Having perused the documents, Marmion handed them back to the governor.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I notice that Niall Quinn was arrested under Defence Regulations.’

‘It’s a vital tool in a wartime situation,’ said Gostelow before taking another sip of his whisky. ‘It saves us the time and trouble of going through the courts. DORA has been a boon to us. I know that it produced howls of protest from people who thought their freedom was being taken away, but the Defence of the Realm Act was one of the best pieces of legislation passed by the government.’

‘How well did you get to know Quinn while he was here?’

‘Oh, it was very well — he made sure of that. Prisoners tend to keep their heads down and keep clear of me but Quinn had the cheek of the devil. He spoke up whenever he had the chance and he was always causing trouble. I had him in here on many occasions to answer charges of various kinds.’ Gostelow smiled at the memory. ‘He’s the only prisoner I’ve ever met who could be both obsequious and taunting at the same time. He made two failed attempts to escape before he actually did get away. In one sense, I’m glad to be rid of the little so-and-so.’

‘What do you think he’ll do with his freedom?’ asked Keedy.

‘Oh, there’s a short answer to that, Sergeant,’ replied Gostelow. ‘He’ll go straight back to what he was sent to this country to do — planting bombs.’

‘Will they be designed simply to damage property or are they likely to kill people as well?’

‘Quinn has no concern for human life. One of the guards overheard him boasting to his friends that he was ready to blow up British men, women and children to achieve his ends — particularly young women.’

‘Why is that?’

‘They bear children. Murder them and you stop British babies being born.’

Keedy exchanged an uncomfortable glance with Marmion. Both were thinking of Florrie Duncan. They let Gostelow ramble on. Everything they heard about Niall Quinn marked him out as a ruthless and dedicated young man.

‘In his file,’ said Marmion, ‘I saw that he had a few regular visitors.’

‘Yes,’ said the governor. ‘They were Irish Members of Parliament. As soon as we lock up anyone from the Emerald Isle, they’re here to protest about poor food, dreadful accommodation, punitive discipline and so on. It’s all nonsense, of course, but they feel they have to speak up for their fellow countrymen. What really upsets them, however, is that we limit visits to a mere fifteen minutes.’

‘That would upset me as well,’ volunteered Keedy. ‘It’s a hell of a long way to come for a quarter of an hour of conversation.’

‘At least, they get to speak to someone, Sergeant. As Members of Parliament, they have that right. People who just roll up at the gates are usually turned away. That’s what happened to the first visitor who tried to see Niall Quinn,’ explained Gostelow. ‘When I knew that you were coming, I looked up his name out of interest.’

‘Who was it?’ asked Marmion.

‘It was his uncle — a Mr Eamonn Quinn.’

CHAPTER NINETEEN

June Ingles was puzzled. At a time when all she could think about was the gruesome murder of their daughter, her husband was talking about selling the house. It disturbed her at a deep level. It not only intruded upon her grief, it suggested that Brian Ingles was not as preoccupied with mourning Florrie’s death as he should be. She’d accepted that he was at times arrogant and high-handed but he’d never been so determined to ignore her wishes before. A decision such as moving house was something that ought to be discussed with her in full and at a more appropriate moment. The sense of being disregarded gnawed away at her. The moment that June woke up that morning and saw that her husband was sitting up in bed, she returned to the subject.

‘I still don’t understand why you went to that estate agent yesterday.’

‘I wanted a rough valuation,’ he replied.

‘Why? We don’t need to sell it, Brian, and I certainly don’t want to.’

‘No more do I.’

‘Then what’s all the fuss about?’

‘It’s just a precaution, that’s all,’ he told her. ‘What happened to Florrie has made me think. All the plans we ever had for her disappeared in a flash. And it could happen to either of us, June.’ He flicked a hand. ‘I don’t mean that we’re likely to be blown up as she was but there are other reasons for sudden death. We could be killed in a car accident or die from some terrible disease.’

‘Don’t be so morbid.’

‘I’m just being practical. If I were to have a fatal heart attack tomorrow, you’d be in the most awful position. You’d be stuck in this big house with no idea of any outstanding financial commitments. It would be a nightmare. Moving to a smaller property would mean that everything was simplified for you.’

‘I’m not a child,’ she protested, ‘so you can stop patronising me.’

‘There’d be money in the bank. You’d have a safety net.’

‘But I already have that, Brian. This house is my safety net in every way.’

He got up and drew the curtains on the bay window, peering out to see a fine drizzle falling. A neighbour opposite was setting off to work with an umbrella. The milkman was working his way along the road. A stray dog was prowling.

‘Come back to bed,’ said June.

‘I’m up now.’

‘We need to settle this once and for all.’

‘No, June,’ he snapped. ‘It’s already settled. There’s nothing else to be said.’ By way of appeasement, he put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry to be so short with you but the fact is that I’m the breadwinner here and therefore entitled to make the major decisions about our future.’

‘Not without consulting me.’

‘You have been consulted.’

‘No, I haven’t,’ she said. ‘This idea came completely out of the blue. You’d made up your mind before you even spoke to me.’

‘Yes — and I’ve just explained why.’

‘This is ridiculous. You’re not going to have a heart attack, Brian. At your last check-up, the doctor said that you were as fit as a fiddle. And the chances of either of us being knocked down by a car are very remote.’ She hauled herself up and rested against the headboard. ‘Something’s going on, isn’t it? And you’re not telling me what it is.’

‘I’m just asking you to trust me.’

‘Why can’t I know the full truth?’

‘You already know it, June,’ he said. ‘Now why don’t we stop fighting over this issue and have a cup of tea instead? I’ll go and make one.’

‘You’re doing it again,’ she complained. ‘As soon as I ask you a question, you either cut me off or find a reason to change the subject. What’s going on, Brian?’

‘I’m making sensible plans for our future.’

‘There’s more to it than that.’

‘Florrie’s death has made me face reality.’

‘But you’ve always done that. What you’ve never done before is to threaten to sell this lovely house.’

‘It’s not a threat, June.’

‘It sounds very much like it to me.’

He inhaled deeply. ‘It’s just one option I’m considering,’ he said, irritably. ‘It may not be necessary. I hope that it isn’t. But I wanted to take stock of our situation. Now will you please stop nagging me?’

June brightened. ‘So we may be able to stay here, after all?’

‘It’s … a strong possibility.’ He took his dressing gown off its hook. ‘Can I go and get that cup of tea now?’

‘Yes, please. You’ve cheered me up. Thank you, Brian.’

Putting on his dressing gown, he gave her an ambiguous smile and left.

None of them had ever spent a night behind bars before but that’s what happened at Frongoch Camp. All three of them had locked up prisoners in the past but it was their turn to be ushered into cells. It was the only accommodation available for Marmion, Keedy and their driver. Each of them was given one of the cells in the segregation unit. Reserved for prisoners who needed to be kept in solitary confinement, they were small, bare and featureless, containing little beyond a bunk, a table bolted to the floor and a chair. Blank walls pressed in upon them, though closer inspection showed that they were not entirely plain. Earlier occupants had scratched their names or their artwork into the rough plaster. There was a plethora of obscenities and, in Harvey Marmion’s cell, the name of Niall Quinn was proudly recorded. The Irishman had left his mark on the camp in a number of ways.