‘What about Agnes Collier and Maureen Quinn?’

‘They came now and again but neither were regulars. They don’t live in Hayes, you see, and Agnes has a baby to look after. She brought him here once. He’s got a good pair of lungs on him, I know that.’

Keedy sensed that he was claiming to know the women rather better than he actually did. He spoke about them with an affection that — Keedy suspected — was not entirely reciprocated. Harte was too dry and humourless to mix easily with characters like Florrie Duncan and Agnes Collier, both reportedly given to constant laughter. What he did do was to describe aspects of the five victims’ characters that didn’t appear in the notes provided by Kennett. Jean Harte had had ambitions of being a dress designer. Florrie Duncan lived alone in a two-room flat because — in spite of her gregariousness — she preferred her own company. Shirley Beresford had been a suffragette before the war. Agnes Collier was an expert cook and had won a number of local competitions. Enid Jenks had twice tried to move out of the family home but had been baulked by her father on both occasions.

Keedy soaked it all in, then remembered the question that Marmion put to him.

‘Why were Enid and Shirley such close friends?’

‘I used to wonder about that,’ admitted Harte.

‘Did you reach a conclusion?’

‘No, Sergeant. It’s something I just can’t explain.’

Alan Suggs was a thickset man in his late twenties with curly, black hair and a beard that gave him a faintly piratical air. When he pulled the lorry into the parking bay, he switched off, took out a cigarette, lit it then jumped out of the vehicle. He was just locking the door when Marmion strolled across to him.

‘Mr Suggs?’ he enquired, politely.

‘That’s me. Who wants to know?’

Marmion introduced himself and noted the man’s reaction. Suggs stiffened, drew nervously on his cigarette then exhaled a cloud of smoke. He decided that the best means of defence was stout denial.

‘If someone’s told you I’ve been giving unauthorised lifts to people,’ he said, ‘then he’s lying through his teeth. I’d never do that. I know the rules and I’ve signed to say I’d never break them. Anyway,’ he went on after another puff of his cigarette, ‘why is Scotland Yard worrying about drivers misusing their lorries? It’s small beer to you lot. Haven’t you got anything better to do than that?’

‘I’ve been talking to Royston Liddle,’ said Marmion, meaningfully.

‘Don’t listen to anything that poor bugger tells you. Royston is soft in the head. My dog has got more brains than him.’

‘He claims to be a friend of yours.’

Suggs laughed harshly. ‘Royston is no friend of mine.’

‘Then why did you ask him to look the other way when you borrowed the key to the outhouse at the Golden Goose?’

‘That what he told you, Inspector? It’s rubbish.’

‘He didn’t strike me as a practised liar.’

‘Royston doesn’t know what day it is.’

‘He knows that he’d lose his job if the landlord discovered that he’d helped you to make use of that outhouse with someone. And before you deny it, Mr Suggs,’ he continued, locking his gaze on the driver, ‘let me warn you that I’m investigating the explosion at the Golden Goose. You had access to the place where they died.’

‘It was nothing to do with me!’ roared Suggs.

‘Then why were you in the outhouse on the eve of the blast?’

‘That’s private.’

‘There’s no such thing as privacy in a murder investigation.’

Suggs was scarlet. ‘I didn’t murder anyone. What the hell d’you take me for?’

‘I take you for someone I’d never care to employ,’ said Marmion, levelly. ‘I think you’re vain, shifty, dishonest and untrustworthy. If, as you claim, you had no connection with that bomb, all you have to do is to give me the name of the person with whom you spent half an hour in that outhouse. A lot can happen in thirty minutes, Mr Suggs. You’d have plenty of time to hide a bomb with a timing device.’

Having been quick to protest, Suggs now fell back into a sullen silence. Marmion could almost see the man’s brain whirring as he sought for a plausible tale to explain his presence at the Golden Goose. He stared at Marmion with an amalgam of dislike and apprehension. Suggs had a glib manner that had suddenly let him down. After a last pull on the cigarette, he dropped it to the ground and stamped on it.

‘You obviously have a problem with your eyes,’ said Marmion, pointing to the sign on the wall. ‘That says No Smoking. You also seem to have trouble with your memory. The best way to revive it is for us to have this discussion in the presence of Royston Liddle. Mr Hubbard would also be an interested observer.’

‘Keep him out of this,’ begged Suggs. ‘Leighton would strangle me.’

‘You look as if you’d like to inflict the same fate on Liddle, so let me say now that if any harm befalls him, I’ll come looking for you with an arrest warrant. Now then,’ Marmion went on, folding his arms, ‘why don’t you dredge up something resembling the truth?’

Suggs swallowed hard. ‘I didn’t plant that bomb. I swear it.’

‘Did you advise the people who did?’

‘No!’

‘Did you tell them where the key could be found?’

‘Of course, I didn’t.’

‘Where were you when the bomb went off?’

‘I was fast asleep at home, Inspector. I work long hours. I need my rest.’

‘You didn’t need any rest on the previous evening. My guess is that you were feeling quite vigorous.’ He took out his notebook. ‘What was her name?’

‘There was no “her”. I was in there on my own.’

‘Royston Liddle saw a young woman being hustled in there.’

‘Are you going to rely on the word of a halfwit?’

‘It’s far more dependable than anything you’ve told me so far.’ Marmion put the book away. ‘Let’s go and find Mr Hubbard. He has a right to hear the truth.’

‘No, no,’ said Suggs, both palms raised, ‘anything but that.’ He pursed his lips for a few moments. ‘Okay,’ he said at length, ‘maybe there was someone in there with me on the night before that explosion.’

‘Ah — we’re making progress at last.’

‘But I’m not in a position to tell you her name.’

‘It’s very gallant of you to protect her anonymity, Mr Suggs, but I’m afraid that I can’t let you do that. Unless you tell me who she is, I can’t get corroboration.’

Suggs blinked. ‘What’s that mean?’

‘It means that I need someone to confirm what you tell me.’

‘Can’t you take my word for it?’

‘No, sir — I fancy that you’re a congenital liar. Indeed, that may be the reason you won’t divulge the name of the young lady. Perhaps you’ve been telling her fibs as well.’ He put his head to one side as he fired his question. ‘Are you married?’

‘No!’ retorted Suggs.

‘Are you sure you haven’t led her to believe that you’re single?’

‘I’d never do anything like that.’

‘Then let me have a name.’ There was a lengthy pause. ‘Or are you holding it back because the young lady is the one who’s married?’

Suggs licked his lips then examined the ground for a full minute. When he raised his head, he scratched at his beard then smoothed the ruffled hairs down. Marmion could see that he might now get an approximation to the truth.

‘Lettie and me are both single,’ Suggs began. ‘I’m hoping that one day we can get engaged but her parents don’t like me. I don’t know why. They refuse to let me anywhere near the house. That won’t stop Lettie and me. We arranged a few secret meetings and the only place I could think of was that outhouse.’

‘Why not invite her to your home?’

‘I live with my parents.’

‘Surely, they’d like to have met your girlfriend?’

‘We wanted privacy.’ He nudged Marmion. ‘You were young once, Inspector, weren’t you?’

‘Yes, but I drew the line at courting in some disused stables.’

‘It suited us.’

‘What’s Lettie’s surname?’