideal environment.’

‘It wouldn’t suit me, Father Cleary. I like a bit of comfort.’

‘Then we’re clearly not soul mates.’

Keedy had arrived to receive a cordial greeting. The priest seemed to expect him and waved him to a chair. On the desk in front of him were neat piles of paper and a Bible. There was a chill in the air.

‘Once February is out, I manage without a fire,’ explained Cleary.

‘You’re a model of self-denial, Father.’

‘Oh, I don’t flatter myself that I occupy that status. Models are for people to copy. You won’t find any of my parishioners taking up their carpets and throwing out half the furniture.’ He smiled benignly. ‘You’ve come about Maureen Quinn, haven’t you? I had a feeling you would, sooner or later.’

‘To be frank,’ said Keedy, ‘I’ve come about the whole Quinn family. I was hoping that you could tell us more about them. Maureen seems very nice but her father couldn’t wait to get us out of the house.’

‘Eamonn was never very hospitable.’

‘He stopped the children coming to church, I believe.’

‘Yes, and it was a crying shame because they learnt so much while they were here, Maureen especially. Her brothers were a bit of a handful, mind you, and I don’t think their father liked it when I told him about their little tricks.’

‘Tricks?’

‘When they came to Sunday school, each of the children was given a penny for the collection. Maureen and Lily always put theirs dutifully on the plate but the lads kept the money and tried to palm us off with blazer buttons and the odd foreign coin. I soon put a stop to that. But all credit to them,’ Cleary went on, ‘they might have been little devils as children but, when war broke out, Liam and Anthony were among the first to volunteer for the army.’

Hands clasped and shoulders hunched, he went on to give Keedy a brief history of the family and of its fluctuating interest in the church. Diane and her daughters had last attended a service at Christmas. It was years since Eamonn had been near the place. In Cleary’s judgement, he was essentially a man’s man and missed his sons badly. He’d spent most of his free time with them and taught them the rudiments of carpentry in the garden shed. Liam had gone on to be apprenticed to a cabinetmaker. Anthony had worked in a foundry. Keedy was given the image of a relatively happy and close family whose lives had been fractured by the war. Maureen had been a major casualty. In spite of a good education and other assets, she’d ended up toiling in the munitions factory to contribute to the family budget.

‘What was your view of her father?’ asked Cleary.

‘He likes to let his family know that he’s in charge,’ said Keedy, ‘which is a polite way of saying that he’s an uncouth bully.’

‘He has his better qualities.’

‘We weren’t allowed to see them.’

‘I’m sure you know that he fell foul of the law.’

‘Yes, he was fined twice for causing an affray.’

‘Oh, he caused trouble more than twice,’ said Cleary with a laugh. ‘Eamonn is quick to anger and slow to cool down. He’s been banned from a couple of pubs for threatening behaviour. Even with watered beer, he can get horribly drunk.’

‘I feel sorry for his wife and children.’

‘They’ve learnt to live with him.’

‘Do they have any choice?’ Keedy took out his notebook and consulted a page. ‘This is my record of our interview with Maureen. She was deeply shocked, of course, as anybody would be when friends have died in such horrible circumstances. But there was something more than shock in her face.’

‘It was guilt, Sergeant. They died while she lived. That fact will haunt her.’

‘I’d taken account of that, Father Cleary. There was something else as well.’

‘What was it?’

‘That’s the trouble – I don’t know. And we were unable to draw it out of her because her father was sitting beside her. Inspector Marmion had the same reaction as I did. We didn’t get the full truth out of Maureen, somehow.’

‘You must allow for her confusion,’ warned the priest. ‘After a ghastly experience like that, the poor girl must be totally bewildered. Give her time.’

‘We don’t have unlimited time to give her,’ said Keedy. ‘In cases of murder, we find that the first forty-eight hours after the event are crucial. That’s when memories are fresh and we’re likely to get a clearer idea of what actually happened. The longer an investigation goes on, the more difficult it sometimes becomes. Witnesses are less reliable, evidence disappears and the killer is given valuable time to get far away from the scene.’

‘I don’t think he’s far away at the moment, Sergeant. He’s right here.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It has to be a local man, hasn’t it? You’re looking for someone familiar with the Golden Goose and with the fact that a birthday party was being held there.’

Keedy blinked. ‘Well done, Father. That’s exactly who we’re after.’

‘And you think Maureen can help you find him?’

‘I just feel that she may be hiding something.’

Cleary’s smile was enigmatic. ‘I’ll be interested to hear what it is.’

Reuben Harte was reading his way carefully through a pile of cards from friends and neighbours but he drew no comfort from them. The messages were sincere and the condolences well meant but they washed over him without leaving any trace. His grief was too deep to be relieved by kind words and pretty cards. When there was a knock on the door, he sat up. Not wishing to see anyone, he was prepared to make an exception for the detectives from Scotland Yard. When he twitched the net curtain aside to peer out, however, it was not Marmion and Keedy who’d come calling. It was Jonah Jenks. Though not close friends, the men knew each other well. Harte relented. The visitor deserved to be admitted. He was a fellow sufferer.

Harte opened the front door and stood aside to let him in. Jenks was subdued.

‘Good morning, Reuben,’ he said, shaking his hand.

Harte shut the door. ‘Go into the living room.’

They traded a few pleasantries then sat down. Jenks took out an envelope.

‘Have you had one of these from the factory?’

‘It came first thing by courier.’

‘What did you think?’

‘To be honest, Jonah, I haven’t given it a great deal of thought. Jean’s death has blocked everything out. It’s the same for my wife,’ said Harte. ‘She can’t stop talking about it. She’s had to go to her sister to be looked after.’

‘So you’ve not discussed the letter with her?’

‘I’m not sure that I will.’ He appraised Jenks. ‘How are you coping?’

‘I try to keep busy,’ replied Jenks. ‘I must have cleaned every room at least twice. And I’ve turned the piano into a kind of shrine to Enid. I polished it until I could see my face in it and put every photo I could find of her on top of it. Oh, yes,’ he continued, ‘and I put the sheet music of her favourite Chopin nocturne on the stand as if she was just about to play it.’ He smiled wanly. ‘I was humming it on my way here. Do you like Chopin?’

‘I’m not much of a one for music, Jonah, but my wife loves a good tune.’

There was a long pause. Conjoined by their grief they let it have its way for a few minutes before they attempted to shrug it off. Harte stretched an arm to take an envelope from the mantelpiece. It matched the one brought by his visitor.

‘All I did was to glance at it,’ he said.

‘It’s a good offer and I’m ready to accept.’

‘All five of them are to be buried together? I have reservations about that.’

‘Such as?’

‘It just doesn’t seem right somehow.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well,
we
want to make the decisions about Jean’s funeral, not leave it to this Mr Kennett. I’ve never even met the man.’

‘Enid used to speak well of him.’

‘I still feel he’s intruding.’

‘I didn’t feel that at all. It’s high time the factory did something for the women they employ there. This is a first example. Enid would approve.’

‘I can’t say that Jean would.’

‘Oh?’

‘She wouldn’t mind sharing her funeral with Florrie Duncan. They were good friends. There’d be some meaning in that. As for the others …’

‘It will be interesting to see how their families respond.’

‘That’s anybody’s guess, Jonah. I don’t know Agnes Collier’s family. They live over towards Uxbridge.’

‘What about Shirley Beresford?’

‘Oh, I’ve met her husband lots of times. Neil coaches the football team and Jean was one of the reserves. Whenever she played, I used to stand on the touchline and cheer her on. Neil Beresford must be beside himself,’ said Harte. ‘He’s not only lost a lovely wife, he’s had to see his hopes of winning that cup match crumble into dust. He gave
everything
to that team.’

‘Then he’ll probably agree with me about this offer. From what I can gather, two of the victims played in the football team – Shirley Beresford and your daughter, Jean. It seems fitting that they should be laid to rest together.’

Harte was not convinced. He let Jenks advance his arguments in favour of a collective burial but they made no impact on him. He resisted what he saw as a breach of his daughter’s private rights. The factory had controlled her life from the moment she started to work there. It felt wrong to let them dictate the terms of her funeral as well. There was another factor that influenced him.

‘We’re not churchgoers, Jonah,’ he admitted.

‘You were married in a church, weren’t you?’

‘Well, yes – we were.’

‘Then you’ve nothing to worry about. Everyone in the parish is entitled to a Christian funeral. You’ll be given the same consideration as any of us. We were all there every Sunday, of course,’ said Jenks, ‘because Enid loved going. There was even talk of letting her become the assistant organist. I’d have been so proud of her if that had happened.’ He smiled at Harte. ‘Where does that leave us, Reuben?’

‘You want to accept the offer and I don’t.’

‘Make sure you think it over properly.’

‘My wife won’t like the idea, I can tell you that.’

‘What about the others?’ asked Jenks, holding up his envelope. ‘Suppose – for the sake of argument – that the families of Florrie Duncan, Agnes Collier and Shirley Beresford all agree to the suggestion. That would mean we outvote you four to one.’

‘I won’t be forced into changing my mind,’ said Harte, resolutely.

‘Nobody would dream of using force in a situation like this. It would be wholly out of place. What I wish to know is this,’ said Jenks, slyly. ‘What would it take to persuade you that the five of them should be buried at the same time?’

Harvey Marmion was not entirely sure about the motives behind the offer. Bernard Kennett told him that it was a gesture of goodwill and that the factory felt an obligation to its employees, but Marmion wondered if other reasons had prompted the management to act. If accepted, their offer would garner some good publicity for the munitions factory and it was always in dire need of that. Newspaper articles about its operations always focused on the dangers faced by the women who worked there.
Serious accidents at the factory – and it had had its share of them – could not be hidden from the public and stories of that kind made recruitment more difficult. In this case, however, the explosion took place at a pub some distance away. To give it extra prominence would not reflect badly on the factory.

Talking to the works manager, Marmion also wondered if guilt had played a part in the decision. The offer to pay the funeral expenses could have been triggered by the need to atone for the rigours that the women were put through on a daily basis. The victims were not five anonymous employees. They had a real presence at the factory. Two of them were members of the football team that had brought such kudos and a third, Florrie Duncan, was the official representative of the National Federation of Women. A fourth woman, Enid Jenks, had more than once entertained diners at the canteen piano during the lunch break. Accompanied by her, Agnes Collier had sung a few popular songs with more gusto than musical talent. Because they were widely known and liked, their deaths were felt more keenly.

After chatting in Kennett’s office, Marmion had asked to see the football pitch. It was on a fairly barren patch of land at the rear of the factory. They stood on the touchline and looked at the tufted grass and the undulations.

‘We have a big advantage over teams who’ve never played here before,’ said Kennett. ‘Our ladies know where the bumps and dips are. They exploit them.’

‘Is this where the cup final will be played?’

‘No, Inspector, that’s at a neutral venue in Camberwell.’

‘How good is the opposition?’ asked Marmion.

‘The question to ask is how badly weakened is our team now that we’ve lost some of our best players? I was talking to my secretary about
it – she watches all our games. She reckons that Shirley Beresford was the real difference between the two sides. And Maureen Quinn, the goalkeeper, will hardly be in a fit state to play after what she’s been through. Jean Harte was also in the team for the cup final.’

‘The biggest loss is their coach,’ said Marmion. ‘Neil Beresford has moulded that team together and obviously knows what he’s doing. But the death of his wife has rocked him. When I called at the house, he was so upset that he wasn’t even able to answer a few questions. His mother had to take over instead. Mrs Beresford thinks that a supporter of the Woolwich team must have planted that bomb.’

‘That suggestion is not as absurd as it may sound, Inspector.’

‘Oh, I haven’t ignored it.’

‘Passions run deep in the world of ladies’ football.’

‘That’s why I’ve sent two of my men to Woolwich to make some discreet enquiries,’ said Marmion. ‘But I’m still inclined to dismiss the theory because it presupposes that someone from a munitions factory several miles away was both aware of the date of Florrie Duncan’s birthday and the fact that three members of your football team – I’m including Maureen Quinn – would be helping to celebrate it. Then, of course, we come to the small matter of the pub itself. How would a complete stranger know where it was and that the party would be in its outhouse?’

‘Perhaps he wasn’t such a stranger,’ said Kennett, darkly. ‘What if we have a rabid Woolwich supporter here in the factory?’

‘It’s possible but a trifle unlikely.’

‘Why is that, Inspector?’

‘Because I think he’d know that there’s a much easier way of sabotaging the football team than by blowing up some of its players.
His target would be Neil Beresford. He’s the key to the success of your team,’ said Marmion. ‘Kill or disable him in some way and you’ve more or less handed that cup to Woolwich.’

Neil Beresford looked and felt a little better but his mother was still worried about him. Reassured by the fact that he was able to get dressed and come downstairs, she was troubled by his occasional bursts of tears. Having known him as a strong, resilient person, she was surprised by his collapse in the wake of the disaster. Since her son now seemed more robust, she felt able to broach the topic of the funeral.

‘Would you like to talk about that letter we received?’

‘No,’ he said.

‘A decision will have to be taken, Neil.’

‘Then let Shirley’s parents make it.’

‘But you’re her husband,’ said May. ‘By rights,
you
should take charge of the funeral arrangements. It’s your duty.’

‘I’d rather not think about it.’

‘Well, it can’t be put off indefinitely. The factory will want to know.’

Beresford made no comment. He was sitting in the armchair beside the fireplace and his mind was wandering. May went off into the kitchen and made a pot of tea, putting it on a tray with two cups and saucers along with the milk jug and the sugar bowl. Bringing it into the living room, she set it down on the table. Beresford was a study in concentration. His forehead was wrinkled, his eyes gleaming and his teeth clenched. Saying nothing, his mother poured two cups of tea and added milk and sugar to both before stirring them in with a teaspoon. Her son was still wrestling with a thorny problem. All of a sudden, he announced a solution.

‘I’ll go back to work tomorrow.’

‘But you can’t,’ she protested. ‘You’re not ready for it yet.’

‘I’ve got to face up to it, Mum, and show some strength for a change. I can’t just stay at home and brood. It’s driving me mad. I need to occupy my mind. And there’s another thing I’ve decided.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I can’t let the rest of the team down. We were due to have a practice session after work tomorrow and I want to be there to lead it.’

May was aghast. ‘You can’t worry about football at a time like this.’

‘I have to – the cup final is less than ten days away.’

‘Let someone else take over, Neil.’

‘There
is
nobody else, Mum. I’m their coach. They rely on me.’

‘They won’t expect anything from you now,’ argued May. ‘You’re in mourning. We all are. There’s been a dreadful tragedy and you need to recover from it before you even think of going back to the factory.’

‘I’ve always been a fighter,’ he said, banging his thigh with a fist, ‘and I’m ashamed of the way I behaved. We have to win that cup now. Shirley may not be able to play but she’ll be our inspiration. It will give the whole team a lift.’

May picked up a cup and saucer. ‘Have your tea, Neil.’

‘I’ve been working it out,’ he said, ignoring her offer. ‘Audrey Turner can take over Shirley’s position as centre forward. She may not be as fast or as clever at dribbling but Audrey is nearly six feet. She’ll win everything in the air. The other person I can bring into the forward line is …’

His eyes were gleaming more than ever now as they sighted a victory against the odds at the cup final. He explained in detail how he would defeat the opposing team. It was impossible to stop him. May put the tea back on the tray and reached for the other cup. Though she was pleased to see him so animated, she was alarmed by the edge of frenzy
in his voice. It had ceased to become a football match to him and had turned into a mission. Beresford was driven to succeed for the sake of the factory, the players who’d worked so hard under him and, most of all, for his wife who’d been the undisputed star. Deprived of a chance to raise the trophy herself, Shirley Beresford would nevertheless lead them to a triumphant win.

May was disturbed. She didn’t think her son was fit to return to work, let alone coach a football team. It was as if he was in the grip of a fever. Unable to check him, she tried to humour him, agreeing with everything he proposed and even managing a supportive smile. While she knew little about the game of football, she understood its significance in the household. Having heard her son and her daughter-in-law discuss the team at length, she knew all the names of the players and – though she didn’t understand the finer points of the game when she stood on the touchline – she had a good idea of their individual worth. When he paused for breath, she took the opportunity to step in and remind him of something.

‘At least you won’t have to find a new goalkeeper.’

He stared at her blankly. ‘What did you say?’

‘Maureen Quinn survived the blast. She can still play for you, Neil.’