The Irish Connection

by Norma Hanton

  ”They, rather reluctantly, informed me, that they were lifelong friends. They were both in their late forties and had been living in the same flat since their early twenties.

  David Thornton told me that he had indeed seen the occupants of the upper floor and had admired their beauty. He said,

  ‘But beauty is only skin deep, constable. You’d be surprised if you saw some of our ‘stars’ without their makeup, not a pretty sight believe me.’ He’d laughed, ‘I could tell you a few juicy tales about zits, blackheads, and body odours that would kill an ox at fifty paces, but I won’t, or they’d probably sue me. Anyway, I came to the conclusion almost immediately that neither of the women wanted any social intercourse whatsoever.’

  “Or any other sort I suspect,” Marcus had giggled.

  “Oh! Bitchy Marcus, put the claws away.” his ’friend’ had replied.

  “I had the feeling that this camp behaviour was for my benefit so I said quietly. ‘We could finish this down the station if you like.’ They soon got over their amusement. Both men stopped laughing and apologised. After that they made the following statement.”

  “I didn’t know either of them to talk to, constable, nor have I seen any visitors. Sorry I can’t be of more help,” David Thornton told me.

  “I, although being in the house on a more day to day basis, usually working from home, am sad to say I have nothing to report either,” Marcus Wellford said.

  Then, when I stood up to leave, they asked if they were in any danger themselves and I told them,

  “Not that we know of, at this point in time, sir. However, we would inform you if we found any cause for concern.”

  Then I thanked them both for their time, before I remembered and asked,

  “Oh! Sorry, one last thing. Have either of you seen the owner of the property in the building recently? You should have heard them panic.”

  “No,” they screamed in unison, “Why do you ask? Oh my God!! Is she a suspect?”

  I reassured them that it was just a routine question. We needed to know all the comings and goings that was all. Then I thanked them again and left.”

  PC King handed his report to Inspector Cotton.

  “They seem like a helpful pair, King, I don’t think. But isn’t that the sum of people today? I don’t think any of the residents seem to bother with each other at all. Not even to help each other out. Sign of the times I suppose.”

  “Afraid your right, sir, nobody seemed to show any remorse for the women, as long as it doesn’t affect them it doesn’t matter.

  “I would like you to go back, King, and keep your eyes peeled while Watson has a quiet chat with the Wilson’s au pair. Watson thought she seemed a bit agitated when she was interviewing her employer, she thinks it was because Mrs Wilson was there so she wants to go back while Mrs Wilson is out at work. Nothing concrete to go on, you understand, just a hunch.”

  Next morning Inspector Cotton received a telephone call from Ballymena. Detective Inspector Seamus Doyle, an old friend of Cotton’s, sounded so excited Cotton had trouble keeping up with him.

  “We need to get together A.S.A.P, Eddie. I think I’ve found a connection between a case of mine and your murdered women. I’m particularly interested in the condition of the bodies when they’d been discovered.” He’d sounded very excited. So much so, Cotton had struggled to keep pace with him.

  “You sound very eager to get here, Seamus, and you’re more than welcome, of course. I’ve got to admit, I’ve seen some sights in my time but nothing to match this.” Cotton shuddered. “Do you remember the cannibalistic appetite of that Geordie porter a few years back?”

  “Could I forget it?” Seamus replied.

  “Well, to me, this is on a par to that, only a lot cleaner and tidier. Too bloody tidy if you ask me, it’s weird. Still the more brains the merrier, in my opinion. Sorry I can’t put you up at my place; I’m still in the section house for another two days at least. Until the tenants vacate my own place. I’d just given them a year’s contract. I’ll tell you all about it later. So come ahead. We’re getting nowhere fast at this point.”

  “No problem, Eddie, but find me a nice B&B, none of those posh hotels where the food is usually in short supply. I like a real man’s portion.”

  “Will do, Seamus, see you soon.” Cotton laughed.

  “I’ll be on the first flight tomorrow,” Seamus said, with an assuring ring in his voice.

  “Looking forward to it” Cotton put down the receiver and smiled.

  This wouldn’t be the first time Doyle and he had worked together on a case. The last time had been eight years ago when Cotton, a mere DS, had been sent to Ballymena to track down a man on the run. The man had headed home to Ireland when his ‘wives’ discovered his little secret. It had taken them no time at all to apprehend the dedicated bigamist and fraudster, John Crawford, and bring him to trial.

  He and Seamus couldn’t help but admire the man’s ability to juggle four wives in the air at the same time and not be caught out.

  During the interview Seamus had asked Crawford if he’d never called one woman by another’s name or talked in his sleep. The prisoner had just smiled and said he had been ‘careful to pick women with the same Christian name as his first, and therefore legitimate, wife’.

  It was somehow sad to find that the only reason he’d finally been found out was because he’d been hit by a van while crossing the road and had nothing in his pockets to show who he was.

  As he lay unconscious in the hospital he was unaware that his picture was being circulated in the local papers with the caption, ‘Do you know this man?’ Four women and eight kids turned up at the General Hospital, just as fifty five year old Crawford regained consciousness, and all hell broke loose. He lapsed back into unconsciousness after an encounter with a metal bedpan

  Seamus had offered to put Cotton up at his place for the duration of his stay in Ballymena and the two of them had themselves a great time. They had got on like a house on fire and had enjoyed numerous pints followed by numerous curries and numerous, failed, chat-up lines. Though having kept in touch and visiting each other’s homes at times. It had been over two year since their last get together. About the time he met Mandy.

  Chapter Six

  “Mom, calm down. Listen to yourself. You’re getting upset over nothing.” He couldn’t stand the sound of his mother’s sobbing. She’d called him at work, which was highly unusual, and had begun crying the minute he picked up the receiver.

  “Look, Mom, I did finally go to the hospital, but they wouldn’t let me in.” He didn’t tell her that was because the nurse asked if he was the father, or that he’d replied, ‘No, just a friend’.

  “Well, ‘friend’,” she’d replied sarcastically, “fathers only tonight. You could probably visit after two pm tomorrow.” He’d almost heard the sneer in her voice.”

  “Could you tell her Eddie came to see if she needed anything - anything at all?” He’d felt stupid - awkward even, and he hadn‘t like it.

  The nurse had nodded an affirmative before saying,

  “Goodbye, Mr Cotton, I’m sure Mandy will call you if she needs you.”

  He was ashamed to admit that he’d practically bolted from the building.

  “I promise to go back today and see how she is. So settle yourself down before you make yourself ill.”

  “You just make sure that that is one promise you actually keep, mister, because you’ll not get a second chance. The rest of your child’s life depends on it.” She hung up before he could reply.

  Her sorrow had unnerved him. He was shaken to the core. His mind whirled. Had he made a terrible mistake? Could he possibly have miscalculated the dates? Was the baby really his?

  He pushed the thoughts away. He was right and he was sure of it, but he would make the visit to satisfy his mother.

  He would never forget that first night he’d spent with Mandy, never in a hundred years.

  They’d run through the pouring rain, kick
ing the puddles of water like children set free from school. Eddie doing a Gene Kelly number in one pool before handing his umbrella to an elderly man who was getting a soaking waiting for a bus.

  Once in Mandy’s flat she switched on the electric fire and they watched the fake logs begin to glow.

  After a while Mandy disappeared into another room and came back swathed in a lavender dressing gown which covered her right down to the ankles. She threw a pink fluffy number his way.

  “Here, put this on while I dry your clothes in front of the stove.” She grinned broadly, “Sorry, but it’s the best I can do at short notice. Go on, you can change in the bathroom, second door on the right.”

  When he returned Mandy, who was sitting on the rug in front of the fire trying to get warmed up, fell about laughing as he struck poses one after the other in the pink robe.

  He finally lowered himself onto the rug beside her and her bright laughter ceased.

  He soon found that every moment he had to spend away from Mandy was unbearable and would, as often as he could; wait outside her place of work, the ‘Flaming Chic Boutique’.

  Feeling like a love sick teenager he waited in the pouring rain for her to finish work. Soft music wafted out each time the door swung open. One night he waited through three tracks of Mantovani while rehearsing his speech.

  ‘Mandy. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. I can’t live without you’.

  Just as he had decided it was all too corny she stepped out into the rain and hurried to the bus stop without seeing him.

  “Like to share my brolly, Miss?” he asked, trying to sound cool and calm. “It might save your kit from shrinking.”

  An elderly woman next to her waited for Mandy to shoot him down in flames. She ended up horrified when Mandy threw her arms around him instead.

  They stood laughing with joy, clinging to each other, not wanting to let the moment go.

  Unfortunately their last meeting only went to prove that all good things must come to an end.

  Cotton and Mandy had first met in the Plucky Chicken, on one of Seamus’ visits to London.

  The noisy bar was filled with policemen celebrating a successful conclusion to a kidnapping case.

  The Plucky Chicken was not one of the most salubrious of places but it was close to the station, handy for a pint after a long shift.

  The men had been chatting and laughing when suddenly a silence settled on the room. Cotton looked up and saw the reason for the silence.

  Three of the most beautiful women he had ever seen had entered the bar and were at the counter ordering vodka‘s. Every male eye was upon them, and every male mute.

  After an ‘intensive investigation’ it turned out all three were celebrating the end of their relationships.

  Seamus reported back after a third trip to the bar.

  “They were making a toast, ‘good riddance to bad rubbish’.” He looked back at the women and sighed. “Now if that isn’t a shameful waste of talent I don’t know what is.”

  “A sad, sad waste,” Cotton agreed. “Did you get their names by any chance?”

  Seamus had grinned and winked at the others.

  “And whose name did you have in mind, Eddie? Not the dusky skinned maiden by any chance?”

  Cotton flushed pink as the others had waited, grinning broadly.

  “Her or the redhead would suit me fine,” he’d laughed, “They both look stunning in those outfits.”

  “Well let’s grab the nettle, or take the bull by the horns, and ask them out.”

  Before Cotton could reply Seamus had got to his feet and was heading for their table. He’d followed a couple of paces behind.

  “Good evening pretty ladies,” Cotton cringed at his friends words, “My name is Seamus and this is my friend Eddie,” he’d pulled Cotton forward. “Can we buy you lovely ladies a drink? Snowball? Babycham? Small sherry?”

  The three women looked from Cotton to Doyle and burst out laughing. To Cottons dismay they began singing, ‘here we go, here we go, here we go.’ over and over.

  Doyle stood frowning before saying to no one in particular,

  “I must apologise for intruding into your obvious grief, and I hope you recover real soon.”

  With that both men headed for the door, not wanting to hear the sound of helpless laughter from their colleagues.

  He’d dreamt of her that night, wanting to see her again so much it hurt.

  Two nights later he’d been totally stunned to find her sitting at a table, in the Plucky Chicken, all by herself.

  Seamus saluted her on passing and he’d kept his head down as he passed her by.

  Careful Doyle”, Joe Parmiter had warned, as they’d joined him at the table. “That lady could eat you for breakfast.

  Doyle had grinned.

  “Well now, maybe she could, but couldn’t I just dream about what we were doing before breakfast?”

  They’d been laughing uproariously when Joe Parmiter stood up to go to the bar. He’d suddenly yelled,

  “Head up, Cotton, and grab your stick, your under attack.”

  To Cotton’s dismay they’d made a tactful withdrawal. Not too far away. They’d wanted to see the fireworks.

  Chapter Seven

  On Monday morning the front desk called to tell him that the officer from Ballymena had arrived and Cotton went down to greet him.

  “Seamus, great to see you again,” he said, vigorously shaking his friend’s out-stretched hand. “Come up to the office and tell me what this is all about.”

  “So tell me,” Cotton began, after having giving Seamus time for a wash and brush up, “It must be pretty important for the firm to send you over here. They wouldn’t let you do that on a hunch.”

  “You’re right, Eddie. They think this is either a very curious coincidence, or we might have ourselves a serial killer.”

  The coffee and sandwiches he’d ordered arrived at this point and Cotton sat trying to curb his impatience as he waited for the canteen assistant to put down the tray and leave.

  “Right, Seamus, you have my undivided attention so please satisfy my curiosity.”

  Cotton set down his mug of coffee and waited as Seamus opened his brief case and removed a manila file. He handed it to Cotton.

  “There now, read the report yourself and tell me if you don’t jump to the same conclusion.” Seamus picked up his mug of coffee and sat back as Cotton opened the file and began to read.

  He watched Cotton’s face as he read and actually saw his body jerk as he came to the part where the body was found.

  “Well now, what do you think my friend? Am I right or am I right?” Seamus grinned.

  “Oh I definitely think your right, Seamus,” replied Cotton, still staring at the file. Looking up he asked, “Do you really think we have a serial killer on our hands?”

  “Hard to say, at this point, I’ve only come across the three people on file, my case and your two women.” Seamus rose and refilled his mug with coffee before adding, “But who’s to say there aren’t more?”

  As he sat back down Cotton asked him, “Is this a current file or did you come across it by accident?”

  Seamus stared at his cup and sighed.

  “I’ve been following this case for some time, Eddie. Not that there’s much to follow. No new clues have come to our attention, but there again, there were no old clues to go on.” He grinned ruefully. “I don’t mind admitting, Eddie that we’re at a dead end with this one, and have been from the beginning. Other than assumptions and guesswork we’ve had nothing. That’s why I couldn’t believe it when you contacted me about your missing lodger. I remembered his name from this particular case. In fact I was jumping up and down on the office carpet when I saw it. I simply had to get across here to see you, toot-sweet.”

  Seeing the puzzled look on Cotton’s face he laughed. “Why don’t I begin at the beginning and see where we go from there. I’ll tell you what I know then we can compare notes.”

  In
between bites of the sandwiches provided Seamus told him about the Louisa Murphy case.

  Chapter Eight

  “We were called in when a neighbour became concerned. I say neighbour, but Murphy’s house was in the hills and stood in its own bit of land.

  The woman frequently drove passed the Murphy house on her way to the village. She’d met Murphy in church, they’d chatted, but not about personal stuff. She said Murphy was a beautiful young woman with a heart of gold and couldn’t believe anyone would want her dead.

  Her concerns were raised when she’d not seen Louisa for four weeks or more, so she went to her front door. It was the usual sort of thing, papers and bottles of milk piling up, and post sticking out of the letterbox. There was washing on the line that had trailed on the ground and looked very grubby.

  The local bobby, Michael Finnegan, was called in and he used a ladder that he’d found in the shed. Looking in the window he saw Murphy lying on the bed. She didn’t respond to his knocking on the window so he tried all the doors and the other windows. He called for backup before kicking open the front door.

  Myself, and two other officers were sent to the scene and what we found put Michael on the sick, and the three of us taking turns to throw up. I tell you Eddie, I still wake up in a cold sweat when I dream of that day.”

  Seamus, Cotton noticed, was looking more than a little pale at this point and that he swallowed hard before he continued.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it. Murphy was lying there like Sleeping Beauty. Flowing white gown, white shoes, white veil and a single, rather wilted, white lily placed under her folded hands. I’ll never forget lifting that veil, Eddie. It will haunt me for the rest of my life. It was no wonder Finnegan needed time out.” Seamus raised his head and looked Cotton straight in the eye. “I lifted that veil expecting to find the beautiful woman in the photograph that had been placed on the pillow beside her. What I found instead was a faceless corps. Whoever killed Murphy had taken all the skin from her face and had taken both her eyes out. We found them in a glass jar in the fridge. It was all so brutal and yet so spotlessly clean it made my skin crawl. Whoever was responsible had obviously taken their time and had enjoyed doing it.”