‘I’m glad to find the both of you together,’ Marmion began.

‘I was just on the point of winning an argument,’ explained Ingles. ‘I daresay that you can guess what it was about.’

‘Was it the offer made by Mr Kennett?’

‘Indeed, it was.’

‘I’ve agreed to nothing,’ said Harte, stonily.

‘But you were at least listening to sense at last,’ said Ingles. ‘And now that four of us are in agreement, you’re feeling uneasy at being isolated.’

‘You don’t know how I feel, Brian.’

Ingles was tactful. ‘Then I’ll not press you on the matter. In any case,’ he went on, ‘I’m sure that the inspector didn’t come here to join in the discussion.’

‘That’s true,’ said Marmion.

‘What news do you have for us?’

‘We’ve identified a suspect.’

Harte perked up immediately. ‘Who is he?’

‘It’s a man by the name of Herbert Wylie.’

‘I’ve never heard of him.’

‘No more have I,’ said Ingles.

‘He worked at the munitions factory,’ Marmion told them. ‘At least, he did until the day of the explosion. After that, he seems to have packed his bags and vanished. We’ve released his name to the press and there’ll be a nationwide search for Wylie. We’re very anxious to speak to him.’

‘When police use that phrase, it usually means that they think a particular person is almost certainly guilty. Am I right, Inspector?’

‘You can deduce what you wish, sir. We need to find this individual as a matter of urgency but there’s no absolute guarantee that he’s our man.’

‘What can you tell us about him?’

‘Simply that he was in the right place at the right time,’ said Marmion. ‘He knew the pub in question and seems to have had a thwarted passion for one of the young women attending that party. Neither of your daughters, I hasten to say,’ he added, ‘was the person in question. They had the misfortune to be there when this man — as the evidence suggests — took his revenge.’

‘How did you find all this out?’ asked Ingles.

‘We are fortunate enough to have a survivor of the blast.’

‘Ah, of course — Maureen Quinn.’

‘She supplied the name that led to a series of productive enquiries.’

Ingles was overcome with relief. ‘Thank heaven!’ he exclaimed.

‘Why didn’t she tell you about this man earlier?’ asked Harte.

‘For the same reason that you wouldn’t let me into your house on my first visit, sir,’ said Marmion with a half-smile. ‘She was stunned by what happened and couldn’t begin to think straight. Her instinct was to withdraw into herself. It’s exactly what I did when my father was murdered. I just brooded for hours on end.’

‘I can understand that only too well, Inspector.’

‘Anyway, I wanted you both to know about Wylie in advance so that it won’t come as a complete shock when you read the newspapers tomorrow. But I must emphasise that the case is very far from being closed,’ said Marmion. ‘We still have some way to go so don’t make any assumptions.’

‘Thank you so much for your consideration,’ said Ingles, beaming. ‘I can’t speak for Reuben but this news has really lifted my spirits. I can’t tell you how pleased I am.’

‘Yes,’ conceded Harte. ‘It is a consolation.’

‘If this fellow was not pursuing either Florrie or Jean, who was he after?’

Harte turned to Marmion. ‘Was it Maureen Quinn, by any chance?’

The pastoral care of his flock weighed heavily with Father Cleary and every day apart from the Sabbath consisted of a series of visits to people in distress or requiring comfort. In the course of an exceptionally busy afternoon, he made time to call on Maureen Quinn. Over a cup of tea, he chatted with Diane and her elder daughter. Pleased to see that Maureen looked and sounded better than at their previous meeting, Cleary was alarmed to hear of the offer made to the grieving families of the victims.

‘They’re advocating a collective burial?’ he said, gaping.

‘That’s what we’ve been told,’ replied Diane.

‘I find the very notion of it abhorrent — and I hope that you do.’

‘To be honest, Father Cleary, it worried me a little but my husband thought it was a good idea. Eamonn said that, if Maureen had died in that blast, then he’d have accepted the offer.’

‘Goodness gracious!’

‘It would have saved us a lot of money we don’t have.’

‘That’s a secondary consideration, Mrs Quinn,’ said the priest, sharply. ‘Besides, we’re always prepared to help out financially in cases of genuine need. We have a fund set aside for that purpose. It’s other aspects of the situation that are paramount.’

‘What do you mean, Father?’ asked Maureen.

‘A funeral is, by its very nature, a very private event.’

‘Yet they have mass funerals in France and Belgium,’ said Diane. ‘As you know, Liam and Anthony are both serving at the front. They’ve attended funerals where dozens of men have been buried at the same time.’

‘That’s a regrettable consequence of war, Mrs Quinn. Where large numbers are involved, they have to resort to such exigencies. There are only five victims here and they deserve a burial service that preserves their individuality. Had Maureen been in that situation,’ he continued, ‘I’d have done everything in my power to persuade you and your husband that, from start to finish, the funeral service should follow the established practice of the Roman Catholic Church. I’d hate to think that it would be diluted in any way.’

‘Sadie Radcliffe’s daughter was one of the victims. She came to ask my advice on the subject.’

‘What did you tell her?’

‘That I was glad I wasn’t put in the same position.’

‘I hope you pointed out that you wouldn’t have made any decision without consulting me.’

‘I’d have had to talk it over with my husband first,’ said Diane.

‘It was your duty to refer the matter to your parish priest.’

‘Luckily, the situation never arose.’

‘I sometimes wish that it had,’ said Maureen under her breath.

‘In none of the five cases,’ resumed Cleary, ‘is it a normal funeral. Most of the services at which I officiate relate to old people who’ve withdrawn gently from life and whose demise was inevitable. Here we have an instance of the most violent and heinous crime. Young women with whole lives before them have been summarily killed. In each case, the funeral needs to be handled with extreme sensitivity.’

‘I can see that, Father Cleary.’

Diane could also see that he’d really come to talk with her daughter alone. Withdrawing to the kitchen on the pretext of making another pot of tea, she left the pair of them together. Cleary’s smile was filled with kindness and concern.

‘How are you, Maureen?’

‘I’m bearing up, Father Cleary.’

‘Have you been saying your prayers?’

‘I say them night and day.’

‘At a stroke,’ he said, ‘you lost five good friends. It’s a heavy cross to bear. As the survivor, you have responsibilities to the other families. Have you been in touch with any of them?’

‘Agnes’s mother — that’s Mrs Radcliffe — called here but I don’t feel that it’s right for me to visit any of the other parents. They might not wish to see me.’

‘I can’t see why you should think that. You could offer solace.’ She looked doubtful. ‘You could, Maureen. For one thing, you could give them precious details of what happened at the party. It might give them a modicum of cheer to know that their daughters died while they were happy. There might even be last words you can remember some of them saying. It would be something for parents to hold on to.’

Maureen shuddered inwardly. She was dreading a meeting with the families of the victims. Even the conversation with Sadie Radcliffe had been a trial for her. Others might not be in as forgiving a mood as Agnes Collier’s mother. Yet she had to face them all sooner or later. The inquest was imminent and so were the funerals. If they did indeed all take place on the same day, she’d be spared the agony of having to attend all five separately and of being under intense scrutiny at successive events. From purely selfish motives, she hoped that the collective burial would take place at the cemetery. Her ordeal would be over in one fell swoop and the fact that so many people would attend meant that she’d be largely hidden in such a massive crowd.