Five Dead Canaries

‘That’s not true,’ said Keedy, indicating the pub. ‘You still have the main premises and you’ll be back in business.’

‘When you gave your account of what had happened,’ resumed Marmion, ‘it was rather garbled. We’re not blaming you for that. You told us about events immediately before the birthday party. We should have gone back a bit further.’

Keedy referred to his notebook. ‘What the inspector means,’ he said, ‘is that we didn’t ask about how Florrie Duncan came to book the outhouse in the first place.’

Hubbard hunched his shoulders. ‘I thought I told you that.’

‘Remind us when the booking was made.’

‘It was two or three weeks beforehand.’

‘Did she come here on her own?’

‘Yes,’ replied the landlord, ‘though she was anxious to be on her way. I showed her the outhouse and gave her a price. We shook on the deal and off she went. That’s all I can tell you.’

‘She wasn’t alone,’ said a voice.

Royston Liddle had crept up so that he could overhear the conversation. When the three of them turned to him, he giggled readily, pleased at the attention.

‘I was here,’ he continued. ‘I was on duty that evening.’

‘What happened?’ asked Marmion.

‘Don’t trust him,’ sneered Hubbard. ‘He’s got a memory like a sieve.’

‘What happened?’ Keedy repeated.

‘She came in a car,’ said Liddle. ‘I remember her getting out of it and going into the bar. He stayed out here.’

‘Who did?’

‘The driver, of course — he was reading a paper. I know I forget most things,’ he went on, ‘but I remember that because it was such a nice car. I haven’t seen many like that around here.’

‘Can you describe the man?’ asked Marmion.

Liddle pointed at Keedy. ‘He was about his age — maybe older — only he was better looking. And he had this little moustache.’ He grinned inanely. ‘I’ve always wanted to have a moustache but I can’t seem to grow one.’

‘Let’s go over this again,’ said Marmion, curbing his impatience. ‘This man brought Florrie Duncan-’

He broke off when he saw a uniformed constable cycling towards him. The man was semaphoring with one arm. When he reached them, he put the message into words.

‘There’s someone to see you, Inspector,’ he said, adjusting his helmet. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt but you’re to come back to the station urgently.’

When she finally emerged from church, Maureen Quinn was both chastened and relieved. The terrible burden of guilt she bore could never be wholly removed but it already felt lighter. It had been a continuous ordeal in the confessional box. The effort it had taken to get her there had been immense and it had told on her. Maureen was now sagging with fatigue. All she wanted to do was to go back to her bedroom so that she could collapse on the bed. But somebody was now standing in the way.

‘Hello, Maureen.’

She backed away. ‘What do you want?’

‘I saw you go into church with your mother and sister. You were in there for ages. I thought you were never coming out again.’

She raised a palm. ‘I don’t want to talk.’

‘Did you read my letter?’

‘I burnt it.’

‘But I meant what I said, Maureen.’

Neil Beresford had kept her house under observation until he saw her come out with Diane and Lily. After trailing them to the church, he’d waited in a lane on the opposite side of the road. When he saw her mother and sister leave, he knew that he’d have the opportunity to accost Maureen alone. Beresford gave a nervous smile.

‘It’s so good to see you again,’ he said.

‘Leave me alone, Neil.’

‘I’ve thought so much about you.’

‘I want to go home.’

‘And you’ve thought about me as well — admit it.’

‘Yes,’ she said, anger rising, ‘I did think about you and I felt ashamed. What we did was terrible, Neil. It was sinful.’

‘But we didn’t actually do anything,’ he complained. ‘You were on your way to my house when that bomb went off. Shirley would have stayed at that party for hours. We’d have been alone at last.’

‘It was a punishment for us. The bomb was our punishment.’

‘That’s what I thought at first and I felt as guilty as you did. But there was another way of looking at it. Instead of being a punishment, it was a blessed release. Shirley was only a wife in name,’ he told her. ‘She had such a horror of childbirth that she slept alone most of the time. I wasn’t allowed to touch her. That’s not a real marriage. We can be together now,’ he went on, taking her by the shoulders. ‘I don’t mean right away. There’d have to be a decent interval first. But later on — when it’s proper — we can have what we’ve both wanted.’

‘No,’ she said, stepping back out of his hold. ‘Everything has changed, Neil. I don’t want anything to do with you ever again. It was wrong of us and it was cruel to Shirley. She was your wife. You shouldn’t have come after me.’

‘I don’t remember you complaining,’ he said with rancour. ‘You were as willing as I was.’ Beresford’s tone became more conciliatory. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I don’t mean that the way it sounds. Give it time, Maureen. Wait until all this goes away. If you read my letter, you know how I feel about you. We were meant to be together,’ he insisted. ‘Don’t worry about what happened in the past. Nobody will ever know about that.’

Maureen glanced at the church. ‘Someone already does.’

It took a cup of tea and several minutes before they could calm June Ingles down enough to get articulate information out of her. She seemed ready to lapse into hysteria at any moment. Marmion and Keedy were alone with her at the police station. With a combination of patience and understanding, they drew the story out of her.

‘What makes you think your husband is in trouble?’ asked Marmion, gently.

‘I listened,’ she replied. ‘Brian had two phone calls and started to behave wildly. He refused to tell me what was going on. So I listened, Inspector. When he made a phone call himself, I opened the door of the kitchen and eavesdropped.’ Tears welled up in her eyes again. ‘He was telling the estate agent to come to the house as soon as he could to give him a valuation. Why?’ she cried. ‘We love the house. It’s ideal for us. The other day, Brian said we wouldn’t have to move. All of a sudden, he’s putting the house on the market.’

‘Did you challenge him about it, Mrs Ingles?’ asked Keedy.

‘Yes, I did. It made me livid.’

‘What did your husband say?’

‘I’ve never seen him so angry,’ she replied. ‘When he realised that I’d been listening, he used the most disgusting language. And then he …’

The memory was too fresh in her mind to bear repetition. June needed a few more minutes before she could go on. Marmion assured her that there was no hurry. Taking down her statement, Keedy was equally considerate. Both of them recognised the significance of what she was telling them. When she was ready to continue, she made a pathetic effort to put on a brave face.

‘What did your husband do, Mrs Ingles?’ prompted Marmion.

‘I still can’t believe it.’

‘Why?’

‘We’ve always been so … contented together. Brian’s been a good husband,’ she declared, anxious to say something in his defence. ‘Some people might say that he spoilt me. And it meant so much to me, you see.’

‘What did?’