Five Dead Canaries

news in person to each of the respective families.

‘We’ll go to Agnes Collier’s address,’ said Marmion. ‘She lives some distance away.’

‘Her mother will be there, looking after her grandson. She’s a Mrs Radcliffe. I hope she’s got a husband or some good friends,’ said Keedy. ‘She’ll need someone to help her get through this.’

‘Yes, the birthday party has turned out to be a nightmare.’

‘What have you been doing, Harv?’

‘I spoke to the landlord, Leighton Hubbard. You only have to look at the pub to imagine how he must be feeling. The worst of it is that he thinks he’s somehow responsible for the deaths.’

‘That’s silly. It wasn’t his fault.’

‘He did give us one valuable clue.’

‘Oh?’ Keedy’s interest quickened. ‘What was that?’

‘That outhouse was almost never used. He only rented it out two or three times a year. That narrows down the possibilities at once, Joe.’

‘Does it?’

‘Of course,’ said Marmion. ‘It means that those five women were not just random victims. One or all of them were intended targets. The person who planted that bomb knew the time they’d be here and he could rely on them not being too inquisitive. When you go to a birthday party, the last thing you do is to search every nook and cranny for a bomb. They had no chance. They were sitting targets.’

‘Why should anyone want to kill five harmless women?’

‘The original intent was to kill six of them, remember.’

‘In that case, Maureen Quinn was very lucky to escape.’

‘According to the landlord, it wasn’t luck at all but design. He tried to persuade me that she was the bomber and knew exactly when to get out. It sounds like a fanciful theory to me.’

‘And to me, Harv,’ said Keedy, recalling his conversation with Maureen. ‘I don’t think she’s capable of anything like that. She seemed like a decent, honest, law-abiding young woman. There was no real spark in her. She was shy and unassertive.’ A memory nudged him. ‘On the other hand …’

‘Go on,’ prompted Marmion.

‘It’s always wise to double-check, I suppose.’ Keedy reached a decision. ‘When we’ve been to Agnes Collier’s house, perhaps we should go on to have another word with Maureen Quinn. I’d like to see what you make of her.’

They couldn’t believe it. When Maureen got home and told her family the news, they found it impossible to accept. On the previous Sunday, Agnes Collier had come to the house for tea with her baby son. They’d all had a very enjoyable time. Yet they were now being told that they’d never see the woman alive again and that the child would have to grow up without a mother. Their sympathy went out to him. When Maureen told them about the other four women who’d died in the bomb blast, she had to force each name out and her voice trembled as she did so. Seated beside her on the sofa, Diane Quinn, her mother, kept a comforting arm around her shoulders and offered her a handkerchief whenever she lapsed into tears. Eamonn Quinn, her father, sat opposite in silence, his face blank, his mind in turmoil. Sitting cross-legged on the floor was fourteen-year-old Lily Quinn, not understanding the full import of what she’d been told but realising that something truly terrible had occurred and that her elder sister was at the heart of it.

‘Will they put your name in the papers, Maureen?’ she wondered.

‘Don’t ask such a stupid question,’ said her father, reproachfully.

‘Mrs Fenner’s name was in the Standard when she got knocked down by that car and all she did was to break a few ribs.’

‘Be quiet, Lily.’

‘But our Maureen is going to be famous.’

‘It’s not the kind of fame we want,’ said Diane, tightening her grip on her elder daughter. ‘Whenever she goes out, people will point at Maureen and say that she was the one who escaped from that dreadful explosion. Yes, and the tongues will wag about the rest of us as well. The whole family will suffer.’

‘I’m not worried about being stared at,’ said Maureen, solemnly. ‘I’m used to that. It’s the gossip that will hurt me. I’m bound to be blamed.’

‘No, you won’t, love. You didn’t plant that bomb.’

‘But I was the one who walked away without a scratch on me. Agnes’s mother will be the first to blame me. I know exactly what Mrs Radcliffe will say. “Why was it her and not my Agnes? What’s so special about Maureen Quinn?” And the other parents will be the same. They’ll all hate me.’

‘Well, they’d better not say anything against you when I’m around,’ warned her father, bunching his fists, ‘or they’ll have me to answer to. It’s a miracle you got saved, Maureen, and I’m not having anyone criticising you as a result.’

Quinn was a beefy man with deep-set eyes in a florid face and a rough beard. His wife was also carrying too much weight but she still had vestiges of the good looks inherited by her daughters. Hailing from London, Diane had a light Cockney accent whereas her husband had a whisper of an Irish brogue in his voice. Maureen and Lily had grown up talking more like their mother.

A protracted silence fell on the room. It was eventually broken by Lily.

‘Do I have to go to school tomorrow?’ she asked.

‘No,’ decided her mother. ‘I’m keeping you at home.’

‘But everyone will want to ask me about Maureen.’

‘That’s exactly why you’re staying here. Word will have spread by tomorrow. I’m not having you pestered by questions at school. Apart from anything else, you might say something out of turn.’

Lily flushed. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Your mother’s right,’ confirmed Quinn. ‘You’ll stay at home — and the same goes for your sister. The pair of you will keep out of the way for a while.’

Maureen sat up. ‘But I think I ought to go to work, Daddy.’

‘Then you think wrong. Your place is here.’

‘I’m not going to hide.’

‘It’s the sensible thing to do,’ advised her mother. ‘You’ve had the most awful shock, Maureen. You can’t expect to shrug it off so soon.’

‘But they need me at the factory — Mr Kennett will want to hear the details.’

‘Then he’ll have to wait. It’s a police matter now. They’ll tell him all he needs to know. In the circumstances, he’d never expect you to turn up.’

‘Florrie Duncan would go, if she was in my position.’

‘That may be so, love, but poor Florrie is dead and won’t be going anywhere.’

‘We keep ourselves to ourselves,’ decreed Quinn.

‘Does that mean you’re staying off work as well?’ asked Lily in surprise.

‘No, it means that anybody who bothers me will get a flea in his ear.’

Quinn had a job delivering coal and there were several specks of it embedded in his beard and under his fingernails. He was a surly man at the best of times. The latest development would do nothing to improve his manner or his temper.

‘And that goes for the coppers,’ he added. ‘We don’t want them poking their noses into our business. Maureen has said her piece to them. That’s all they get.’

Imparting painful news to grieving relatives was something he’d had to do a fair amount in his career and Joe Keedy always found it difficult. He was, therefore, grateful that Marmion took over when they called at Agnes Collier’s house. The inspector was older, more experienced and always seemed to find the right words. Invited in by Sadie Radcliffe, they went into the living room and noticed how scrupulously tidy it was. Sadie had been knitting and a half-finished jumper stood on the arm of a chair. Like her daughter, she was short, tubby and fair-haired. She wore a pinafore over her dress and a turban on her head. Marmion suggested that she might like to sit down but she insisted on standing. There was an indomitable quality about her that suggested she was used to hearing and coping with distressing news. While Marmion cleared his throat, she stood there with her arms folded and