by Norma Hanton
At this she burst into loud sobs and put her head down onto her folded arms. Watson took a chair next to hers at the dining table and tried to console the distraught woman.
“Please try and calm yourself, Mrs Wilson, or you’ll not be of any help to us. The sooner we find Maria the better, and the Inspector needs to ask you some questions.”
Watson turned to Cotton and raised her eyebrows as if to ask, ‘What now?’
Cotton took a seat next to Margaret Wilson and placing a hand on her shoulder said.
“Why don’t we have a nice cup of tea and try to get the information down on paper. Then we can leave you in peace while we try and find Maria.”
At this she sat up and, wiping her eyes and shaking her head, went to stand up.
Cotton, keeping his hand on her shoulder and pushing her gently back down, told her,
“I’m sure WPC Watson can manage in the kitchen while you and I make a start.”
Watson got up and, pulling a face to let him know what she thought of his idea, went into the kitchen. Meanwhile DS Broom took out his notebook sat down at the opposite side of the table.
“I’m so sorry, Inspector. I’m not usually given to hysterics but Maria is such a pretty girl and when I think of what happened upstairs it makes me afraid for her. I said to my husband that we’ll have to move out of this accursed place as soon as possible, we have our son to think of.” She blew her nose. “Poor Maria, I was too busy thinking of myself to consider she may have been in danger.” She put a clean tissue to her eyes and went on, “I really and truly believed she’d been to a birthday party and had stayed overnight with her friend, Elspeth Watkins. She told me that Elspeth was a student who was doing English Lit at Pagan’s Mount. Maria had given us a number for contacting her in emergencies. Like the fool that I am I’ve never tried to ring the number, at least not until this morning,” she shook her head, “The girl doesn’t exist. I was informed, by the person who answered the call, that she’d never heard of Elspeth Watkins and that she would certainly not give me her name and address. She even threatened to call the police if I called again. I then rang the university who told me they were not at liberty to give out information on anyone. I then rang Ellis Street Police Station.” Her bottom lip started to tremble. “If only I’d checked her room earlier and found that she’d not even taken her purse with her. I’d have known that all was not well.” She sobbed loudly, mascara running in lines down her face.” “I was so angry when that man called and said she’d not met him as arranged. I was livid. I just wrote her off as a floozy that had put the life of my child in danger by bringing strange men to my home, especially now. I thought to myself she’s probably with some man or other having a good time. I even thought about how I would sack her if she ever showed her face again.” Once again Mrs Wilson burst into loud sobs, just as Watson entered with a tray of steaming cups.
“I’ll never forgive myself if she ends up like those other girls, never.”
While Watson comforted the heartbroken woman, Broom and Cotton searched the au pair’s room, being very careful not to disturb any evidence. It was a large bed sitting room, with a bathroom en suite, overlooking the front of the house.
It was obvious Maria Hernandez was no housekeeper. Papers and magazines were scattered everywhere. Clothes and sweet wrappers lay where they had fallen all around the bed. A stack of 45’s and paper backs (mainly love stories) were stacked either side of the television cabinet. Shoes had been stepped out of and left wherever. A small kidney shaped dressing table stood against the window wall. It was liberally littered with makeup and tissues smeared with brightly coloured substances. The tops of lipstick, and various items in glass bottles and jars, had not been replaced. The top of the table was a colourful, surreal, mixture of spilled colours.
Broom counted twenty different colours of eye shadow and even more colours of nail varnish, of which only one could be called subtle. He was amazed.
In the bathroom towels had been left lying over the shower door and a box of Tampax lay on the floor next to the toilet bowl. A small, wicker laundry basket was overflowing with her clothes. On top of the basket lay a blood stained nightdress but Cotton felt sure that the Tampax gave the reason for it being there. He was quite sure the forensic boys would check it out.
They found the purse and tipped its contents onto a sheet of newspaper they’d laid on the bed. The purse contained thirteen pounds exactly. Broom wondered briefly if thirteen was Maria’s unlucky number. Although they had found the initials WJ and MD on the bathroom mirror (written in lipstick) her room contained no letters or a dairy to tell them who WJ was.
Broom opened the drawer of the bedside table and carefully removed a book from it. It was a book of poems for lovers, or so the jacket told him. On opening it he found two condoms hidden in its pages. He replaced them in the book and closed the drawer.
They found no signs of a struggle. No blood and no sign of a forced entry. Cotton called in the forensic team to go over the room inch by inch.
Who was W.J? Cotton pondered for a moment. That would be their next job, to find him, but where the hell did they start?
Chapter Thirteen
Eddie held the, now cold, coffee cup in his hands. He’d had no sleep since the phone call from his mother, he hadn’t even tried.
“So, you didn’t go to see your child. What kind of man are you? Why can’t you just accept the fact that you have made the biggest bloody mistake of your entire life?” The sarcasm was rich in her voice as she added, “You couldn’t possibly be wrong about Mandy. Oh no, not the high and bloody mighty Eddie Cotton, detective extraordinaire. Well let me tell you, my idiot son, I‘ve just come from the hospital and believe me, if you had given birth to James yourself, he couldn‘t look more like you if he tried.” His mother was crying now, “Oh! Eddie, you’re a stubborn fool. Go and see them before it’s too late. Admit you’re wrong. Please, Eddie, please!”
He’d stood dumbfounded listening to the racking sobs which echoed in his head.
“Mom, calm down. Listen to yourself. You’re getting upset over nothing. I did go to the hospital, but they wouldn’t let me in.” He didn’t tell her that was because the Sister had asked if he were the father, and he had replied with an emphatic ’No!’, telling her that he was ‘just a friend’.
“Well, friend, no visiting until after two pm, fathers only tonight.”
“Could you please tell her that Eddie called to see if she needs anything, anything at all?” He felt stupid and awkward.
The Sister had nodded, “Goodbye, Eddie, I’m sure Mandy will ring you if she needs you.”
He was ashamed to admit that he’d practically bolted from the building.
“I will go back today, Mom, I promise, so settle yourself down before you make yourself ill.”
“You just make sure that this is one appointment you don’t miss, mister, because you’ll never get a second chance. The rest of your child’s entire life depends on it.” She hung up before he had the chance to say more.
He was shaken to the core. He knew his mother and she was not given to histrionics. Could he possibly be mistaken? Miscalculated the dates? Was James his baby after all? He pulled himself upright and pushed the thought away. He really believed the facts were right and there was no mistake, but he would keep the appointment to satisfy his mother.
---
“Excuse me, sir,” Broom interrupted Cotton’s whirling thoughts, “but forensic have found something.”
Cotton leapt to his feet.
“Where,” he asked, “and what?”
Broom produced evidence bags containing various items taken from Hernandez’s room. He held one up to the light from the window.
“This is a bra taken from the dirty linen basket in her bathroom. It had two very long blonde hairs sticking to the fibres, and they weren’t hers, and this,” he sniggered, holding up another evidence bag, “is a vibrator smeared with bodily fluids not pertaining to the deceased.”
“What in hell!” Cotton exclaimed, “You mean that WJ is a woman?”
Broom laughed. “You’ve got it in one, sir.”
“My God, Joe, who’d have thought it, a beauty like her? Well, well, well. I don’t suppose forensics could tell us who the other woman is, or where she is by any chance?”
“No such luck I’m afraid. Still it’s something to go on for a change,” he looked at Cotton’s face. “You’re looking a bit haggard if I may say, sir. Are you feeling alright?”
“Mind your own, Joe,” Cotton said without malice, “You get on with your job and I’ll get on with mine.”
“Sorry, sir, no offence meant I‘m sure,” Broom mumbled, as he headed for the door.
“None taken, Joe. Will you wait here and see what else forensic can come up with. I have to go to the university.”
The Dean of Bishop’s Mount, Professor Alan Mountebank, was not a happy man. Police on the campus made him decidedly nervous. Having them tramping around in the hallowed halls of learning was making him jumpy. With all these students around who could tell what the police could unearth in their investigations. They might see for themselves just what does go on in the rooms above their heads, coke, heroin, sex and booze for to name a few. Everyone employed at the university knew, but kept it to themselves, if they wanted to stay in employment. There was a light tap at the office door
“Sorry to disturb you, Dean, but you asked to see Inspector Cotton as soon as he arrived,” Muriel Fisher, secretary extraordinaire, and once, long ago, the Dean’s ‘horizontal employee’, as the students had called her, stood aside to let Cotton enter.
Alan Mountebank held out a welcoming hand.
“Good afternoon, Inspector, welcome to Bishop’s Mount. Do have a seat. Now what can we do for you? Is it about one of our students? Would you like a coffee - or tea perhaps?”
Cotton sat and waited for the gushing voice to stop.
Professor Mountebank sat facing him. They sized each other up across the huge expanse of the oak, leather covered desk.
Cotton opened the notebook he’d taken from his pocket and looked at it as if he were not already aware of its contents.
“We are investigating the murder of a young lady. She seems to have been seeing one of your students, Professor, but all we have to go on are the initials WJ. We thought we were looking for a man, but it seems we were wrong.” He was covertly watching the Dean’s face for any reaction but the expression didn’t change “We believe the initials belong to a female.” He sighed loudly, “You can see our dilemma, sir. It’s such a tenuous link and we were hoping that you could help us by providing us with a list of female staff and pupils with these initials to aid our inquiries.”
The room was silent for a minute or two before the Professor pressed a buzzer on his desk and Muriel entered.
“Miss Fisher, I have agreed to Inspector Cotton’s request for a list of female staff and students with the initials WJ. Kindly see to it at once. I’m sure the Inspector has other places to be today.” He held out his hand to Cotton, “I won’t delay you, Inspector. I’m sure your day is as full as mine. If I can be of any further assistance do let me know.”
In the outer office Muriel Fisher went to a filing cabinet and opened the drawer marked HIJ and withdrew two folders. She motioned Cotton to take a chair, opened the folders and began to type a copy, it was a short list.
Winifred Jameson was sitting in her flat staring unhappily at the rather grubby, red handbag in front of her. The bag belonged to Maria. Suddenly she knew it was to be her last link to the woman she’d loved. Tears flowed down her face as she, feeling like a Peeping Tom, opened the bag and tipped its contents onto the coffee table. She’d not yet informed the police of its existence. She’d only discovered it that morning when she’d reached out a hand for the phone whilst making the bed. It had been hidden between the head board and the wall, but she wanted to make sure there was nothing in it that might cause embarrassment to Maria’s family, or to her own for that matter.
Win, as she liked to be called, searched through the vast array of items. They were things usually found in any woman’s handbag. There was nothing in it to incriminate her. She then picked up the bag to make sure she had missed nothing. Looking into the messy interior she discovered a zip in the lining. On opening the pocket she found a letter with no address or signature on it. Her curiosity got the better of her. Well, it could be a letter to herself, couldn‘t it? She sat on the bed and slowly unfolded the new looking piece of paper. The single sheet of A4 paper was covered in cut out letters from magazines. Her eyes widened as she read. A loud gasp escaped her lips; the noise in the silent room startled her.
I KNOW YOU DID THIS TERRIBLE THING. I SEE YOU. REMEMBER?
NO MORE EXCUSES YOU WILL PAY ME THE 10 THOUSAND OR
I GO TO THE POLICE AND WILL TELL THEM. SO NO MORE DELAYS
OR I WILL DO AS I SAY.
The Letter was unsigned.
Win sat motionless. She couldn’t take it in. Did Maria know the murderer? Was someone trying to blackmail Maria? She started to shake. This could mean Maria was in danger. Perhaps this was the reason she’d gone missing.
Win was suddenly very, very afraid.
As she picked up the phone she knew Maria was dead, and she was equally sure that the killer might be thinking that she knew all about the blackmail attempts. The woman she loved had dragged her into her dangerous scheme and now she too was in danger. Frantically, she went from room to room bolting doors and windows, as she waited for the arrival of the police
The bag and its contents were being placed into brown evidence bags as Cotton and Broom sat in the kitchen with Win. She was dressed in faded blue skirt and a shirt that had seen better days. Her rather large feet were barely covered by thin strapped sandals. She looked sadly out of her time. The fear in her eyes, the ashen skin, and very unsteady hands, told a story all of their own.
“You say you knew nothing of Maria’s plan to blackmail the murderer?” Cotton asked the trembling woman. “I somehow find that hard to believe, considering your relationship.”
“You see what I mean?” Win’s voice had raised several octaves. “This is exactly what the killer will be thinking, that I was in on it. He could turn up here at any time and try to get me out of the way. Are you going to stop him? I don‘t think so.” At this she leapt to her feet and made a dash to the door, but Broom got there before her.
“Please sit down, Miss,” he said calmly. “No one’s going to get past us to reach you. Try and stay calm,” he led her unresisting and weeping back to her chair.
“We’ll move you somewhere safe, but first you need to tell us what you know,” began Cotton, in a lower tone “That’s the only way we’ll get to the bottom of this.” He cleared his throat. “So I need to ask you again – did you know of Maria’s plan to blackmail the murderer? Did she tell you what it was she knew about the killing of the two women?”
“No –no –No!!” Win screamed as a soul in torment, her hands gripping her blonde halo of curls. “That letter is the first I knew of it. Please – please believe me, I know nothing about it,” she covered her face with her hands and sobbed loudly, her whole body shaking.
Cotton patted her shoulder.
“Go with Sergeant Broom to the station. You might feel safer there. Do we have to inform anyone where you are”? On receiving a shake of the head he signalled to Broom who led her meekly away.
Cotton sat in the kitchen and put a call through to Seamus Doyle. After a quick greeting he told him the latest news.
“I take it all the usual enquiries have been fruitless?” Seamus’ voice was urgent. “We have to move fast or they’ll go to ground again and disappear for a few more years.”
“I’m well aware of that, Inspector: I do know what I’m doing, all the usual enquiries are underway,” Cotton replied, feeling slightly miffed at Seamus’ tone. “I don’t need reminding of police procedure, thank you. We were just about to call on M
iss Jameson before she rang us. Her name is on the list we got from the university.”
“Sorry, Eddie, no offence meant, but I want this killer, by fair means or foul.”
“I know how you feel, Seamus, I feel the same way. But this one will be done strictly by the book. I don’t want anyone to create a loophole for that bastard to crawl through.”
“OK, Eddie, you’re the boss. What is Jameson studying at uni? It might give us a clue.”
“Apparently she’s studying psychology, and is quite good at it by all accounts. She is a mature student, as I told you, claims she knows nothing about the blackmail or anything else.
She says she met Maria in a coffee shop and that it was Maria that came onto her and not the other way around. Jameson thought at the time that Maria was well versed in the art of picking up women and was sure she was not Maria’s first lesbian experience. And, I hate to say this, Seamus, but I for one believe her. I like to think I’m long enough in the tooth to recognise a liar when I hear one.
Anyway, Jameson paid her brother to ring the Wilson house, pretend to be Maria’s boyfriend, and to find out what had happened, thus putting us completely off track.”
“Sorry, Eddie, but I can’t help getting so anxious. I’m quite sure you have everything in hand.” He gave a huge sigh. “All we can do over here is to keep an eye open for Donovan. In case he felt like coming home. I know there is a connection to him and the Murphy killing, but I doubt he’d have the nerve to return to Ireland if he were the killer.”
“Oh I do, Seamus, whoever the killer is they have the nerve for anything. Keep in touch.”
Chapter Fourteen
Broom had placed his report on Cotton’s desk and was enjoying a bacon buttie and a black coffee in the canteen when his governor tapped him on the shoulder.
“Get me a coffee, Joe, while I cast my eye over your report.”