‘I’ve just listened to a sermon,’ he complained. ‘I’m surprised that Chat doesn’t have a pulpit erected in his office.’
‘You should have known better than to let him get on to religion.’
‘I couldn’t stop him, Joe.’
‘He roasted me earlier on,’ said Keedy. ‘Now it was your turn.’
‘Let’s be off before he rings again,’ said Marmion, reaching for his hat. ‘We need to get to Maureen’s house before she goes to bed.’
They went out to their car and the driver set off. For most of the journey they travelled in silence, each wrapped up in his own thoughts. The purpose of their visit was to establish that Florrie Duncan was pregnant but it was something else altogether that made Keedy eventually speak.
‘What Mr Harte told us was very interesting,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ agreed Marmion. ‘We learnt a little more about Florrie Duncan.’
‘It was the bit about her father that surprised me. Brian Ingles goes out of his way to impress people. You’d think he was rolling in money.’ Keedy turned to him. ‘Why should he need a large loan from the bank?’
Eamonn Quinn was very unhappy about being dragged out of the pub and having to leave an unfinished pint of beer on the table. The sight of his wife urging him to leave drew sniggers from the other men. Once outside, Diane told him why she was there and his ire subsided at once. They hurried back to the house to find Niall and Maureen in the living room. Quinn shook his nephew’s hand.
‘It’s always good to see you, Niall,’ he said, ‘but, as Maureen will have told you, this is not the ideal moment to call on us.’
‘Say the word, Uncle Eamonn, and I’ll be off.’
‘You can stay the night, if you need to.’
‘That’s asking for trouble!’ cried Diane.
‘Keep out of this, woman.’
‘Remember what happened last time.’
‘I told you to keep out of it, Di,’ he snarled.
‘It’s better for everyone if I just go,’ said Niall.
‘Yes, it is,’ added Maureen.
‘I don’t want to cause any problems for you all. I’m on the run. If I’m caught on your property, you could face a spell in prison yourself.’
Quinn was perplexed. Common sense told him to let his nephew go but family loyalty had a bigger pull. He was ready to take the risk of keeping Niall there.
‘It’s why you came to us, isn’t it?’ he asked, clapping his nephew on the shoulder. ‘You knew that you could rely on us.’
‘Niall only came to get something,’ said Maureen. ‘He hid a gun here.’
Diane gasped. ‘A gun!’
‘They’re after me,’ said Niall. ‘I need to defend myself. It was hidden under the floor in the garden shed. I nailed the wood back down again.’
‘This changes everything, Eamonn,’ said his wife. ‘He can’t stay here with a gun. Think of the consequences.’
‘Calm down,’ ordered Quinn. ‘Flying into a panic will get us nowhere.’
‘Get him out of here, that’s all I ask.’
‘P’raps it would be all for the best,’ said Niall.
He stiffened as he heard a car draw to a halt outside the house. His hand went instinctively to the gun. Maureen drew back the curtain to peep out.
‘It’s Inspector Marmion and the sergeant,’ she said.
Quinn took charge. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Get upstairs, Niall. You can go into Maureen’s room. The detectives are not here about you. They’re only interested in the explosion in that pub.’ Niall scampered off upstairs. Quinn turned to his wife and daughter. ‘You stay in here. I’ll get rid of them.’
Shutting them into the living room, he went to the front door. As soon as he heard a knock, he flung it open and blocked the doorway with arms folded.
‘Can’t you give us a moment of peace?’ he demanded.
‘We’d like to speak to Maureen, please,’ said Marmion. ‘And before you tell me that she’s gone to bed, I should warn you that we saw her clearly when she pulled back the curtain just now.’
‘You can’t talk to her.’
‘You can’t stop us, Mr Quinn.’
‘What are you going to do?’ challenged the Irishman.
‘Well, if you continue to refuse us entry, I’ll ask Sergeant Keedy to arrest you on a charge of obstructing police officers in the execution of their duty. That will mean a night in custody for you and an appearance in court.’ Marmion gave him a meaningful stare. ‘Do you really want that to happen?’
Quinn took a full minute to size up the situation. He then gave in.
‘You can talk to her for five minutes but one of us must be present.’
‘I won’t have a time limit set on it,’ said Marmion, ‘but I’m happy for a parent to be present. Given the subject, I suggest that it’s Mrs Quinn.’
After further protest, Quinn moved away to let them into the house. The detectives went into the living room and exchanged greetings with Maureen and Diane. Both of them looked distinctly uncomfortable. Quinn lurked outside the closed door to eavesdrop on what was being said. When the four of them had sat down, Marmion explained that they’d come to ask questions on a delicate subject that might have a bearing on the case. Maureen seemed to relax when told that she’d be asked about Florrie Duncan. Her mother, however, glanced uneasily towards the door.
‘You travelled to and from work with Agnes Collier,’ began Marmion.
‘That’s right, Inspector.’
‘Did she talk a lot?’
‘Agnes never stopped talking.’
‘Did she ever say anything about Florrie Duncan?’
‘Of course,’ replied Maureen. ‘She was our friend.’
‘I’m wondering if she mentioned her suspicion to you,’ said Marmion. ‘You see, the sergeant had a conversation with Mrs Radcliffe.’
‘I did,’ said Keedy, taking his cue, ‘and she told me what her daughter had told her. Agnes had the feeling that Florrie might be pregnant.’
‘Never!’ protested Diane, horrified at the idea.
‘Did Agnes say anything about it to you, Maureen?’
‘It can’t be true. Florrie was such a sensible woman.’
‘Let your daughter answer, Mrs Quinn.’
All three of them turned their gaze on Maureen. She wilted slightly.
‘It’s not a difficult question,’ said Keedy.
‘If she’d told her mother,’ reasoned Marmion, ‘we felt certain that Agnes would have told you as well. Did she?’
‘Yes,’ admitted Maureen, shyly.
‘What did she say?’
‘Agnes saw her being sick one morning and … there were other things.’
‘This is quite unseemly, Inspector,’ said Diane, hotly. ‘My daughter shouldn’t have to talk about it.’
‘There are only two things we wished to know, Mrs Quinn. Maureen has already told us the first of them. The second follows from the first.’ He looked back at Maureen. ‘Did Agnes know the name of the man involved?’
‘No, she didn’t,’ said Maureen.
‘Did he work at the factory?’
‘I can’t say. Agnes only saw them together once.’
‘How did she describe him?’
Before Maureen could answer, her sister interrupted her. Running to the top of the stairs, Lily yelled out to her father.
‘Come quickly, Daddy. Niall is climbing out of the window!’
Niall Quinn was tired of waiting. As long as detectives were in the house, he was in danger. Moreover, he was putting his relations in a difficult situation and it was unfair on them. His paramount concern was to get away and he’d hoped to do that as quietly as possible. All that he’d come back for was the gun. It was a vital asset to someone being hunted. As well as giving him reassurance and a means of defending himself, it enabled him to get the money he needed. Theft was a much easier crime when you could poke a gun at somebody. They handed over their cash instantly. That’s why h
e made the effort to come all the way back to Middlesex. The gun was his passport out of the country and back to Ireland.
He barely heard Lily’s shout inside the house. He was too busy dropping from the window ledge. Landing awkwardly, he twisted his ankle and had to rub it before hobbling off towards the fence at the bottom of the garden.
Marmion and Keedy had reacted like lightning. Flinging open the door, they’d pushed Quinn aside and hared up the stairs. They went into the back room and saw the window wide open and the curtains flapping. Though they only caught a fleeting glimpse of the fugitive, they learnt an important fact. He was limping. That would slow him down. Keedy didn’t stand on ceremony. Climbing through the window, he clung onto the ledge then dropped down. He then followed the same route as Niall Quinn, hauling himself over the wooden fence and finding himself in a narrow lane. Unsure which way to run, he turned to the right and sprinted off.
The inspector, meanwhile, descended the stairs to face Eamonn Quinn.
‘You’ve got a lot to answer for, sir.’ he warned.
‘He wasn’t here to stay,’ insisted Quinn.
‘You obviously didn’t learn your lesson.’
‘We didn’t ask him to come back, Inspector. I swear it.’
‘But you went to visit him in Frongoch.’
‘That was my sister’s idea. She wrote from Dublin and begged me to see how he was getting on. Niall has always been a bit wild.’
Diane and Maureen joined the two men from the living room. Conscious that she may have done the wrong thing, Lily threw herself into her mother’s arms.
‘My husband is telling the truth,’ said Diane. ‘Eamonn didn’t even know that he was here until I went to the pub to tell him. Niall turned up out of nowhere. It was Maureen who saw him first.’
‘I heard a noise in the garden,’ explained Maureen. ‘When I went to see what had caused it, Niall jumped out on me. He said that he hadn’t meant us to know that he’d come and gone. He was only here to collect something.’
‘What was it?’ asked Marmion.
‘He hid it in the shed the last time he was here.’
‘Was it more equipment to make bombs?’
‘No, Inspector,’ she said with a glance at her father, ‘it was a gun.’
‘Why did you have to tell him that?’ snarled Quinn.
‘It’s the truth, Daddy.’
‘But it makes everything worse, you stupid girl.’
‘No, it doesn’t,’ said Marmion. ‘It’s a vital piece of information and we’re very grateful to have it. Forewarned is forearmed. What Maureen’s just told us could save lives.’
After a dash of almost thirty yards, Keedy came to the conclusion that he’d either gone in the wrong direction or that his quarry had concealed himself somewhere along the way. He’d now reached the end of the lane and decided to walk around the corner and approach the house from the front. His exertions had made him pant but his frustration far outweighed his lack of breath. In pursuit of a man with a limp, he should easily have caught him. When he came back into the street, he trotted towards the car. Marmion was standing beside it.
‘He got away, Harv,’ he apologised as he reached the house.
‘Be grateful that he did.’
‘Why?’
‘He’s got a gun, apparently.’
‘Blimey!’
‘He’s determined not to be caught.’
‘Well, he can’t get far with a limp like that.’
‘Agreed,’ said Marmion. ‘That’s why I fancy he’ll try to catch a bus or a train. Get in the car,’ he went on, opening the door. ‘We’ll drop you off at the railway station, then round up some reinforcements from the local nick.’ He climbed in after Keedy. ‘I’ll then use the car to trawl around the streets.’
‘Let’s go,’ said Keedy.
The car shot away with a squeal from its tyres.
Having shaken off the initial pursuit, Niall Quinn skulked in a doorway and puffed hard. His ankle was hurting and he was unable to run at any speed. There had to be a better way to travel. He soon found it. An old man rode up slowly on a bicycle and dismounted nearby. Niall was on him at once, pushing him violently away so that he could have the machine. He pedalled away from the outraged cries of the old man. His ankle still made him wince as he pressed down on it, but he was able to move much faster. As he gathered pace and came to a downward gradient, he was even able to freewheel. There was another thing in his favour. The detectives were looking for a pedestrian with a limp and not a cyclist. He’d found a useful disguise.
When he reached the railway station, he abandoned the bicycle. His first thought was to buy a ticket for the next available train but that would only give him away. The clerk would surely remember a dishevelled young man with an Irish accent. He had to sneak unnoticed onto the train. Creeping along the railings, he came to a place where he was able to climb over without too much difficulty. The problem came when he landed. His injured ankle was jarred and the pain increased. Retiring to the shadows, he sat down to rest.
Having dropped Joe Keedy off at the railway station, Marmion was taken by car to the police station where he asked for assistance. Only a couple of constables were available and neither of them looked happy when informed that they were after a desperate man with a gun. Before they could leave the station, they saw an old man stagger in to report the assault on him and the theft of his bicycle. When he heard the rough description of the attacker, Marmion knew that it must have been Niall Quinn.
‘Which way did he go?’ he asked.
The old man blinked. ‘He rode off towards the railway station.’
He was there. Keedy couldn’t see him and nobody on duty reported noticing the Irish fugitive but the sergeant nevertheless sensed that he was there. He began to work his way systematically around the place, going up and down each platform and looking into every room. There was no sign of Niall Quinn but that only meant that he was hiding somewhere. Keedy was about to widen his search by jumping down on the track when he saw Marmion trotting towards him with two uniformed constables.
‘He’s here somewhere, Joe,’ said Marmion.
‘I know that.’
‘He stole a bicycle and headed this way.’
‘If we spread out,’ said Keedy, ‘we can comb the whole area.’
The constables didn’t take kindly to the notion of getting down onto the track, especially as they could hear a train approaching. It came out of the gloom at a moderate pace and they could see that it was a goods train. Wagon after wagon clanked past in what seemed like an endless procession. Marmion watched them but Keedy’s eye was on the bridge between the platforms. A figure had suddenly appeared above them.
‘There he is!’ he yelled, pointing a finger.
They looked up in time to see Niall Quinn, clambering over the side of the bridge before dropping into a passing wagon. Keedy was furious.
‘We’ve lost the bastard!’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
As a rule, June Ingles didn’t get to see a morning newspaper. Her husband always bought one on his way to work, read it during his lunch break then discarded it before coming home. There’d been a radical change that day. Brian Ingles had not only bought three different newspapers, he kept reading their front pages at intervals as if he’d forgotten what news was being featured. When she caught him glancing at the headlines of one paper yet again, she was curious.
‘You must know that article off by heart now,’ she observed. ‘Why do you keep picking it up?’
‘I find it reassuring, June.’
‘Well, I don’t. I hate seeing Florrie’s name mentioned in print like that. It brings back that awful moment when we were first told what happened.’
‘But the police know who did it,’ he said, tapping the newspaper.
‘They only think they know, Brian.’
‘Inspector Marmion wouldn’t have released this name if he wasn’t pretty sure. People all over the country will know that this
Herbert Wylie was responsible for the explosion. Someone is bound to spot him.’
‘What good is that to us?’
‘He’ll be caught, convicted and hanged.’
‘That won’t bring Florrie back, will it?’
‘No,’ he conceded, ‘but it will give us the satisfaction of knowing that the person who murdered her will get his just desserts.’ He put the paper aside. ‘I intend to be in court to see it happen.’
They were in the living room. The only bonus of their daughter’s death was that June had been able to enjoy her husband’s company for successive evenings. After work, he often dined at his club or went to a meeting of one of the societies of which he was an active member. It was only at weekends that they spent any time together. Though irritated by his regular recourse to one of the newspapers, she was pleased to see that his spirits had lifted. Immediately after the news of the explosion, Ingles had been close to despair. Instead of consoling his wife, he’d been in need of consolation himself. It was June who’d had to find the strength to carry the two of them through the initial horror. That had changed now. Ingles had recovered his habitual self-confidence and shrugged off his earlier torpor. What pleased his wife was that he was no longer talking about selling the house. She could now think of ways of improving their existing home.
‘We need new curtains in here,’ she said.
‘No, we don’t.’
‘Take a proper look at them, Brian. They’ve faded badly.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with them.’
‘But you promised me that I could choose some new ones.’
‘Did I?’ he said in surprise. ‘When was that?’
‘Months ago – don’t you remember?’
‘There are more important things to spend our money on, June, so you can forget about the curtains.’
‘But you said that we’d go to London one day to look at fabrics.’
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