The Irish Connection

by Norma Hanton

  “Not in my lifetime you won’t. You lazy bitch! Do you think for one minute that I’m keeping you and some of your poncy friends while you strut around playing with fabrics? You will follow in my footsteps and work in the property business or you can leave my house now without a penny to your name and never come back.”

  “Please, dear, let her go and do what she wants to do, I’m sure we’ll never ask for anything else.” Her mother would plead with him, “Please, dear, she really wants to be a designer, they can earn a lot of money once they become established. Just think she could end up with her very own business”

  Then one day he’d taken her mother into their bedroom and Ann had stood outside the door listening to the muffled sounds of pain from her as he beat her. She never mentioned the subject again.

  Three months after her birthday, her mother died after ‘falling down the stairs. She was only thirty five.

  Nathaniel had ordered that Ann began work as a junior in his office to ‘learn the ropes’ as he’d called it. To be at his beck and call was what he’d really meant.

  “You’re fifteen years of age today and it’s high time you earned your keep,” was all she got from him for a birthday present. “You and your mother lived off the fruits of my labour long enough. Be up and ready to go at seven a.m. precisely, or else.”

  On the day her mother died her father had left the office, informing Ann that he had a meeting to attend and would be back in an hour or so. She’d been sure, at the time, that the meeting was simply an excuse for him to meet one of his ‘lady friends’.

  She’d known he’d lied when he’d told the inquest he’d returned home with a headache and found her mother lying dead at the bottom of the steps.

  “She must have slipped and fallen, and there was no one in the house to help her.” he said, pretending to wipe away a tear. She could have vomited.

  Ann was pretty certain that her father had returned home and attacked her mother. They’d rowed because she’d been foolish enough to decline his advances the previous evening in front of their guests.

  Ann had heard his every word as she cowered in her room.

  “You’re my wife, lady, and don’t you forget it. Don’t you ever show me up in front of guests like that again or I’ll kill you both, you and your precious daughter.”

  He’d returned to the office two hours, ’after the meeting’ and, when she asked him where he’d really been, he’d told her to mind her own business.

  Having no proof to the cause of her mother’s death she’d kept quiet about him leaving the office, but vowed to see him in hell before she would ever help him again.

  Two years later her father suffered a stroke. Ann immediately moved out of the house and rented one of their apartments. She was determined not to become his nursemaid whatever the consequences. She’d used an alias, signing the lease with her left hand, in case the staff recognised her signature.

  A nurse had been hired on her father’s discharge from hospital. He was learning to talk again and Ann had told him she would only see him once a week to go over any necessary business. He’d been furious. She’d stood smiling down at him before bending and putting her head close to his ear, she’d whispered,

  “May you rot in Hell, you disgusting, ugly bastard. I’m in control now and the minute you die I’ll be free to go where I like and do what I like.”

  He became so mad and frustrated at not being able to strike out at her the nurse had rushed in and ordered her out of the room. She’d then given him a sedative prescribe by the doctor.

  Ann, now, with her feelings under control, re-entered the house and closed the door. Entering the drawing room she could feel his eyes closely watching her face.

  “Well, what did the old quack have to say? Did he tell you I haven’t much longer? Answer me, d-damn it.” He stammered, but even with his speech slurred he was intimidating.

  “We weren’t talking about you, Father, in fact we didn’t talk about anything. I’ve been out for a stroll before dinner and have just arrived back, therefore missing the doctor. So you see I do not know what he knew, and I really don’t care anyway.” She smiled as she rang the bell for dinner and sat at the small table beside the window.

  “You’re a beautiful liar, just like your mother, and, just like her, you’ll pay for it one day. Y - you mark my word, lady, cross me once more and you’ll be a penniless spinster for the rest of your life.”

  “What can you do to hurt me now, you old fool. You gave me power of attorney to run your precious business. You no longer frighten me. Soon I’ll be free of you and I will stay here only long enough to spit on your grave.”

  “You little bitch. I can wipe out all your plans with the stroke of a pen. I’ll write you out of my will. T-then where will you be? I need you to run the business and you’ll do it my way or be a pauper for the rest of your life. Don’t cross me, girl. I’m warning you.”

  He moaned and put his hands to his chest.

  “Would you like me to call the nurse, Father dear? You like her, don’t you? Well you can give it a try but I’m afraid you’re in no condition to screw her.”

  Nathaniel Bell looked at her with loathing.

  Without a word Ann rose and called to the nurse in the next room.

  “Father seems to be in some distress, nurse, so I’ll leave him in your more than capable hands. I’m sure he’d prefer that. I will dine downstairs, Father.” She watched as Nurse Black began filling a syringe, “I’m sure Beatrice here will cope with your every need. She usually does. See you next week, unfortunately.”

  Ann didn’t stay for the meal, instead she hurried home to the sanctuary of her own flat where she put her head in her hands and wept for her mother.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cotton and Doyle, accompanied by PC Evans, returned to the home of Agatha Moorhead. Their thoughts being that Agatha seemed to be the only tenant to give a damn about the two deaths.

  She had, without being intrusive or inquisitive, made regular cups of tea and sandwiches for the officers who were guarding the apartments. More importantly, she was the only person living in Mulberry Court to have known Patrick Donovan.

  “We’ll take it slowly and go through it all again, if you don’t mind,” Cotton began, sipping the cup of tea placed on a small table beside his chair. “Just like the last time I’ll only stop you to ask a question. So please carry on.”

  “Oh! This is so exciting. Sad for the girls of course, but I’ve never been a witness before. I must write and tell my friend Maureen. She’ll be green with envy. Well, here I go. Are you ready PC Evans? Right,” she shuffled in the chair as if getting settled for a long haul. “As I told you the last time you were here, I saw Mr Donovan for the first time on the day he moved into apartment six. He arrived on his own. He was driving a blue Morris Minor and, as far as I know, no one visited him from the day he moved in. He seemed perfectly happy living here, until the time I told you about when I hadn’t seen him for about a week and went to check on him.” Agatha then went on to repeat the story exactly as before, of how he had moved out. “As I told you, I’ve never seen hide or hair of him since, Inspector.”

  Seamus sat forward in his seat, “Had you ever, at any time, seen the owner of the property visit him?”

  Agatha pursed her lips and looked up at the ceiling for a second or two.

  “Do you know I believe I did, shortly before he moved out? In fact, now you mention it, I recall Patrick telling me that the roof needed seeing to and she’d been, with the builder, to size up the job.

  “And was it from that day that you didn’t see him for a week or more?” asked Seamus.

  “No. I think it was about another week or so before he locked himself in the apartment.”

  “Did he say anything to you about Miss Bell’s visit, other than what you’ve already told us?”

  “Nothing at all, I’m afraid. He seemed his usual self for a few more days. Came and went as usual.”

  “And ther
e were definitely no other visitors at that time, none at all?”

  “Not that I was aware of, Inspector. You understand of course that I’m not always in the house or garden,” her eyes twinkled, “I’m not a total Nosy Parker yet you know. I may be retired now but I still do have quite a full life to lead.”

  “I’m sure you have, Mrs Moorhead.” Cotton grinned and held her hand, “Thank you for your time. You’ve been very helpful. Goodbye.”

  At this Seamus rose from his chair and followed Cotton, but Evan’s hesitated.

  “Would you like to join us mortals, Evans?” Seamus laughed.

  Once outside the building Cotton quizzed Evans as to his trancelike state.

  “Sorry, Inspector, but something was nagging at the back of my head and I just couldn’t concentrate.”

  “Well try and not do it in front of a witness, Evans, it’s embarrassing. Now take drive back to the station. I take it you can still remember the way?”

  “The description she gave of Donovan matches the one his landlady in Ballymena gave us, Eddie, but nothing else gives us a clue as to where he went from there. I don’t think for one minute he returned to Ballymena. So where the hell is he?” Seamus frowned as he paced the floor, “Let’s go through the witness statements again, if you don’t mind, there may be something we missed the first time.”

  Cotton thought he was clutching at straws but refrained from commenting.

  ……

  Eddie and Seamus sat in the Chinese curry house and awaited their treat.

  “There’s nothing in the world like a good pint followed by king prawns and egg fried rice. Does the soul good.” said Eddie.

  Seamus grinned. “Speaking of things that do the soul good, Eddie, what did happen between you and Mandy? I was sure that wedding bells were ringing loud and clear for you two.”

  Eddie’s face changed in an instance. The smile was gone and sadness took its place.

  “I know you won’t believe this, Seamus, I can hardly believe it myself, but Mandy cheated on me.” He looked at his friends shocked face. “I know it’s unbelievable, but I’m sorry to say it’s true. Mandy cheated on me and then tried to pass off the other man’s child as mine.”

  Seamus could hardly believe his ears.

  “Mandy’s pregnant? You never said a word! I thought we were mates?”

  “I felt so stupid falling for that line. ‘I’m going on holiday with my mates, see you when I get back‘. I never doubted her for a minute, never even thought to ask her friends about it. I even drove her to the bloody airport, damn it, to say goodbye. Well it‘s goodbye Mandy now alright.” He looked at Seamus. “Look, let‘s not talk about. Let‘s just enjoy the meal.”

  “Bottling it up won’t help, Eddie, best to get it out in the open and deal with it? Take it from one who knows.” He smiled a little forlornly. “Remember when that night club singer dumped me in front of you and Tony Evans?”

  Eddie grinned. He remembered alright. “She said your prick was the size of a worm and your ego was the size of the Empire State Building.” He laughed. “Tony and I laughed our socks off. Sorry, but you deserved it. Bragging about a woman’s sex life in mixed company was, and still is, a total no-no.”

  “Well now, thank you for your sympathy, Ed, I’ll not bother giving you any.”

  “Sorry, Seamus, but it was funny. You were just sitting there with that chicken curry sliding off your head and dripping everywhere. Funniest thing I ever saw.”

  They both sat laughing loudly until the waiter reminded them of the other customers.

  Eddie stood up.

  “Sorry people, but you had to have been there at the time,” he said before bursting into laughter again and hurriedly leaving the building.

  ---

  Four weeks on and they were still unable to find any new clues to the whereabouts of the missing man or where the two murdered women worked, or played. They were going through the paperwork day in and day out without any luck,

  Seamus had been recalled to Ballymena leaving Cotton to find a lead from the ever- growing heap of paperwork.

  Chapter Twelve

  Driving past Mulberry Court one morning Sergeant Broom was not surprised to see not one but two ‘To Let’ signs. He’d have moved out quickly were he in those circumstances.

  He pulled in at the estate agents and asked which tenants had decided to move. When he was told it was the tenants of flats one and three he decided to call in and see Mrs Moorhead. He knew Miss Woodward had told Watson that she would be abroad for six weeks.

  He had just raised his hand to knock when the door was opened, by the tenant, on her way out. She gave a little start then smiled,

  “Oh! Sergeant Broom, isn’t it? You did make me jump. I’ve been so nervous since the murders.”

  Broom apologised.

  “It’s just that I noticed the sign there and called to ask you to leave a forwarding address when you go as we might need to interview you again. Would you do that?”

  “Of course I will, Sergeant. I haven’t found a suitable apartment yet. I was just on my way to view one as it happens, so I must rush. See you later.”

  “Can I give you a lift? You’ve been so helpful to us it’s the least I can do.”

  “Would you? That would be wonderful.” She struggled into the front seat of the car. “It’s not far from here, Sergeant, Blackthorn Road to be exact, but promise you won’t have the siren going, it might upset the new neighbours,” she laughed.

  It took them no more than eight minutes. Broom parked in front of the very stylish apartment block and helped Mrs Moorhead from the car.

  “Well, it certainly looks nice from the outside, doesn’t it?” she said, “I think I could be quite comfortable here. I can’t wait to see inside.”

  “It looks very nice indeed, Mrs Moorhead, this is a nice area, and I do believe this is the estate agent to meet you.” A low, sleek, sports car pulled into the kerb.

  When Broom arrived back at the station he went to inform Cotton of his chat with Agatha Moorhead. He found his boss studying the interviews of the case, all the while shaking his head and looking very sad.

  “Can’t blame her, Joe, or Miss Woodward for that matter, would you want to stay there after what’s happened, especially when you live on your own?”

  “That’s exactly what I thought, guv.”

  Suddenly the phone on Cotton’s desk sprang into life. After listening for a while he leapt to his feet and said, “I’ll meet you there.” He hung up and gave Broom the address. They practically flew out of his office and down the stairs to the waiting car.

  “Well, this is a turn up for the books, guv. Wonder what the problem is this time?”

  “There isn’t much to tell at this point,” Cotton replied, unable to disguise the tension in his voice. “Apparently Mrs Wilson, in apartment two, Mulberry Court, rang the station to report a missing person. It turns out that the au pair, Maria Hernandez, hasn’t been seen since Wednesday. She hasn’t taken clothes or money with her. Not even her coat. She hasn’t contacted her employer and has not even contacted the ‘none-existing’ boyfriend. He rang Mrs Wilson on Thursday evening to see why Maria had not kept their date on Wednesday and was shocked when he was told that Maria had not reported for work on Thursday morning. He’d thought Maria had just stood him up, or was seeing someone else. He was so angry he’d hung up without telling her his address.

  Mrs Wilson, on the other hand, told the officer that took the call that, she was very angry after finding out Maria had been deceiving her, and had unthinkingly waited until Friday to report her missing. When asked why she waited so long she told him that her husband had agreed with her that Maria could be off partying somewhere and not giving a thought to her employers.

  She said, ‘I was thoroughly shocked to find out that Maria was seeing that man behind my back. If this is the type of person she is then mark my word she’ll find herself back in the dole queue when she returns‘. The officer said that Margar
et Wilson had practically spat out the last sentence.

  Believe it or not she thought because she’d particularly forbidden Maria to have men friends while she was in charge of the Wilson offspring, Margaret Wilson had actually believed the girl would obey her without question. The Wilson’s had made it a part of the written contract of employment.

  ‘I couldn’t believe it,’ she complained to the officer. ‘That girl has totally defied me’. And that’s about it, so far.”

  “Well here we are again,” Broom quipped as he pulled the car into the parking area of Mulberry Court, then he sat bolt upright. “Just a minute, sir, do you see what I see?”

  Cotton looked closely at the slim figured woman now entering the building.

  “Well, well, well, Miss Anna Woodward. The young lady who said she’d be in America for six weeks. We’ll have a word with her later.”

  The door of apartment two was opened by WPC Watson. She put a finger to her lips and stepped into the hallway. Holding the door closed with one hand she whispered, “She’s pretty upset sir, unable to stop crying. She keeps blaming herself for not acting sooner, but seems really genuine when she says that she wasn’t worried at first. Now she’s frantic.”

  Watson stepped into the passage holding the door open.

  “OK, Watson, we’ll be as gentle as possible in the circumstances,” Cotton assured her. Nodding his head toward the sitting room he told Broom, “Let’s get on with it.”

  Margaret Wilson looked exactly as PC Watson had reported. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying and tears were still running down her cheeks. Her face wore a haunted look. She looked as if Maria Hernandez were her own child. She held out both her hands to Cotton as he approached and pleaded,

  “Oh! Inspector Cotton, please find her. Please, please find her. It’s all, my fault. I should have called you on Wednesday night and reported her missing. If anything’s happened to her I don’t know if I could live with myself.”