Beware This Boy (19 page)

“She has a lovely voice, does our Val,” interjected her husband.

She threw him a rather irritated look. “The inspector isn’t interested in hearing that, Sid. Like I said, the girls were all outside instead of where they should have been, getting changed. They said as how they couldn’t get into the room. I went to see if we could find a key. Finally Mr. Riley opened the door for us.”

“Did he have his own key?” Tyler asked.

She shook her head. “Us supervisors we probably should have our own sets, but we don’t. The only persons to have master keys are the caretaker and Mr. Cudmore here. We’ve been told it’s safer that way. It meant Phil had to go and get the set from Mr. Cudmore’s office.”

The secretary was looking upset but wisely didn’t try to defend the policy.

Mrs. Castleford cast a quick glance at her husband. “At this time Mr. Riley told me that there was some kind of mix-up in the number of detonators that had been delivered. He was fifty short – that’s one pot. We had to sort it out. You can’t let fuses go unaccounted for. I said I would help with the recount. When the girls were all settled, I went to the magazine shed.” She dabbed at her eyelids. “They should have waited to tray up while I talked to Phil, that is, Mr. Riley. Like I said, that was most important.” She hiccupped.

“Did you tell them to start on their own?”

Mrs. Castleford initially looked as if she was going to deny it, but she said, “I suppose I must have. They were always in such a hurry. Young girls are impatient.”

She fell silent, miserable in her guilt.

“So you left them?” prompted Tyler.

“I didn’t think I was going to be long. As it was, I had only just got into the shed and was getting the lowdown from Phil when the explosion occurred. Phil told me to stay where I was and he ran to see what had happened. But I couldn’t just stay there, could I. I went to follow him, but I tripped.”

“She bruised her knees bad,” said her husband. “Show him, Val.”

Obediently Mrs. Castleford hitched up her skirt, revealing the injuries. Nothing too serious as far as Tyler could tell.

“I could hear somebody screaming. I knew something terrible had happened. There was so much smoke and dust. Then Phil reappeared. ‘Don’t come in, Val,’ he says to me. ‘We’ve got to get the ambulance.’ There was girls from the floor coming out now to see what was happening. Phil stands in front of the fire door and stops them.” She paused, unable to mask her admiration. “Brave he was. I mean, we didn’t know if there was going to be more explosions. ‘Go outside at once, girls,’ he says to the women. We’ve had fire drill lots of times, so they were good. They all left quietly.” She started to weep again and her husband patted more frantically. “I blame myself. They were not supposed to tray up by themselves, but they wanted to reach their quota so badly.” She moaned. “I feel so responsible.”

“I don’t like her working here, I never have,” said her husband. “She could have been killed herself. I had to get the doctor in to give her some pills.”

“Somebody’s got to do the job,” she muttered.

“You didn’t know the change-room door would be locked, though,” said Tyler. “That delayed you and put everyone under pressure. Any idea, by the way, as to why it was locked?”

“No. I haven’t thought about it really. I just thought it was some new order from Mr. Endicott.”

Tyler looked over at the secretary. “Mr. Cudmore?”

“I would have passed any such order along to the supervisors. No such command was issued.”

“Mrs. Castleford,” continued Tyler, “when you first came into the section, was everything normal?”

“Except for the two men who were fixing the bench. They weren’t supposed to be there but they said as how they wouldn’t be long.” She halted. “They were both hurt bad.”

“Do you know how the table came to be damaged?”

“Not really. Phil was the one who noticed the lino was peeling off. Not installed properly, most likely.”

Tyler waited a moment. “Anything else that was different about the section?”

“No … yes, there was. The magazine box wasn’t in its usual place. Is that the sort of thing you mean?”

“Where was it?”

“On the floor between the two benches. The dillie man usually puts it at the end of the second bench. It’s easier for me to get to it that way. But Mr. Aston said it was on the floor.”

“Did he say who put it there?”

“Not that I remember. It was left over from the previous shift. They hadn’t finished. I was just glad we had work to do. Doug helped me move the box to the bench so the girls could get started. I’m always so careful to make sure they tray up properly.”

“But in this case your care was overridden by the necessity of counting the fuses … with Mr. Riley.”

Mrs. Castleford shrank down into her chair and Tyler felt like a bully. “That’s correct. And I knew I wouldn’t be gone long …”

Her husband removed his comforting hand. She wiped hard at her eyes.

You’re not going to scrub away your guilt like that
, thought Tyler.
While you were after having a bit on the side, your charges
went ahead and got themselves killed. That’s something you’re going to have to live with
.

But would they have been killed anyway, whether or not Mrs. Castleford had supervised the traying up herself, as she was supposed to? That’s what he had to get to.

“Mrs. Castleford, I am assuming that the explosion was a tragic accident, but …” He hesitated. “If in the unlikely instance it was deliberately caused, is there any one person, or group of people, who in your opinion might be capable of such an act?”

Both Castlefords stared at him in horror. “Are you saying fifth columnists did it?” asked Mr. Castleford.

“No, I’m not saying that at all. I’m just making sure all possibilities are dealt with.”

“Oh no,” gasped Mrs. Castleford. “Never. They’re all good girls as far as I’m concerned.”

Tyler smiled reassuringly. “I’m sure that’s true, Mrs. Castleford, but as supervisor, you are privy to the less public aspects of factory life. Discontents, complaints, that sort of thing.”

Mr. Castleford seemed glad to be going in that direction. He nudged his wife. “Tell him, Val. You’ve often carried on to me about some of those girls. Just the other day you mentioned that Pat woman and the one with the double-barrelled name, Mary Something or other – she’s said right out that she was a communist.”

Tyler checked the list Cudmore had given him. “You are referring to Miss Mary Ringwald-Brown, I presume? She was working on the first shift.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“And Pat would be Miss Pat O’Callaghan?”

“They’re both malcontents, if you ask me,” said her husband. “Tell him, Val.”

Mrs. Castleford pursed her lips. “Miss Ringwald-Brown is a funny duck. She’s quite la-di-da, really, but says she wants
to be in a factory with the workers. The
poletarys
, or something like that. She’s always urging them to go on strike over the slightest thing. Not enough hot water, not enough tea time, too long hours. I don’t hold with it myself. There’s a war on. Our boys are over there giving up their lives; we can put up with a bit of inconvenience.” She puffed out her chest, her misery temporarily forgotten.

“Do the others listen to her?”

“Not them. They can’t stand her. She’s very unpopular.”

“Is Miss O’Callaghan the same?”

“No, not in that way. She’s common as muck, excuse my language. Irish, and you know what they’re like. No, she won’t admit to being a commie; says she’s Labour and that’s different. But she’s also against management most of the time, no matter what they do. So what’s the difference, if you know what I mean.”

Again Tyler consulted the list. “I gather that two operatives who were supposed to be on the afternoon shift in Section B were absent. One was Miss June Lipton and the other was Miss Ringwald-Brown, who had already worked the early shift.”

“Yes, sir, that’s correct. The girls will sometimes take on two shifts in a row if they’re a bit short. If the hubbie is coming home on leave, for instance, and they want a nice new frock to wear. Not that Miss Ringwald-Brown has a hubbie or would buy a new frock. She’s not like that.”

“Did she mention why she signed up for a double?”

“No, she didn’t say. She’s not one to confide in anybody else. As far as I know she doesn’t have a man friend.”

“Sounds fishy to me,” chimed in Mr. Castleford.

Tyler didn’t want any rumours starting, so he said rather sharply, “Not necessarily.” He turned back to Mrs. Castleford. “Other than the fact that Miss Brown has communist sympathies, do you yourself think she is capable of sabotage?”

Mrs. Castleford hesitated. “I’d say no, right off the bat, but these days you never know what people are capable of. The world’s gone off its rocker as far as I’m concerned.”

Tyler couldn’t have agreed more, but he just nodded. “And with regard to the other young woman, Miss June Lipton, do you know why she was absent?”

“She did show up initially but said she was not feeling well and went back home.” Mrs. Castleford lowered her voice. “She’s a very nice young lady. It’s just that she has trouble at a certain time of the month.”

Cudmore kept his head down.

“By the way,” Tyler asked. “Did you and Phil – Mr. Riley – ever sort out the problem of the missing detonators?”

Again the telltale blush. “No, we didn’t. Sometimes it’s the bill of lading that’s wrong. After the explosion it slipped from my mind.”

“Not surprising, that.” He smiled at her. “I think that’s about all the questions I have for now. You’ve been a big help, Mrs. Castleford. But I do want you to keep all this under your hat. Mum’s the word.”

Cudmore opened the door to usher them out. Castleford was behind his wife but didn’t touch her. Poor bugger. What do you do with a wife whose affections lie elsewhere? Tyler sighed. He knew what it was like to be in the other shoes. He sat for a moment ruminating. He took his cigarette case out of his pocket and snapped it open. Clare had given it to him for his twenty-first birthday. The inscription gleamed at him reproachfully.
Love forever, C
. It was a love forever. At least for him it was.

Suddenly the door was thrust open and Cudmore popped his head in. “Dearie me, sir, you’d better come. The girls are all in the canteen. They’re threatening to go on strike!”

The secretary was almost twittering with nervousness. “Word just came through that Audrey Sandilands has died.
The employees were on their tea break and one or two of the, er, more
difficult
women have taken advantage of the tragedy and want to call for a strike.”

“I don’t really have any jurisdiction here,” said Tyler. “Legally there’s nothing I can do unless they start to vandalize the place. In which case we’d have to call in the local police.”

“I thought perhaps your presence here would calm things down.”

“Or inflame them,” said Tyler.

“Oh no, Inspector. They’re not like that. It’s because they’re all so upset. They just need to hear the voice of reason. I’d be much obliged if you would look in on it.”

“All right, let’s go.”

There was a lot of noise emanating from the canteen. Cudmore tried the door but it was locked. However, when he rapped it was opened immediately. An attractive young woman with long blonde hair greeted them.

“Mr. Cudmore. Come with a message from the boss, have you?”

“No, not exactly, Miss Tomlin. But I would like to hear what you have to say. On his behalf.”

“Who’s your chum?”

“This is Detective Inspector Tyler. He’s investigating the explosion.”

“Oops, sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to be cheeky.”

Another woman appeared behind her. “What’s going on, Frankie?” She was older, tough as leather. The hair left exposed at the front of her turban was a telltale orangey blonde.

“This gentleman’s a police officer, Pat.”

Tyler gave them what he hoped was a disarming smile. “I understand you’re thinking of coming out on strike.”

Pat, clearly the leader, answered. “That’s right. We’re fed up with the treatment we’ve been getting.” She had a strong Irish
brogue. “We’re still at the discussing stage, so you can’t object.”

Mrs. Castleford’s husband had referred to her as a malcontent but that was not Tyler’s first impression. She didn’t seem “common as muck” either. Just a woman of conviction with a no-nonsense attitude.

“I am here to find out what happened on Sunday,” he said. “Perhaps our two concerns will coincide. I’m sure nobody wants to delay production any longer than necessary, and we all want to make sure the factory is safe.”

Pat appraised him with a skeptical
I’ve heard blarney before
look. Then she nodded. “Let them in, Frankie.”

“Mr. Cudmore as well?”

“Sure, why not. He’s a good bloke. He’ll tell the boss what we’re thinking. Right, Les?”

“Quite right, Miss O’Callaghan.”

The blonde opened the door and they entered the canteen. There were about two dozen workers seated at the tables. As far as Tyler could tell they were all women, but he noticed Mick Smith, the dillie man, standing against the far wall. There was one other man, a short, dark-haired bloke in an apron, behind the serving counter.

Everyone went quiet as they entered and curious eyes gazed at him.

“Come up,” said Pat. “You can sit at the head table.”

There was a minuscule stage at the far end of the canteen and she led the way towards it.

“Shove over, you lot,” she said to the women sitting there. “This is Detective Inspector Tyler. He wants to be part of our deliberations.”

“Why should he?” demanded a woman at the far end. “We are not doing anything illegal.”

She had a cultivated accent and a sallow, long-jawed face. Must be Mary with the hyphenated name that Mrs. Castleford
had mentioned. Rather to his surprise, Tyler recognized her as the woman he’d passed on his way into the hospital yesterday. Whatever distress she had been experiencing then was no longer apparent. She looked sour and belligerent.

“He’s investigating Sunday’s explosion,” answered Pat before Tyler could reply.

“We are dealing with other matters at the moment.”