Edward Marston - Five Dead Canaries

‘Good,’ said Chatfield, suppressing a yawn. ‘And you’re quite sure that we’re looking for a local man.’

Marmion was adamant. ‘I’d stake my pension on it, Superintendent.’

Midnight found the two constables still on duty outside the Golden Goose. It was lonely work. The disaster had exhausted the curiosity of those in the vicinity so nobody came to pry. They chatted, complained about the chill wind, then moaned when a steady drizzle began to fall. Huddled in the doorway of the pub, they exchanged a few jokes to pass the time. Neither of them even saw the figure that approached silently on the other side of the street and kept to the shadows. When he reached the Golden Goose, the man stopped, looked at the debris, then walked on with a smile of deep satisfaction.

When he heard the knock at the front door, Eamonn Quinn thought at first that it was a nosy neighbour who’d caught wind of the explosion at a pub in Hayes. Ready to dispatch the caller with a few choice words, he was taken aback when he opened the door and saw two well-dressed strangers standing there. Marmion performed the introductions and asked politely if they might speak to his daughter.

‘She’s gone to bed,’ said Quinn, abruptly.

‘I’m sorry to hear that, sir. We were very much hoping for a word with her.’

‘Well, it’s not convenient. Maureen will be fast asleep by now.’

‘Then we won’t disturb her.’

He was about to turn away when Maureen came into the narrow passageway.

‘Who is it, Daddy?’

‘Hello,’ said Keedy, recognising her. ‘It seems that your daughter is not quite so tired after all, Mr Quinn. May we come in and talk to her?’

‘Only if I’m present,’ insisted Quinn, annoyed that he’d been caught lying.

‘You and your wife are most welcome to sit in on the discussion, sir.’ He smiled at Maureen and indicated his companion. ‘This is Inspector Marmion who’s in charge of the investigation. He was keen to meet you face-to-face.’

‘Good evening,’ said Marmion, removing his hat. ‘I’m sorry that it’s rather late to be calling but this is in the nature of an emergency.’

Quinn grudgingly invited the detectives in, took them into the living room and asked his wife and younger daughter to leave. He and Maureen then sat together on the settee opposite their visitors. Arm around his daughter, Quinn adopted a protective pose and glared at them. The detectives could see that he might be a problem. Marmion turned to Maureen, perched nervously on the edge of her seat.

‘We’ve just come from Agnes Collier’s house,’ he explained. ‘Her mother is now aware of the tragic events at the Golden Goose. She bore up surprisingly well.’

‘Sadie Radcliffe is a tough character,’ said Quinn.

‘So is your daughter, from what I hear.’

‘She’s been brought up proper, Inspector. We don’t mollycoddle children.’

Maureen eyed them anxiously. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Well,’ said Keedy, taking his cue, ‘we’d really like a bit more detail about the other people at the party. Essentially, all that you told me earlier were their names and addresses. Because you were in such a delicate state, I didn’t want to press you too hard. But the inspector feels that we can’t leave without some indication of the sorts of people your friends were. We know a little about Agnes Collier, of course, from her mother — but what about the others?’

‘For instance,’ said Marmion, ‘tell us about Florrie Duncan. I understand that it was her birthday. How old was she?’

‘Twenty-nine,’ replied Maureen. ‘She was the oldest of us.’

‘What about you?’

‘I was the youngest.’

‘I spoke on the phone to Mr Kennett, the works manager’ said Keedy. ‘He was horrified at the turn of events. The one name that he recognised was Florrie Duncan. He described her as the kind of person who’d make an impression anywhere.’

‘That’s true,’ agreed Maureen, brightening a little. ‘She was always so full of life. Florrie looked out for us. If there was ever any trouble at work, she’d always step in and help.’

‘What kind of trouble?’ asked Quinn, bristling.

‘Oh, it was nothing serious, Daddy. It’s just that some of the men-’

‘Did they pester you, Maureen? You should have told me. I’d have put a stop to that right away. I won’t let anyone hassle my daughter.’

‘Florrie kept an eye on me,’ said Maureen. ‘She could see off anyone. And if some of the managers got too bossy, she’d stand up to them. Nobody pushed Florrie Duncan around.’

Marmion was interested. ‘Were you in the National Federation of Women?’

‘Yes, Inspector — Florrie made us join even though trade union activity was banned at the factory.’

‘Now that’s something I don’t agree with,’ Quinn interjected. ‘I mean, it’s bad enough making women work in a place like that until they turn bright yellow. Getting them into a union is going too far.’

‘They’re entitled to protect themselves, Mr Quinn,’ said Keedy. ‘That’s what trade unions are for — to stop workers being exploited. Well, you must be in one yourself.’

‘No need, Sergeant — I deliver coal. Only a fool would try to exploit me. But you take my point? Trade unions for women — well, it’s just not right.’

‘Thank you,’ said Marmion, crisply, ‘your opinion is noted but it’s not really relevant. It’s Maureen we want to hear, Mr Quinn. She worked alongside these young women. She has information about that birthday party that nobody else has.’

Quinn was peevish. ‘Please yourselves.’

‘Go on telling us about Florrie Duncan,’ said Marmion, nodding at her. ‘It sounds to me as if she was a kind of mother to the rest of you.’

‘Yes, she was, Inspector,’ replied Maureen as if it was the first time that the idea had every occurred to her. ‘That’s exactly what she was. If you had a problem, you’d always turn to her. I remember when Enid — that’s Enid Jenks — was having terrible rows at home with her father. She asked Florrie for advice and things got a lot easier after that.’

The detectives let her ramble on. Now that Quinn had been silenced, his daughter was able to talk at will. Slow and hesitant at first, she became more animated, talking about her friends with a mixture of affection and sadness. The individual characters of the murder victims began to emerge. Evidently, Florrie Duncan was the dominant personality. Jean Harte was a pessimist, always fearing the worst and prone to a succession of minor ailments. Enid Jenks was a gifted violinist and had ambitions to be a professional musician until a patriotic urge had taken her into the munitions factory. Maureen was quite fluent until she reached the last of the victims. When she came to a sudden halt, Keedy had to prompt her.

‘What about Shirley Beresford?’

‘She was … very nice.’

‘Tell us a bit more about her.’

‘Yes,’ said Marmion, gently. ‘Was she single or married? What did she do before she came to work at the factory? Who were her closest friends? Did she have any hobbies? What do you remember most about her?’

It was all too much for Maureen. Having exhausted her ability to bring the women back to life, she was now overcome by the horror of their deaths. It was borne in upon her that she’d never see any of them and hear their lively banter. They’d been wiped instantaneously out of her life. Hands to her face, she burst into tears and bent forward. Her father put an arm around her and pulled out a grubby handkerchief to thrust at her. As his daughter continued to sob, he looked accusingly at the visitors.