‘You won’t find me doing anything like that.’
‘I like to keep myself fit.’
‘That’s what Enid told me,’ said Jonah Jenks, who’d just come round the corner. ‘The first time she came to watch a football match, she saw you jogging around it before the match with the whole team.’
‘It was a good way to warm them up and it paid off. Most of the teams we beat just couldn’t match us for fitness. We wore them down in the last fifteen minutes.’
‘Are you still planning to contest the cup final?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Beresford, ‘I’ve written to everybody who’ll be in the team. My wife and Jean Harte are no longer here, of course, and I’ve had to leave out Maureen Quinn. It would be an imposition to include her.’
‘She may want to come and watch the match.’
‘That’s highly unlikely, I’m afraid.’
‘Well,’ said Jenks. ‘You know her best. She’ll be at the inquest, no doubt. I was hoping they’d have made an arrest before that takes place. I’m still shocked that my daughter was indirectly involved. This whole business started when Herbert Wylie took an unhealthy interest in Enid.’
‘That’s no reflection on her.’
‘Why haven’t they caught that monster yet?’
‘Have patience,’ advised Beresford. ‘The search is nationwide. It’s only a question of time before they find Herbert Wylie.’
With his collar turned up and his hat pulled down over his forehead, the man let himself into the church and closed the heavy door behind him. The only other person there was the cleaner, using a dustpan and brush in the side chapel. He hurried across to the bell tower and went in, climbing the first of many stone steps on the circular staircase. He was slow but methodical, going ever higher as he brushed his shoulder against the ancient wall. When he reached the bells, he didn’t even pause to look at the dangling ropes. He simply opened the little door that led to a second flight of steps. They seemed to curve up to infinity and his legs began to tire. By the time he finally reached the top, he was panting for breath and aching all over. Unlocking the last door, he went out onto the balcony and stared over the parapet. People moving below resembled a colony of giant ants, darting in all directions.
It took a supreme effort to haul himself up onto the parapet. After a prayer for forgiveness, he fell forward and hurtled through the air towards destruction.
Over a cup of tea at the police station, Marmion and Keedy wondered why Maureen Quinn had reacted so dramatically to their questioning. Keedy had felt all along that he’d never got the full details from her of the events on the day of the birthday party. He was more convinced than ever now that she was hiding something but it was difficult to prise it from her when her mother was there to protect her. One way or another, the Quinn family was causing them a lot of problems.
‘Oh,’ said Keedy, ‘I forgot to mention something that Alice told me.’
‘What was that?’
‘She’d had a letter of her own from Paul. He wanted to make it clear that he was very happy with the fact that she and I had got engaged.’
‘I see.’
‘It meant so much to Alice — and to me, of course.’
‘Could we keep our minds on the case, please?’ asked Marmion with undue sharpness. ‘We’re not here to discuss family matters.’
‘I thought you might be interested, that’s all.’
‘And I might be — at a different time.’
‘You can’t keep shying away from it for ever, Harv,’ said Keedy, reasonably. ‘I’m going to marry the woman I love and that just happens to be your daughter.’
‘I hear the message loud and clear.’
‘I just don’t want it to come between us.’
‘Then stop going on about it every minute of the bloody day!’
Marmion immediately regretted his momentary loss of control and he gestured an apology. The telephone rang several times before he picked it up. Claude Chatfield was on the line and he gave Marmion scant opportunity to say anything. For the most part, the inspector was confined to nods of agreement and expressions of surprise. When he put the receiver down, he slumped into his chair.
‘Bad news?’ asked Keedy.
‘Yes — they’ve found Herbert Wylie.’
‘That’s good news, surely. Where was he?’
‘Splattered all over the ground,’ said Marmion. ‘He chose a church with one of the tallest spires in London and committed suicide by jumping from it.’
‘It will save the cost of a trial, anyway.’
‘There would’ve been no trial, Joe. He didn’t plant that bomb. Wylie left a long suicide note, explaining why he was innocent of the crime. He fled because he couldn’t bear the thought of staying at the factory where he’d met Enid Jenks. After some sleepless nights in a cheap hotel,’ said Marmion, ‘he decided that he couldn’t live without her. You know the rest.’
Keedy needed a few moments to assimilate the information. Having been so certain that Wylie was the bomber, he was flabbergasted to hear of the man’s innocence and death. It emphasised the full intensity of his unrequited love for Enid Jenks. While condemning the man for stalking her, he also felt very sorry for Wylie. A sad life had been ended in a grotesque way.
‘We’ve got a problem, Harv,’ he admitted. ‘We’re running out of suspects. We lost Niall Quinn and we can now cross Herbert Wylie off the list. That only leaves the supposed lover of Florrie Duncan. At least the other two suspects did actually exist. Our third man could turn out to be a figment of our imagination.’
‘He
‘What she saw was Florrie being given a lift by a nameless man. He could have been a friend, a relative or someone with whom she did business. There’s nothing that identifies him as her lover,’ said Keedy, ‘still less as the father of a baby who may turn out to be another false assumption.’
‘Don’t lose faith, Joe. We need to trace this man.’
‘I know. He’s all we’ve got.’
Maureen Quinn went to church with her mother and her sister and they all prayed together. When it was time for the others to leave, she insisted on staying there alone. Diane withdrew with Lily, telling her elder daughter that she mustn’t wallow in guilt because no blame was attached to her for the tragedy. Maureen watched them go and stayed near the confessional box until she saw Father Cleary coming towards it. As soon as he disappeared behind the curtain, she entered the box on the other side.
‘Forgive me, Father,’ she said, ‘for I have sinned.’
The Golden Goose looked forlorn. Still covered in scaffolding, it gazed down on the detritus of the building site. Almost every vestige of the outhouse had been taken away, leaving a gaping hole. Leighton Hubbard was arguing with one of the workmen and didn’t hear the police car draw up. It was only when the detectives hailed him that he became aware of their presence. The landlord came quickly over to them.
‘Have you caught him?’ he demanded. ‘Have you arrested the blighter who ruined my pub?’
‘I’m afraid that we haven’t, sir,’ said Marmion.
‘Why ever not?’
‘He’s rather elusive, Mr Hubbard, and we don’t have unlimited resources.’
‘But you’ve got his name and photograph. What more do you need?’
‘Herbert Wylie didn’t blow up your outhouse, sir. That line of enquiry has been abandoned because he is no longer a suspect. Sadly, Mr Wylie committed suicide in London today.’
When he recovered from his shock, the landlord berated them for their incompetence and Marmion had to assert his authority, warning him that they deserved respect for their efforts. He explained why they’d returned to the pub.
‘We missed something,’ he said. ‘When we first interviewed you, we were dealing with a man who was in a state of despair.’
‘Do you blame me? I lost everything.’
