‘Perhaps it’s his way of taking his mind off the funeral.’

‘We may never know,’ said Marmion. He looked at the telephone. ‘I suppose that I ought to contact Chat. No,’ he decided. ‘I’m not ready for him yet. He can wait. Let him stew in his own juice for a while.’

Claude Chatfield had learnt very early in his police career that overwhelming evidence could be deceptive and might dissolve under close examination. When he heard about Herbert Wylie’s abrupt disappearance, he was quite certain that they’d found the man who’d planted the bomb. When releasing the name to the press, however, he was careful to describe Wylie as a person of interest to the police rather than as a definite culprit. And while he nursed the hope that they were in pursuit of the right man, he was experienced enough to brace himself for disappointment. A request from Marmion had helped him to unearth the fact that Eamonn Quinn had had convictions in the past and that drove Chatfield on to make further enquiries about him. Because the detective assigned to do the research had not come back to him, the superintendent assumed that he’d found nothing worth reporting.

He was wrong. When he returned to his office after a long session with the commissioner, Chatfield found a file on his desk. Flipping it open, he read the information with gathering concern. As soon as he’d finished, he moved across to the bookshelf and reached for a map of the British Isles.

Maureen Quinn was still totally confused. Conflicting emotions filled her mind and reduced her to a state of near paralysis. Father Cleary’s visit had been simultaneously reassuring and disturbing. While he made her feel that he cared for her plight, he unwittingly deepened it. After he left, she was more guilty, isolated and depressed than ever. When there was a tap on the door of her bedroom, Maureen felt as if someone was knocking on the top of her skull. She leapt up.

‘Is that you, Lily?’ she asked.

‘No,’ replied her mother, ‘it’s me. Can I come in?’

‘Yes — if you want to.’

Diane opened the door and entered. Seeing the distraught look on her daughter’s face, she reached out to embrace her. Maureen stifled her tears and took strength from her mother’s love. At last, Diane pulled back.

‘I have to go out.’

‘What about Lily?’

‘I’m taking her with me. She’s been cooped up in here too long.’

‘Will I be left on my own?’ asked Maureen, worriedly.

‘It will only be for a short time.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘There’s shopping to do. I’d ask you to come with us but I don’t suppose you’d want to do that.’ Maureen shook her head vigorously. ‘No, I thought not. It’s best if you stay here. Is that all right?’

‘Don’t be long, Mummy.’

‘We won’t be, I promise. Is there anything you want?’

‘No.’

‘I could go to the library for you.’

‘Please don’t bother. I just want to stay in here on my own.’

‘Then we’ll get out of your way. Your father will be home before too long. He said that he’d try to finish early today.’ She hugged Maureen again. ‘You get some rest. We’ll be off now.’

Diane went out and closed the door behind her. Maureen could hear her descending the stairs and calling for Lily to join her. When the two of them left the house, Maureen went to the window in the front bedroom to watch them walk off down the street. She was in a quandary. Needing to be alone, she nevertheless wanted someone else in the house with her. She felt that she’d been cast adrift now and it was alarming. Her first impulse was to leave and find sanctuary once more in church but that would be unfair on her mother and sister. Returning to find her absent, they’d be very hurt even if she left a note for them. In any case, Maureen was not ready for another conversation with Father Cleary. His instinct was too sharp and his questions too probing. All that Maureen could do was to remain in her bedroom and go through the tragic events yet again, mourning each of the victims in turn.

As she sat on the bed and stared ahead of her, a loud noise broke into her reverie. It was the sound of the letter box opening and shutting. Since it was far too late for the postman to call, she wondered what had been delivered. Opening the door, she crept downstairs with tentative steps. On the mat was a white envelope. When she picked it up, her heart constricted as she saw her name written on it. At first, she was quite unable to open it and stood rooted to the spot. Then she rushed into the living room, tore open the envelope and read the letter. Her face and body burned with embarrassment. After reading the words again, she took instant action. Scrunching up the letter and the envelope, she tossed them into the empty fireplace. Maureen then grabbed the box of matches from the mantelpiece and set the paper alight. Down on her knees in front of the little blaze, she didn’t move a muscle until the letter had been burnt out of existence.

Harvey Marmion was on the point of making contact with Scotland Yard when the telephone rang. He pulled his hand back as if the receiver were red hot. Joe Keedy laughed. After shooting him a look of reproof, Marmion picked up the telephone.

‘Inspector Marmion here,’ he said.

‘Why haven’t you been in touch?’ demanded Chatfield.

‘I was just about to do so, sir.’

‘Don’t lie to me. I expected a call an hour ago.’

‘Sergeant Keedy and I have been very busy.’

‘I haven’t exactly been twiddling my thumbs here, Inspector. What have you discovered?’

‘We learnt a number of things.’

‘Well, come on then — spit them out!’

Marmion told him about the visit to Reuben Harte and how surprised he’d been at Brian Ingles’s decision to sell his house. It led on to the information that Keedy had gleaned from Sadie Radcliffe. Normally, every time he rang the superintendent, Marmion’s sentences would be routinely interrupted by Chatfield as he sought greater clarification. Chatfield remained unusually silent now, listening intently. Marmion could hear his heavy breathing down the line. When he came to the end of his report, Marmion added a rider.

‘We must remember that all this is pure speculation, sir,’ he said. ‘We have unsubstantiated evidence of a pregnancy but no concrete proof. On the other hand, I think you’ll agree, a significant new factor may have entered the investigation.’ The silence continued at the other end of the line and he could no longer hear the sound of heavy breathing. ‘Are you still there, Superintendent?’

‘Where, in God’s name, do you think I am!’ said Chatfield’s rasping voice.

‘I’d value your opinion.’

‘My opinion is that you should have rung me the moment this information came into your possession. Is Sergeant Keedy with you?’

‘He’s sitting beside me,’ replied Marmion.

‘Then you can let him take a share of the blame. The sergeant should have insisted that you communicated with me at the earliest possible juncture. Pass that message on to him.’

The order was unnecessary because Keedy could hear his voice clearly.

‘He deserves something other than your strictures, Superintendent. It was during his visit to Mrs Radcliffe that this new evidence was collected. I would have thought it merited praise rather than condemnation.’

‘You’ll get all the praise you want when the killer is caught and convicted.’

‘Who will it be?’ mused Marmion. ‘Is it Herbert Wylie or the nameless father of Florrie Duncan’s child?’

‘It may be neither,’ said Chatfield.

He spoke rapidly to impart some news and Keedy was unable to catch what he was saying, but he judged from the expression on Marmion’s face that something of importance was being divulged. Making notes as he listened, Marmion nodded away and was only allowed to speak when he bade the superintendent farewell. As he put down the receiver, his expression was one of sheer wonderment.