Five Dead Canaries hf-3

by Edward Marston

  ‘It must have been a torment for her, suffering in silence like that.’

  ‘She just didn’t feel able to confide in him. By chance,’ continued Marmion, ‘Neil Beresford was there when I called. He’s made an amazing recovery. Last time I saw him, he was almost at death’s door. He’d come to see Jenks to discuss the letter they’d both received from Mr Kennett.’

  ‘What was their verdict?’

  ‘They’re both going to accept the offer.’

  ‘That’s very sensible of them.’

  ‘So is Mr Ingles, apparently.’

  ‘I remember him,’ said Keedy. ‘He threw us out of the house.’

  ‘We touched a sensitive spot, Joe.’

  ‘My memory of Mr Ingles is that he was a compound of sensitive spots. You had to be careful what you said. Talking to him was like walking barefoot over broken glass. Next time you go there, Harv, you go alone. There was one thing in his favour, mind you,’ he went on, unable to hide a smirk. ‘At least he didn’t think you were shifty.’

  Sadie Radcliffe was in the middle of putting wet dungarees through the mangle when the visitors called. Drying her hands, she went to the door and opened it to a smartly dressed couple whom she’d never seen before. Brian Ingles introduced himself and his wife and asked if they might speak to her. Since the living room was full of baby things, Sadie was embarrassed to take them into it but she had no alternative. After waving them to the settee, she perched on a stool beside the fireplace. She noticed the quality of June’s coat and the pearl necklace at her throat. Ingles took control. Accustomed to giving orders at work, his question sounded more like a demand.

  ‘Have you come to a decision concerning that letter, Mrs Radcliffe?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Sadie. ‘I have more or less.’

  ‘Then I trust that you had the sense to accept. That’s what my wife and I have done and I can speak for Neil Beresford, Shirley’s husband, as well. I talked to him earlier. I also know that Jonah Jenks is sympathetic to the idea because Reuben Harte told me when I went to see him today.’

  ‘Mr Harte is against it,’ said June.

  ‘I’ll persuade him,’ said her husband, testily. ‘I rarely fail to win people over to my viewpoint.’ He smiled condescendingly at Sadie. ‘May I take it that you’ll follow where we lead?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Ingles.’

  ‘It will simplify everything,’ said June.

  ‘It will also make it possible to set a date for the funeral,’ added her husband. ‘All I have to do is to get Reuben Harte on our side and the job is complete. The five victims can be interred together, as is only right and proper.’

  There was an awkward pause. Sadie wondered if she ought to offer them some refreshment but held back because she felt that their tea service would be markedly superior to hers. When she did speak, she blurted her question out.

  ‘You’re the ones with the big house in Hayes, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said June, smugly.

  ‘Agnes told me that you have a garden at the front and the back.’

  ‘It’s everything we ever wanted, Mrs Radcliffe.’

  ‘Though, actually,’ said Ingles, ‘we’re about to put it on the market.’

  ‘We can’t do that, Brian,’ urged June. ‘I love that house.’

  ‘So do I, my dear, but it’s far too large for our needs.’

  ‘I’d rather have too much room than too little,’ said Sadie.

  ‘That’s my feeling exactly,’ said June. ‘Besides, the house holds so many fond memories for us. I’d like to stay there indefinitely. My husband thinks that the place feels empty now that Florrie has died but she hasn’t lived there since she got married.’ She looked at her husband. ‘You never worried about it being too big when Florrie was alive. What’s changed?’

  ‘Need we discuss this here?’ he said, irritably.

  ‘I’d just like to know.’

  ‘Very well — I’ll tell you. What changed are the associations with the house. As you said earlier, it holds fond memories but they’ve been overshadowed by Florrie’s death. As long as we stay there, we’ll be reminded of it. I’m sorry, June,’ he went on, ‘I know it’s difficult for you to grasp but we have to get well away from there and make a fresh start. We have to build our lives anew.’

  ‘I wish I could do that,’ moaned Sadie. ‘I’d love to be able to sell up and move far away but there’s no chance of that happening. We’re stuck here for ever.’

  ‘I want to get far away from that confounded factory,’ declared Ingles. ‘And I want a smaller house that’s easier to manage.’

  ‘It can’t be much smaller, Brian. That would be intolerable.’

  ‘Leave this to me.’ He stood up. ‘Thank you, Mrs Radcliffe. I’m glad that the journey here has paid dividends. I can go back to Reuben Harte and tell him that he’s the fly in the ointment. He must accept the majority decision.’

  ‘I agree,’ said June, now on her feet.

  ‘God willing, I should be able to phone Mr Kennett later this afternoon to tell him what we’ve all decided. The funeral will be a harrowing experience for us all. If the five of them are buried at the same time, however, we can each draw support from others in the same unfortunate position.’

  Sadie led the way. ‘I’ll show you out.’

  She was relieved to get rid of them. June had been looking around the living room with polite disdain and Ingles had annoyed her by the way in which he’d taken the arrangements for the burial into his hands. Sadie felt that she hadn’t been given free rein to express her opinions. As she watched them going off down the street, she could still hear them arguing about whether or not to sell their house.

  ‘Who cares about your bloody house?’ she said to herself. ‘In case you forgot, Florrie died in that explosion with Agnes. How can you think about anything else but your daughter?’

  Harvey Marmion felt that Leighton Hubbard deserved to know about the emergence of a suspect before he read it in the newspapers the next day. As a courtesy to the landlord, therefore, he and Joe Keedy drove to the pub in search of him. Repairs were still under way and the landlord was watching like a hawk. When the car drew up beside the pavement, he ambled across to it. The detectives got out and surveyed the scene of the bomb blast.

  ‘It looks very different now, Mr Hubbard,’ said Keedy.

  ‘They tell me that it will have to look worse before it looks better,’ said the landlord. ‘The scaffolding is there to hold the Goose up. They discovered cracks in the brickwork almost everywhere. The work will cost a fortune.’

  ‘I take it that you’re insured,’ said Keedy.

  ‘Yes, Sergeant — the bills will be paid in full. What you can’t insure against is all the heartache we suffered and all the customers we must have lost. It’s been such a trial that there’ve been times when I wished I’d be blown up with those women.’

  ‘You can’t really mean that, sir.’

  ‘Everything we loved about this place has been destroyed.’

  ‘Then perhaps you’d like some news to raise your spirits,’ said Marmion.

  Hubbard’s eye kindled. ‘You’ve made an arrest?’

  ‘We hope to do so before very long.’

  ‘Who’s the villain? Is it one of my rivals?’

  ‘He’s not a publican, sir. He works at the munitions factory. Thanks to that list you gave me, I was able to see that he was a patron of yours.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Herbert Wylie.’

  ‘Do you recall him?’ asked Keedy.

  Hubbard nodded grimly. ‘Yes, I do. He’s not one of my regulars.’

  ‘We’ve seen a photograph of him and I talked to his foreman. It seems that Wylie was not really a sociable type.’

  ‘He wasn’t, Sergeant. He’d only come into the Goose now and then and never had more than a pint. I could never work out if he was mean with his money or just not thirsty. Anyway, he didn’t mix with the other customers. He liked to si
t in a corner and stare into his beer. You get people like that.’

  ‘What else can you tell us about him?’ asked Marmion.

  ‘That’s it — excepting that he didn’t stay long. He always slunk off early.’

  ‘He’s slunk off again. It may only be a coincidence but he hasn’t been seen at work since the explosion. We went to his address but he’d taken most of his things and gone off somewhere.’

  ‘Wylie is on the run,’ decided Hubbard, scowling. ‘Tell me where he is, Inspector, and I’ll go after him, however far away he might be.’

  ‘Leave him to us, sir.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Keedy. ‘His name and description will be in every newspaper tomorrow. Everyone will know that we’re hunting for Herbert Wylie in connection with what happened here. He’ll find it almost impossible to avoid being seen.’

  ‘Are you certain that it was him?’ asked the landlord.

  ‘You can never be completely certain in this game.’

  ‘But we’re confident enough to release his name to the press,’ said Marmion. ‘We’ve linked him closely to one of the women at that birthday party. We know that he’s an expert bomb-maker. We found evidence that he’d been constructing one at the house where he lived. And you confirmed that he drank at your pub and was therefore aware of the fact that the key to the outhouse could easily be borrowed from its hook.’

  Keedy spread his arms. ‘What more evidence do we need?’

  ‘Herbert Wylie,’ said Hubbard, grinding his teeth. ‘I didn’t realise he was such a scheming little runt.’

  ‘We’re assuming that he acted alone.’

  ‘In his mind,’ said Marmion, ‘he probably saw it as a crime of passion.’

  ‘That’s not how I see it, Inspector. It was premeditated murder. Either way,’ said Keedy, ‘he’ll face an appointment with the public executioner.’

  ‘Let’s not prejudge him. He has to be considered innocent until proven guilty.’

  ‘What was this about him knowing one of those women?’ asked Hubbard.

  ‘He was rebuffed by the young lady. That may have given him a motive.’

  ‘Oh, I see. That’s all it takes, is it? Because some girl won’t let him put a hand up her jumper, he thinks it’s all right for him to kill her and her friends then destroy part of my pub into the bargain.’

  The sight of the detectives brought neighbours out of their houses in search of information about the latest developments in the case. Marmion and Keedy didn’t even get the chance to repeat the news because Hubbard did it for them. Accepting Wylie’s guilt as proven fact, the landlord launched into a long denunciation of him and wished that he’d had the forethought to poison the man’s beer. The knot of people grew into a small crowd. Seeing no reason to linger, the detectives moved to the car. The landlord hurried after them.

  ‘Hang on a moment,’ he said. ‘I have to pass on a message.’

  ‘Who gave it to you?’ asked Marmion.

  ‘Royston Liddle.’

  ‘What’s his problem?’

  ‘He’s been the victim of a terrible crime, Inspector.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Someone’s stolen his rabbits.’

  ‘With respect to Mr Liddle, we can’t marshal the full force of Scotland Yard in a search for missing rabbits. I think you’ll agree that the murder of five innocent young women must take priority.’

  ‘Don’t forget the damage to my property.’

  ‘I don’t think you’ll ever let us forget it, sir,’ said Keedy, ‘and you’re right to do so. As for the rabbits, whoever stole them has probably had them in a stew by now. You can’t charge someone with a crime when the evidence has been eaten.’

  The sense of injustice festered inside Royston Liddle. He had a number of chores to complete throughout the day and he did them in a daze. All that he could think about was the atrocity in the rabbit hutch. The culprit was obviously Alan Suggs. He’d not only sworn to get back at Liddle, he knew just how much the rabbits meant to him. Stealing them would cause lasting pain to their owner. Suggs had been a friend once and Liddle had got both amusement and excitement out of watching him with a naked woman in the outhouse. It was Liddle who’d made that tryst possible and this was his reward. He tried to think of an appropriate act of revenge but he knew that he was too law-abiding to inflict it on Suggs. The crime had to be solved by the police.

  As he trudged home after a day’s work in various places, he was bereft. The rabbits were far more than pets. They were part of the family. Instead of letting himself into the house by the front door, he went to the back entrance. As he came into the garden, he had a strange feeling that his rabbits had come back. Suggs had either relented or been overcome with guilt. Liddle was thrilled. Rushing to the hutch, he pulled the door open and looked inside. The rabbits were indeed there but not in their entirety. All that remained of them were their heads.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Because he’d never even made it past the front door on his previous visit, Marmion paid a second call on Reuben Harte. He was hoping to find the man in a slightly more hospitable frame of mind. Fortune favoured the detective. As he approached the house, Marmion was spotted through the window by Brian Ingles. Identified by him, he was allowed in by Harte and ushered into the living room. Sensing that the visitor might have brought news about the investigation, both men were markedly more welcoming than they had previously been towards him. With an apologetic smile, Ingles was quick to explain away his behaviour at the earlier meeting with Marmion.

  ‘You caught me at a difficult time, Inspector,’ he said.

  ‘I appreciate that, sir.’

  ‘Only someone whose child has been murdered could understand the pulverising effect that the news can have. It leaves you utterly bewildered.’

  ‘Brian is right,’ said Harte. ‘I felt exactly the same. Losing a loved one knocks you for six. I’m still stunned.’

  ‘And so was I,’ said Marmion, seizing the opportunity to show them that he’d been through a similar experience. ‘It shook me to the core. My father was killed while on duty as a policeman, you see. It took me days to accept the awful truth. When I did that, other feelings took over. I had this overpowering urge to go after the man who’d committed the murder. That led in time to my joining the police force.’

  The information had a different effect on the two men. While Ingles had more respect for Marmion after the revelation that he’d been through the same horror, Harte was both annoyed and hurt, as if the inspector had somehow reduced his status as a father mourning a murder victim. Ingles was more open but Harte came close to sulking.

  ‘I’m glad to find the both of you together,’ Marmion began.

  ‘I was just on the point of winning an argument,’ explained Ingles. ‘I daresay that you can guess what it was about.’

  ‘Was it the offer made by Mr Kennett?’

  ‘Indeed, it was.’

  ‘I’ve agreed to nothing,’ said Harte, stonily.

  ‘But you were at least listening to sense at last,’ said Ingles. ‘And now that four of us are in agreement, you’re feeling uneasy at being isolated.’

  ‘You don’t know how I feel, Brian.’

  Ingles was tactful. ‘Then I’ll not press you on the matter. In any case,’ he went on, ‘I’m sure that the inspector didn’t come here to join in the discussion.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Marmion.

  ‘What news do you have for us?’

  ‘We’ve identified a suspect.’

  Harte perked up immediately. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘It’s a man by the name of Herbert Wylie.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of him.’

  ‘No more have I,’ said Ingles.

  ‘He worked at the munitions factory,’ Marmion told them. ‘At least, he did until the day of the explosion. After that, he seems to have packed his bags and vanished. We’ve released his name to the press and there’ll be a nationwide search for Wylie. We’re very anxious to s
peak to him.’

  ‘When police use that phrase, it usually means that they think a particular person is almost certainly guilty. Am I right, Inspector?’

  ‘You can deduce what you wish, sir. We need to find this individual as a matter of urgency but there’s no absolute guarantee that he’s our man.’

  ‘What can you tell us about him?’

  ‘Simply that he was in the right place at the right time,’ said Marmion. ‘He knew the pub in question and seems to have had a thwarted passion for one of the young women attending that party. Neither of your daughters, I hasten to say,’ he added, ‘was the person in question. They had the misfortune to be there when this man — as the evidence suggests — took his revenge.’

  ‘How did you find all this out?’ asked Ingles.

  ‘We are fortunate enough to have a survivor of the blast.’

  ‘Ah, of course — Maureen Quinn.’

  ‘She supplied the name that led to a series of productive enquiries.’

  Ingles was overcome with relief. ‘Thank heaven!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Why didn’t she tell you about this man earlier?’ asked Harte.

  ‘For the same reason that you wouldn’t let me into your house on my first visit, sir,’ said Marmion with a half-smile. ‘She was stunned by what happened and couldn’t begin to think straight. Her instinct was to withdraw into herself. It’s exactly what I did when my father was murdered. I just brooded for hours on end.’

  ‘I can understand that only too well, Inspector.’

  ‘Anyway, I wanted you both to know about Wylie in advance so that it won’t come as a complete shock when you read the newspapers tomorrow. But I must emphasise that the case is very far from being closed,’ said Marmion. ‘We still have some way to go so don’t make any assumptions.’

  ‘Thank you so much for your consideration,’ said Ingles, beaming. ‘I can’t speak for Reuben but this news has really lifted my spirits. I can’t tell you how pleased I am.’

  ‘Yes,’ conceded Harte. ‘It is a consolation.’

  ‘If this fellow was not pursuing either Florrie or Jean, who was he after?’