‘I take it that you’re insured,’ said Keedy.

‘Yes, Sergeant — the bills will be paid in full. What you can’t insure against is all the heartache we suffered and all the customers we must have lost. It’s been such a trial that there’ve been times when I wished I’d be blown up with those women.’

‘You can’t really mean that, sir.’

‘Everything we loved about this place has been destroyed.’

‘Then perhaps you’d like some news to raise your spirits,’ said Marmion.

Hubbard’s eye kindled. ‘You’ve made an arrest?’

‘We hope to do so before very long.’

‘Who’s the villain? Is it one of my rivals?’

‘He’s not a publican, sir. He works at the munitions factory. Thanks to that list you gave me, I was able to see that he was a patron of yours.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Herbert Wylie.’

‘Do you recall him?’ asked Keedy.

Hubbard nodded grimly. ‘Yes, I do. He’s not one of my regulars.’

‘We’ve seen a photograph of him and I talked to his foreman. It seems that Wylie was not really a sociable type.’

‘He wasn’t, Sergeant. He’d only come into the Goose now and then and never had more than a pint. I could never work out if he was mean with his money or just not thirsty. Anyway, he didn’t mix with the other customers. He liked to sit in a corner and stare into his beer. You get people like that.’

‘What else can you tell us about him?’ asked Marmion.

‘That’s it — excepting that he didn’t stay long. He always slunk off early.’

‘He’s slunk off again. It may only be a coincidence but he hasn’t been seen at work since the explosion. We went to his address but he’d taken most of his things and gone off somewhere.’

‘Wylie is on the run,’ decided Hubbard, scowling. ‘Tell me where he is, Inspector, and I’ll go after him, however far away he might be.’

‘Leave him to us, sir.’

‘Yes,’ said Keedy. ‘His name and description will be in every newspaper tomorrow. Everyone will know that we’re hunting for Herbert Wylie in connection with what happened here. He’ll find it almost impossible to avoid being seen.’

‘Are you certain that it was him?’ asked the landlord.

‘You can never be completely certain in this game.’

‘But we’re confident enough to release his name to the press,’ said Marmion. ‘We’ve linked him closely to one of the women at that birthday party. We know that he’s an expert bomb-maker. We found evidence that he’d been constructing one at the house where he lived. And you confirmed that he drank at your pub and was therefore aware of the fact that the key to the outhouse could easily be borrowed from its hook.’

Keedy spread his arms. ‘What more evidence do we need?’

‘Herbert Wylie,’ said Hubbard, grinding his teeth. ‘I didn’t realise he was such a scheming little runt.’

‘We’re assuming that he acted alone.’

‘In his mind,’ said Marmion, ‘he probably saw it as a crime of passion.’

‘That’s not how I see it, Inspector. It was premeditated murder. Either way,’ said Keedy, ‘he’ll face an appointment with the public executioner.’

‘Let’s not prejudge him. He has to be considered innocent until proven guilty.’

‘What was this about him knowing one of those women?’ asked Hubbard.

‘He was rebuffed by the young lady. That may have given him a motive.’

‘Oh, I see. That’s all it takes, is it? Because some girl won’t let him put a hand up her jumper, he thinks it’s all right for him to kill her and her friends then destroy part of my pub into the bargain.’

The sight of the detectives brought neighbours out of their houses in search of information about the latest developments in the case. Marmion and Keedy didn’t even get the chance to repeat the news because Hubbard did it for them. Accepting Wylie’s guilt as proven fact, the landlord launched into a long denunciation of him and wished that he’d had the forethought to poison the man’s beer. The knot of people grew into a small crowd. Seeing no reason to linger, the detectives moved to the car. The landlord hurried after them.

‘Hang on a moment,’ he said. ‘I have to pass on a message.’

‘Who gave it to you?’ asked Marmion.

‘Royston Liddle.’

‘What’s his problem?’

‘He’s been the victim of a terrible crime, Inspector.’

‘Oh?’

‘Someone’s stolen his rabbits.’

‘With respect to Mr Liddle, we can’t marshal the full force of Scotland Yard in a search for missing rabbits. I think you’ll agree that the murder of five innocent young women must take priority.’

‘Don’t forget the damage to my property.’

‘I don’t think you’ll ever let us forget it, sir,’ said Keedy, ‘and you’re right to do so. As for the rabbits, whoever stole them has probably had them in a stew by now. You can’t charge someone with a crime when the evidence has been eaten.’

The sense of injustice festered inside Royston Liddle. He had a number of chores to complete throughout the day and he did them in a daze. All that he could think about was the atrocity in the rabbit hutch. The culprit was obviously Alan Suggs. He’d not only sworn to get back at Liddle, he knew just how much the rabbits meant to him. Stealing them would cause lasting pain to their owner. Suggs had been a friend once and Liddle had got both amusement and excitement out of watching him with a naked woman in the outhouse. It was Liddle who’d made that tryst possible and this was his reward. He tried to think of an appropriate act of revenge but he knew that he was too law-abiding to inflict it on Suggs. The crime had to be solved by the police.

As he trudged home after a day’s work in various places, he was bereft. The rabbits were far more than pets. They were part of the family. Instead of letting himself into the house by the front door, he went to the back entrance. As he came into the garden, he had a strange feeling that his rabbits had come back. Suggs had either relented or been overcome with guilt. Liddle was thrilled. Rushing to the hutch, he pulled the door open and looked inside. The rabbits were indeed there but not in their entirety. All that remained of them were their heads.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Because he’d never even made it past the front door on his previous visit, Marmion paid a second call on Reuben Harte. He was hoping to find the man in a slightly more hospitable frame of mind. Fortune favoured the detective. As he approached the house, Marmion was spotted through the window by Brian Ingles. Identified by him, he was allowed in by Harte and ushered into the living room. Sensing that the visitor might have brought news about the investigation, both men were markedly more welcoming than they had previously been towards him. With an apologetic smile, Ingles was quick to explain away his behaviour at the earlier meeting with Marmion.

‘You caught me at a difficult time, Inspector,’ he said.

‘I appreciate that, sir.’

‘Only someone whose child has been murdered could understand the pulverising effect that the news can have. It leaves you utterly bewildered.’

‘Brian is right,’ said Harte. ‘I felt exactly the same. Losing a loved one knocks you for six. I’m still stunned.’

‘And so was I,’ said Marmion, seizing the opportunity to show them that he’d been through a similar experience. ‘It shook me to the core. My father was killed while on duty as a policeman, you see. It took me days to accept the awful truth. When I did that, other feelings took over. I had this overpowering urge to go after the man who’d committed the murder. That led in time to my joining the police force.’

The information had a different effect on the two men. While Ingles had more respect for Marmion after the revelation that he’d been through the same horror, Harte was both annoyed and hurt, as if the inspector had somehow reduced his status as a father mourning a murder victim. Ingles was more open but Harte came close to sulking.