Ellen Marmion did what she could to help the war effort by working as a volunteer with groups that organised food parcels to be sent to the front or knitted gloves and other items for the soldiers. Aware of the privations suffered by those trapped in deep, muddy, rat-infested trenches, she strove to ameliorate their lot in her small way. On her way home after another session with the knitting needles, she passed a newspaper vendor and saw the headline emblazoned on his display board — FIVE DEAD CANARIES. Since the lunchtime edition related to the case on which her husband and future son-in-law were working, she bought a copy and glanced at the front page. Marmion looked up solemnly at her from a stock photograph but it was tiny by comparison with the photo of the doomed outhouse in Hayes. Seeing the extent of the damage made her stomach heave. It was the work of someone cruel and pitiless. Marmion and Keedy were in pursuit of the man. Not for the first time, she was reminded of the perils that came with a job at Scotland Yard. Someone who could kill five young women in cold blood wouldn’t hesitate to murder two detectives. Folding up the newspaper, she thrust it under her arm and scurried home.

Ellen was not simply worried about their safety. She was alarmed that her daughter was, as she saw it, being bullied at work by a jealous superior. There was nothing that could be done to alleviate the situation. She was also disturbed by her husband’s reluctance to fully accept Alice’s choice of husband. While Ellen had been thrilled at the news, it had been an unpleasant surprise for Marmion and his unspoken objections remained. Most troubling of all, of course, was the eternal anxiety about their son, Paul, stationed in France near the Somme and sending infrequent letters that complained of boredom and bad living quarters. Some of the friends who’d joined up with him at the start of the war had either been killed or sent home with missing limbs. She prayed daily that Paul’s name would not be added to the casualty list.

Trying to subdue her nagging concerns, she soon had something else to worry about. It started to rain and she had no umbrella. Almost without warning, the skies opened and the downpour began. Ellen had a coat and hat but they were inadequate protection against the driving rain. She was soaked within minutes. The storm put more speed into her legs and she practically sprinted over the last fifty yards. When she reached the shelter of her porch, she paused to get her breath back. Having spent its fury, the storm now abated and patches of blue sky peeped through the clouds. It was too late for Ellen. She’d been well and truly drenched.

When she let herself into the house, however, she saw something which banished all of her anxieties at once. It was a letter with distinctive handwriting on it. Paul had written to them again at long last. With a whoop of pleasure, she snatched up the letter from the floor. Dripping over the hall carpet, she tore it open.

‘When were you told the news, Mr Jenks?’

‘It was when I got back from work last night.’

‘You have my utmost sympathy.’

‘Thank you, Inspector.’

‘Is that a photo of Enid on the piano?’

‘Yes,’ said Jenks. ‘If she wasn’t practising on her violin, she’d be sitting at the piano. Music was everything to Enid. She could play anything. It was because she was so well taught. My wife was a wonderful pianist as well. She wanted one of the children to learn how to play and the boys weren’t interested. Enid was. She had enough interest for both of them.’ He touched Marmion’s arm and lowered a voice as if about to impart a secret. ‘The vicar approached us, you know. He asked if Enid would be interested in learning the organ.’

‘I daresay she’d have been proficient at any keyboard instrument.’

‘Are you musical, Inspector?’

‘No, sir,’ replied Marmion. ‘The only piano I could play is one with a handle on the side.’

Once the joke about the barrel organ had slipped out Marmion regretted it but the other man found it amusing enough. Jonah Jenks was quite unlike Neil Beresford. Where the latter had been knocked senseless by the enormity of what had happened, the former had merely accepted it and sought to carry on. He loved his daughter deeply but her death was not going to become an obsession. Having already lost a wife and a second daughter to diphtheria, he knew all about pangs of grief. Another child had died, leaving him to look after the two surviving boys. That’s what mattered most to Jenks. They were the ones who were really suffering. Though they’d argued constantly with their sister while she was alive, they were dumbstruck at her death, all the more so because it had been as a result of a crime. Jenks had kept them home from school and they were upstairs in the bedroom they shared.

‘I just wanted to assure you that the investigation is well under way,’ said Marmion. ‘I have a team of detectives working under me.’

‘That’s good to hear.’

‘You’ll appreciate that I’m under a slight disadvantage. I don’t know anything about the five victims. I’m trying to find out all I can about each one of them. I’ve spoken to Agnes Collier’s mother and to Maureen Quinn’s family.’

‘Agnes came here once or twice. She was a nice girl.’

‘What about Maureen?’

‘Oh, I’ve never met her.’

‘Who was Enid’s best friend?’

‘That would be Shirley Beresford. She used to go and watch her play football. Enid was very clever but she was hopeless at sports. Her brothers used to tease her about it. Shirley, on the other hand, was a good all-round athlete.’

‘So I’ve been told. I called on her husband earlier.’

‘I see.’

Jenks glanced at the photograph on the piano then sat opposite his visitor. He was a spare man in his fifties with hair neatly slicked back over a domed head. His spectacles gave him an owlish appearance and he had a scholarly air that inclined Marmion to think that he was a teacher. The well-stocked bookshelves indicated a reading man. In fact, however, Jenks was the manager of a large hardware store. Wearing a three-piece suit indoors, he kept his thumbs in the pockets of his waistcoat.

‘What do you want me to tell you, Inspector?’

‘Describe your daughter, please, if you will.’

‘Enid was a lovely girl. I can’t speak too highly of her.’

Jenks spoke in a low, measured voice. He talked fondly about his daughter’s achievements and about his ambitions for her. A religious man, he took all three children to church every Sunday, then the family visited the graves of its missing members. A new one would now be added. Instead of being in regular use, the piano would act as a memento to Enid. Marmion was at once interested and saddened by the effect that factory life had had upon her. Putting her music aside, she’d dedicated herself to the production of arms. Jenks was a mild-mannered man who seemed at variance with the image of him that Maureen Quinn had conjured up. She had recalled the help given by Florrie Duncan at a time when Enid was having terrible rows with her father. Yet Jenks was giving his visitor a detailed picture of a household where perfect harmony prevailed. He even boasted that he never had to raise his voice to Enid.

Jenks became practical. ‘Isn’t there something you’ve forgotten?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Where foul play is involved in a death, I thought that next of kin would be asked to identify the body.’

‘Ordinarily, that’s the case, sir,’ said Marmion, ‘but the remains are not really recognisable. When a bomb goes off in a confined space, it causes the most unimaginable injuries. We wish to spare the families such a disturbing sight.’

‘That’s very wise of you, Inspector — wise and considerate.’

‘Identification will have to be made by items they owned, by watches, bracelets and so on.’

‘Enid wore a silver crucifix.’