‘Let’s see if we can put that fire out, shall we?’ He moved to the door and opened it. ‘Thank you for your help, Mr Kennett. I’ll be back in due course. At the moment, the search for Maureen takes priority.’ He smiled at Diane. ‘Are you ready, Mrs Quinn?’

Harvey Marmion was pleased to hear that many bomb fragments had been found and that they were being carefully pieced together. He would eventually know if they were dealing with an amateur or with someone who had some expertise in handling explosives. Looking at the rubble, he found it difficult to imagine where the bomb had actually been placed or what sort of timing device it must have had. The scene was a graphic illustration of cause and effect. A knot of people looked on with ghoulish curiosity. Uppermost in the mind of Leighton Hubbard was revenge. Standing beside Marmion on the pavement opposite his pub, he was quivering with fury.

‘Catch him, Inspector,’ he urged. ‘Catch him then hand him over to me.’

‘Let the law take its course, sir.’

‘Hanging is too good for an animal like that.’

‘We may be talking about more than one person,’ said Marmion. ‘It’s something we can’t rule out. Planting a bomb in its hiding place would have taken some time. The bomber might have needed a lookout.’

‘He needs a hand grenade up his arse, if you ask me.’

‘How did he gain access to the outhouse, that’s what puzzles me? You claim that it was kept locked.’

‘It’s supposed to be,’ said Hubbard, ‘and I always make sure that it is. So does the missus, for that matter. We protect our property. Because he only works here now and again, Royston is not so careful.’

‘Royston?’

‘He helps us out, Inspector. He’s a willing lad but he’s not very bright. When he tried to join the army, they turned him down on medical grounds but it could equally have been because of his stupidity.’

‘What does he do, exactly?’

‘He fetches and carries. That’s about all he can do. I’d never let him behind the bar and he’d be hopeless dealing with money. What he can do is donkey work. Royston cleans beer glasses and moves crates of empty bottles.’

‘Where does he store the crates — in the outhouse?’

‘Yes,’ replied Hubbard.

‘Does he ever forget to lock it?’

‘I’m afraid that he does. Every time it’s happened, I threaten him with the sack but …’ the landlord hunched his shoulders ‘… well, the truth is that I feel sorry for the lad. You can’t help liking him.’

‘Where is the key to the outhouse kept?’

‘It hangs on a hook in the corridor.’

‘Where does the corridor lead?’

‘It’s the way to the Gents — that’s out in the courtyard. Well, it was,’ said Hubbard, bitterly, ‘but that went up in smoke as well. It’s only a shed with a corrugated iron roof. Thank God nobody was taking a piss out there at the time.’

The landlord was still simmering. Marmion gave him a few minutes to expel his bile about the temporary loss of his livelihood. Hubbard blamed everyone he could think of for the disaster, ending with an attack on the police for not guarding his premises. Marmion leapt to their defence.

‘How were they to know that your outhouse was in danger?’ he challenged. ‘Police resources are very stretched, Mr Hubbard. They have to identify the most vulnerable targets and keep an eye on them. No disrespect to the Golden Goose but your pub hardly merits comparison with the munitions factory. Had a bomb been planted there, far more deaths would have resulted.’

Hubbard had the grace to look shamefaced. He even shrugged an apology.

‘Right,’ said Marmion, ‘now that you’ve calmed down, you can start to help us and, by extension, help yourself.’

‘Eh?’

‘I’m bound to ask the obvious question. Do you have any enemies?’

‘Yes, Inspector — I’m in business. Every other landlord in Hayes is my enemy.’

‘Would any of them go to the length of bombing your outhouse?’

‘No, they wouldn’t — but I daresay they’re rubbing their hands with glee now that the Goose is out of action for a while. As for customers I might have upset, there have been plenty of those but most of them are in the army now and the others wouldn’t dare do a thing like this to me.’

‘How many people knew about the birthday party in advance?’

‘Apart from me and the wife, almost nobody was told. There’d have been strong objections from a few of the regulars, especially Ezra Greenwell. Oh,’ he added as he scratched his head, ‘Royston would have known, of course. He was there when the booking was made.’

‘Would he have spread the word about the party?’

‘I told him not to but that probably went in one ear and out the other. Royston lives in a world of his own. He goes around with this half-witted grin on his face. It was still there last night when he was watching my outhouse blazing away.’

‘What’s his full name?’ asked Marmion, taking out his notebook. ‘And where does Royston live?’

‘He can’t tell you anything, Inspector.’

‘Nevertheless, I think that it’s time he and I got acquainted.’

Alice Marmion schooled herself to be patient. In joining the police, she realised, she’d expected too much too soon. The concept of a female constabulary was still relatively new and the force had an ill-defined role. Again, it was fiercely resented in some quarters, as Alice had swiftly discovered. The war, which had depleted the police force, had given women the opportunity to move into its ranks and show what they could do. At best, they faced a grudging tolerance from male counterparts; at worst, they had to endure stinging criticism of their limitations. Alice had learnt to ignore their acid comments and simply get on with her job. She’d made some good friends among the other women but their support was offset by the hostility of a superior officer.

Meeting her in a corridor, Inspector Thelma Gale pounced on Alice.

‘There you are,’ she said, ‘dawdling as usual.’

‘I’m taking this report to Sergeant Reeves,’ explained Alice, holding up some sheets of paper. ‘She wants it urgently.’

‘“Urgency” is not exactly your watchword, is it?’

‘What do you mean, Inspector?’

‘I mean that you trudge instead of walking briskly. I mean that you’re slow of mind and even slower of body.’

‘That’s unfair,’ said Alice, smarting at the reproof.

‘I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Others have complained as well.’

Alice knew that it was untrue but she was in no position to argue. The more she defended herself against the inspector, the harder she’d be slapped down. Thelma Gale was a stout woman in her forties with short hair and a flat, plain face twisted into an expression of permanent disapproval. Her natural authority was enhanced by the smartness of her uniform. She was a formidable character in every way and few people got the better of her in argument.

She tapped Alice’s shoulder. ‘What did I tell you?’

‘You’ve told me a vast number of things, Inspector.’

‘This concerned your father.’

‘Oh, that — yes, I remember.’

‘I warned you not to trade on the fact that you’re the daughter of Detective Inspector Marmion. Admirable as his achievements have been, they don’t entitle you to any preferential treatment.’

‘I neither expected nor sought it.’

‘And don’t you dare go running to Daddy with complaints about cruel Inspector Gale,’ said the other, wagging a finger, ‘because it will have no effect. I don’t answer to your father. I rule the roost here. Is that clear?’

‘You’ve made it abundantly clear, Inspector.’

‘Try to do your job properly for once and let your father get on with his. He obviously has his hands full at the moment.’

‘Yes, he does.’

‘Five young women blown to pieces — it’s an appalling crime. They were already risking their lives and ruining their looks by working in that munitions factory. I regard them as unsung heroines.’