‘What did you expect, Sergeant?’ he asked.

‘It’s so Spartan.’

‘The Catholic priesthood is not a road to luxury, you know. This study is ideal for me. It has no clutter and nothing to distract the eye. That’s my idea of an ideal environment.’

‘It wouldn’t suit me, Father Cleary. I like a bit of comfort.’

‘Then we’re clearly not soul mates.’

Keedy had arrived to receive a cordial greeting. The priest seemed to expect him and waved him to a chair. On the desk in front of him were neat piles of paper and a Bible. There was a chill in the air.

‘Once February is out, I manage without a fire,’ explained Cleary.

‘You’re a model of self-denial, Father.’

‘Oh, I don’t flatter myself that I occupy that status. Models are for people to copy. You won’t find any of my parishioners taking up their carpets and throwing out half the furniture.’ He smiled benignly. ‘You’ve come about Maureen Quinn, haven’t you? I had a feeling you would, sooner or later.’

‘To be frank,’ said Keedy, ‘I’ve come about the whole Quinn family. I was hoping that you could tell us more about them. Maureen seems very nice but her father couldn’t wait to get us out of the house.’

‘Eamonn was never very hospitable.’

‘He stopped the children coming to church, I believe.’

‘Yes, and it was a crying shame because they learnt so much while they were here, Maureen especially. Her brothers were a bit of a handful, mind you, and I don’t think their father liked it when I told him about their little tricks.’

‘Tricks?’

‘When they came to Sunday school, each of the children was given a penny for the collection. Maureen and Lily always put theirs dutifully on the plate but the lads kept the money and tried to palm us off with blazer buttons and the odd foreign coin. I soon put a stop to that. But all credit to them,’ Cleary went on, ‘they might have been little devils as children but, when war broke out, Liam and Anthony were among the first to volunteer for the army.’

Hands clasped and shoulders hunched, he went on to give Keedy a brief history of the family and of its fluctuating interest in the church. Diane and her daughters had last attended a service at Christmas. It was years since Eamonn had been near the place. In Cleary’s judgement, he was essentially a man’s man and missed his sons badly. He’d spent most of his free time with them and taught them the rudiments of carpentry in the garden shed. Liam had gone on to be apprenticed to a cabinetmaker. Anthony had worked in a foundry. Keedy was given the image of a relatively happy and close family whose lives had been fractured by the war. Maureen had been a major casualty. In spite of a good education and other assets, she’d ended up toiling in the munitions factory to contribute to the family budget.

‘What was your view of her father?’ asked Cleary.

‘He likes to let his family know that he’s in charge,’ said Keedy, ‘which is a polite way of saying that he’s an uncouth bully.’

‘He has his better qualities.’

‘We weren’t allowed to see them.’

‘I’m sure you know that he fell foul of the law.’

‘Yes, he was fined twice for causing an affray.’

‘Oh, he caused trouble more than twice,’ said Cleary with a laugh. ‘Eamonn is quick to anger and slow to cool down. He’s been banned from a couple of pubs for threatening behaviour. Even with watered beer, he can get horribly drunk.’

‘I feel sorry for his wife and children.’

‘They’ve learnt to live with him.’

‘Do they have any choice?’ Keedy took out his notebook and consulted a page. ‘This is my record of our interview with Maureen. She was deeply shocked, of course, as anybody would be when friends have died in such horrible circumstances. But there was something more than shock in her face.’

‘It was guilt, Sergeant. They died while she lived. That fact will haunt her.’

‘I’d taken account of that, Father Cleary. There was something else as well.’

‘What was it?’

‘That’s the trouble — I don’t know. And we were unable to draw it out of her because her father was sitting beside her. Inspector Marmion had the same reaction as I did. We didn’t get the full truth out of Maureen, somehow.’

‘You must allow for her confusion,’ warned the priest. ‘After a ghastly experience like that, the poor girl must be totally bewildered. Give her time.’

‘We don’t have unlimited time to give her,’ said Keedy. ‘In cases of murder, we find that the first forty-eight hours after the event are crucial. That’s when memories are fresh and we’re likely to get a clearer idea of what actually happened. The longer an investigation goes on, the more difficult it sometimes becomes. Witnesses are less reliable, evidence disappears and the killer is given valuable time to get far away from the scene.’

‘I don’t think he’s far away at the moment, Sergeant. He’s right here.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It has to be a local man, hasn’t it? You’re looking for someone familiar with the Golden Goose and with the fact that a birthday party was being held there.’

Keedy blinked. ‘Well done, Father. That’s exactly who we’re after.’

‘And you think Maureen can help you find him?’

‘I just feel that she may be hiding something.’

Cleary’s smile was enigmatic. ‘I’ll be interested to hear what it is.’

CHAPTER TWELVE

Reuben Harte was reading his way carefully through a pile of cards from friends and neighbours but he drew no comfort from them. The messages were sincere and the condolences well meant but they washed over him without leaving any trace. His grief was too deep to be relieved by kind words and pretty cards. When there was a knock on the door, he sat up. Not wishing to see anyone, he was prepared to make an exception for the detectives from Scotland Yard. When he twitched the net curtain aside to peer out, however, it was not Marmion and Keedy who’d come calling. It was Jonah Jenks. Though not close friends, the men knew each other well. Harte relented. The visitor deserved to be admitted. He was a fellow sufferer.

Harte opened the front door and stood aside to let him in. Jenks was subdued.

‘Good morning, Reuben,’ he said, shaking his hand.

Harte shut the door. ‘Go into the living room.’

They traded a few pleasantries then sat down. Jenks took out an envelope.

‘Have you had one of these from the factory?’

‘It came first thing by courier.’

‘What did you think?’

‘To be honest, Jonah, I haven’t given it a great deal of thought. Jean’s death has blocked everything out. It’s the same for my wife,’ said Harte. ‘She can’t stop talking about it. She’s had to go to her sister to be looked after.’

‘So you’ve not discussed the letter with her?’

‘I’m not sure that I will.’ He appraised Jenks. ‘How are you coping?’

‘I try to keep busy,’ replied Jenks. ‘I must have cleaned every room at least twice. And I’ve turned the piano into a kind of shrine to Enid. I polished it until I could see my face in it and put every photo I could find of her on top of it. Oh, yes,’ he continued, ‘and I put the sheet music of her favourite Chopin nocturne on the stand as if she was just about to play it.’ He smiled wanly. ‘I was humming it on my way here. Do you like Chopin?’

‘I’m not much of a one for music, Jonah, but my wife loves a good tune.’

There was a long pause. Conjoined by their grief they let it have its way for a few minutes before they attempted to shrug it off. Harte stretched an arm to take an envelope from the mantelpiece. It matched the one brought by his visitor.

‘All I did was to glance at it,’ he said.

‘It’s a good offer and I’m ready to accept.’

‘All five of them are to be buried together? I have reservations about that.’

‘Such as?’

‘It just doesn’t seem right somehow.’

‘Why not?’