Five Dead Canaries by Edward Marston Page B

happen.’
    Marmion watched him carefully. The grin had now become sheepish and Liddle’s body had hunched protectively. Patently, he was hiding something.
    ‘You do realise that this is a murder investigation,’ said Marmion, putting some steel into his voice. ‘You are aware that withholding evidence is an offence, aren’t you?’
    ‘I’ve done nothing wrong, Inspector,’ bleated Liddle.
    ‘Let me be the judge of that.’
    ‘I just looked the other way.’
    ‘What are you talking about?’
    Royston Liddle wrestled with his conscience and ran a hand across his pate. It suddenly occurred to him that he might be in trouble and his mother was not there to speak up for him, as she habitually did. He was alone and hopelessly unequal to the situation. He started to bite his nails and his grin was almost manic.
    ‘I think you’re holding something back, Royston,’ said Marmion. ‘You can either tell me what it is right here or we’ll go to the police station and have a formal interview. Is that what you’d prefer?’
    Liddle emitted a squeak of terror. Having lived a blameless life, he’d never had the slightest trouble with the police. He was a fixture in the area. Constables on patrol treated him with amusement. The idea that he might be arrested by a detective from Scotland Yard sent a shudder through him. He got apologetically to his feet.
    ‘It only happened a few times, Inspector,’ he confessed. ‘And it wasn’t really my fault. I mean, he’s a friend of mine. I just did him a favour.’
    ‘Who are we talking about?’
    ‘He gave me two shillings once but that’s all.’
    ‘What did you have to do to earn it?’
    ‘I had to pretend I didn’t notice,’ said Liddle, ‘and say nothing to Leighton.’ He put his hands together in prayer. ‘You won’t tell him, will you, Inspector? If you do, I could lose my job there.’
    ‘It all depends on what you actually did for this friend of yours.’
    Liddle breathed in deeply and gnashed his teeth. ‘I didn’t report it when that key disappeared on the hook. They wanted to use the outhouse.’
    ‘Who are
they
?’ pressed Marmion.
    ‘I don’t know her name but she lives in Hyde Road somewhere. On Tuesday, they were only in there for half an hour. I know that because I checked that the key was back on the hook. No harm was done. It wasn’t a crime or anything like that.’
    ‘What you’re telling me is that someone had unauthorised access to that outhouse and that you were aware of it.’ He stood up to confront Liddle. ‘Who is this friend of yours and where can I find him?’

    Maureen Quinn sat in the gloom with her hands in her lap and her head on her chest. Time meant nothing to her. She was so preoccupied that hours slipped past unnoticed. Unknown to her, people had come and gone throughout the morning. When the heavy door squealed back on its hinges yet again, she was unaware of it. Even the clang of the iron latch being replaced failed to rouse her. It was her mother’s voice that finally brought her out of her meditation.
    ‘Maureen!’ cried Diane Quinn. ‘Thank heaven we found you!’
    ‘I had a feeling that she might be here,’ said Keedy.
    Diane rushed to the pew at the rear of the church and embraced her daughter. It was a poignant reunion, both of them weeping copiously. It was some while before Diane was able to offer an explanation. She indicated Keedy.
    ‘When he came to the house yesterday,’ she said, ‘the sergeant noticed that you were wearing a crucifix. I told him that we don’t go to church very often because your father hates it. That’s why I never even thought to try here. It was Sergeant Keedy who suggested it.’
    ‘How are you, Maureen?’ he asked, gently.
    Her voice was distant. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’
    ‘Why didn’t you tell us you were coming here?’ demanded Diane.
    ‘Daddy would have stopped me.’
    ‘I thought you’d gone to work.’
    ‘I wanted to,’ said Maureen, ‘but I came here