Florrie must have reached the point where she started to look at other men with interest again. She couldn’t stay in mourning for ever.’
‘She didn’t,’ said Harte. ‘Her natural ebullience wouldn’t allow it.’
‘There’s a social club attached to the factory, isn’t there?’ noted Keedy.
‘That’s right, Sergeant.’
‘Did Florrie and your daughter ever go there?’
‘Yes, they enjoyed an evening there on occasion.’
‘So they would have met plenty of men.’
‘If you’re insinuating that my daughter was looking for someone to replace her fiancé,’ said Harte, bristling, ‘then you’re quite wrong. Jean will only ever love one man and that was Maurice.’
‘What about Florrie Duncan?’
Harte was about to terminate the conversation and send them on their way when he was reminded of something. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts. They could hear the pain in his voice as he talked about the fatal birthday party.
‘There might have been somebody,’ he said, thoughtfully, ‘but if there was, then I don’t think it came to anything. At least, that’s the conclusion I’d draw. Jean passed on a remark that Florrie had made to her. It meant nothing to me at the time but — in view of what you’re asking — I fancy it may be relevant.’
‘What was the remark she made to your daughter?’ asked Marmion.
Harte winced. ‘I feel embarrassed to be talking about such things, Inspector.’
‘I can understand that, sir.’
‘Do you have children?’
‘Yes, I have two — a son and a daughter.’
‘Then I daresay that you’d feel awkward, discussing what goes on in your daughter’s private life.’
Marmion said nothing. Standing next to Keedy, he felt more than awkward. During a critical period, he’d been excluded from Alice’s private life and it rankled. He upbraided himself for his lapse into self-pity. Harte had lost a beloved daughter in the most horrific way. All that Marmion had done was to experience the humiliation of being deceived by Alice and Keedy. A sense of proportion was needed. Beside their host’s plight, Marmion’s was negligible. Reuben Harte was a father with a wound that would never heal.
‘I’m sorry to put you in this position,’ said Marmion, ‘but any information you have about Florrie Duncan is of interest to us. What was the remark that she made to your daughter?’
‘She said that she was going to drink herself into oblivion at the party.’
‘Isn’t that what we all do on our birthdays?’ asked Keedy with a grin.
‘Not in Florrie’s case — she was quite abstemious, actually.’
‘Everyone lets themselves go at a party.’
‘I don’t, Sergeant, and neither did my daughter.’
‘How do you interpret the remark?’ wondered Marmion.
‘I can only hazard a guess at what she meant, Inspector.’
‘So?’
‘It could have meant that she was planning to drink heavily in order to forget something. Alcohol can be a good sedative if you’re mourning a loss. I’ve found that out.’
‘If there
‘Good point,’ said Marmion.
‘Or the remark could simply have meant that it was the last time all six of them would be together,’ said Harte. ‘That’s why Florrie was going to overindulge. It was because there’d never be an occasion like that again.’
‘Why not, sir?’
‘She was going to leave the factory soon.’
‘Nobody told us about that.’
‘Jean was the only person she confided in and it rocked my daughter. She hated the thought of losing her. I can’t think why Florrie would even consider leaving. She was part and parcel of the factory.’
‘I wonder if her parents knew about her plans,’ said Marmion.
‘It’s unlikely. They weren’t on the best of terms with Florrie.’
‘So we gather.’
‘She went out of her way to shock them sometimes.’
Marmion smiled. ‘I can imagine that they’d be easily shocked.’
‘I don’t flatter myself that I’ve been a good father,’ said Harte, soulfully, ‘but I’ve made a far better fist of it than Brian Ingles. Although we had differences, Jean and I were always able to talk, whereas he more or less drove his daughter away from that big house of theirs. Ingles is not so high and mighty as he appears,’ he said with a sly grin. ‘I learnt something about him today that I didn’t know.’
‘What was that, sir?’
‘A colleague of mine from the bank called to offer his condolences and see how I was.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I’m telling you this in strictest confidence, mark you.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Marmion.
‘We won’t breathe a word,’ added Keedy.
‘It will show Ingles in a very different light,’ said Harte. ‘In spite of the lordly way he behaves, he’s in no better position than we ordinary mortals. He loves to give the impression of being well off but, according to my colleague, he took out a huge loan at the bank and is having trouble paying it back.’
Maureen Quinn found herself alone that evening. Her father had gone out to the pub and her mother had taken Lily to visit the children’s aged grandmother. Not wishing to leave the house, Maureen remained in her room, reflecting on what Father Cleary had said to her and reading passages from the Bible that he’d recommended. Though the exercise gave her a measure of solace, it could not assuage the feeling of guilt. The inquest and the funerals would be separate ordeals but there was also her return to the factory to contemplate. Maureen would be stared at as a freak, the sole survivor of a grisly event that would lodge in the collective mind. In the wake of the explosion, she’d had a weird urge to go back to work but she wondered now if she’d ever do so. It would never be the same again. Every time she went through the factory gates, she’d think of her five missing friends. No amount of prayer could obliterate frightening memories.
A banging noise from the garden caught her attention. She looked through the window but could see nothing in the dark. Going downstairs, she picked up the little torch in the kitchen then inched the back door open. She scanned the tiny garden but the beam was too weak to be of any real use. Yet she was sure that someone or some animal was there. When she heard a second noise, she realised that it came from the ramshackle shed. Moving the beam of the torch onto it, she saw that the door had swung partly open. The last time that the latch had slipped, a cat had climbed over the fence and got into the shed, knocking over some flowerpots. Assuming that the same thing had happened again, she went out and opened the shed door wide.
‘Shoo!’ she cried out.
It was the only sound she was allowed to make because a figure was instantly conjured out of the darkness. Before she knew what was happening, Maureen was grabbed firmly and a hand was clapped over her mouth.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Back at the police station in Hayes once more, Marmion and Keedy reviewed the situation. It was mid- evening but they were loath to call it a day and return home. New developments had set their minds working and given them fresh energy. While both of them were annoyed about the impostor who’d lured them on a pointless journey to Rochester, the incident had proved one thing. The plea for information about the whereabouts of Herbert Wylie had been widely circulated and prompted a response. The impostor was only one of a number of people who’d contacted the police. According to Claude Chatfield, more people had come forward throughout the day to claim sightings of the missing man. When he’d rung the superintendent to tell him about their setback in
