by Norma Hanton
“And there was nothing found at the scene, nothing at all?” Cotton asked, but he knew the answer of course, from the file; he just wanted to give Seamus a moment to get himself together.
“Nothing whatsoever,” Seamus replied, visibly shaken. “Not a single clue. Nothing stolen as far as we could tell and we’ve never discovered a husband or boyfriend. All we found out about Murphy was what the nearest neighbour told us. The post mortem showed she’d been delivered of a child some time in her life. They thought it might have been a few years prior to her death. There were no signs of anyone else living in the same house. Like your two bodies Murphy had been given a knockout dose of Morphine but had died of a massive Heroin overdose before mutilation took place. The house had been scrubbed from top to bottom, including drains, and all clothing had been freshly laundered and, believe it or not, freshly ironed, laid in neat piles on the sofa.”
“What’s happened since, Seamus?” Cotton asked. “Is there no new information relating to it?”
“There’s none, my friend, absolutely none whatsoever. As you can imagine I’ve never forgotten it. I’ve always felt guilty of not helping Murphy by bringing her murderer to justice, so now you know why your call had me scurrying over here. I really hope between us we can find the bastard that did it, I really do.”
“Did the press release throw nothing up?” Cotton enquired, “Surely you must have gleaned something from it.”
“A woman called to say she had information about the woman. Turned out she was the landlady, Mrs Cornhill, of your missing friend Patrick Michael Donovan. She lived in the flat below Donovan and she said she’d seen him with Murphy on numerous occasions. They were, however, never alone at these meetings. There was a second man who the informant said looked a lot older than Murphy and Donovan and yet, the landlady swears, it was her impression that Murphy was ‘having a thing’ with the older man and not Donovan. She told us that the girl would turn up first but Donovan would stay in the flat only a few minutes after the other man arrived and then he would be gone about three or four hours. Mrs Cornhill went on to say if the woman had been on the game and other men had been seen going in and out she would have thrown Donovan out on his ear. She said she was certain Donovan was just helping out the couple by providing them with a little love nest from time to time and where was the harm in that.
She was sure that the man Murphy was seeing was married, hence the erratic times. She knew all about these wicked husbands did Mrs Cornhill.” Seamus laughed, “She even gave us a description of the man. Unfortunately it could have been any man in Ireland, average height, medium build, mousy brown hair, going grey at the sideburns and a slight pot belly. There had been no cars, no suitcases, and no other callers, except the local priest.
Only three sets of prints were found at the flat, Murphy’s, Donovan’s and the mystery caller. No personal belongings, apart from Murphy’s hairbrush, were found. The third set of prints has never been matched.
Then, Murphy stopped calling and shortly afterward Patrick Donovan disappeared without a trace.” Seamus paused at this point and going to the flask on the table he drained the last dregs of coffee from it.
Cotton picked up the phone on his desk and ordered more. It was going to be a long day.
“And was that the only information you came by, Seamus?”
“No. A woman called into her local nick and asked to see the photograph of the murdered woman as she was sure it was her niece.” He handed Cotton another file. “This is the transcript of the interview with the woman, Eileen Docherty.”
As Cotton sat reading the papers in front of him Seamus tucked into the fresh coffee that had arrived.
According to the transcript Docherty had indeed been Murphy’s aunt, but she’d not seen Murphy for years. In fact not since Murphy turned ten years old. Docherty informed them that Murphy’s mother had died giving birth to her and so she, the aunt, had been housekeeper cum baby sitter for her brother, Murphy’s father. The father had never remarried.
When Murphy was ten years of age the aunt had married and moved away from the area with her new husband, because of the lack of employment opportunities in the district. She’d gone on to say that she’d lost contact with Murphy when her brother died. She’d not attended the funeral because of money problems and so was unaware of her niece’s plans afterwards, though she had written to Louisa telling her there was always a home with them should she wish it. She said she’d only recognised Murphy in the photograph because she looked like her sister.
The photographs she’d brought with her showed a girl of ten enjoying a day at the seaside. The girl certainly had Murphy’s features and her fair hair, but the clincher was the birth mark on the child’s leg which was clearly visible on the photograph. It matched the mark on Murphy’s thigh.
A second report revealed that in Murphy’s house there had been no trace of a man, or another woman, living there. Everything in the house seemed to belong to Murphy herself.
As in the case of Cotton’s two women, there were no bills, letters, diaries or birthday cards even though Murphy had died the day before her birthday. They checked banks and found there was no mortgage on the house; it had been bequeathed to her by her father. They did find a current account in her name but the amount of money in it was in keeping with her full time job in the local bakery. She also, on her half day off, worked odd hours at the charity shop and seemed to be well liked by everyone they spoke to, including the local priest. He’d told them that Murphy had attended church regularly, alone, had helped with cleaning and flower arranging in the church, and for a while had looked after a baby. The priest had thought it to be her own but Murphy had denied this saying it was a relative child’s. The birth mother had been too young to marry the father and, being unable to look after the child, had asked Murphy to keep her long enough for the true parents to marry.
She’d lived in the house for most of her life, so the neighbour told them; there had been a child in the house for a few years but then it had disappeared. The search uncovered nothing about the child. The neighbour was told that the girl had been a guest in the house and had since returned to her own home. The girl, she reckoned, would be about eighteen to twenty five by now.
“Well! It definitely sounds like there might be a connection, Seamus,” Cotton got up and began to pace the office floor. “We know the names of the two women from the estate manager. The only thing I haven’t looked into yet is the owner of the property. How would you like to come with me and have a chat with her now? I’ll fill you in about her on the way.”
“I’d like nothing better. Let’s go.”
By the time they arrived at the office block of Bell Property Developers Seamus had been informed, by Cotton, of how they had come to the conclusion that the owner, Miss Ann Bell, very rarely visited the apartments.
“The only time the tenants had met her was when they signed their leases.” Cotton told him, “Only the au pair, employed by Mrs Margaret Wilson in apartment two, had ever seen her in the apartment block, coming down from the third floor where a workman was repairing a light switch. But that had been eighteen months ago at least. Bell had just nodded her head, smiled and left. Let’s see what Bell has to tell us, if anything” Cotton led the way into the reception area.
The efficient looking secretary picked up her pen and notebook. Cotton tried to keep his eyes averted from the unbridled breasts peeking out from the secretary’s low cut blouse. Miss Brown stood up and, without a word, pushed open the large door behind her desk and went in.
“Think they’ve been expecting you, Eddie?” Seamus asked in a whisper.
The three men sat down on the plush, purple covered chairs and waited. They sat in silence looking around at the amazing purple, silver and lilac décor. Cotton was amused at the walls painted in horizontal strips of the three colours.
“A bit over the top” he said in a low voice, as he eyed the chrome tubular tables with glass tops, covered with the more select of
magazines, which stood next to purple upholstered armchairs on which they sat.
“This is a typical female concept of décor” Cotton whispered, now pointing in the direction of the windows covered by chrome, Venetian blinds, then to the lilac carpet with pile deep enough to hunt big game in.
Miss Brown returned and, holding open the door to the inner office, announced that Miss Bell would see them now.
Cotton was not prepared for what he saw on entering the inner office. Unlike the bright, colourful, modern outer space, this was like taking a step back in time. Oak panelled walls, floor to ceiling bookcases, brass lamps and an enormous oak desk which had been placed in perfect alignment with the floorboards. The chairs were all straight backed and comfortless, but in perfect alignment, like the desk, with the floorboards, all that was except the huge, winged back, leather chair which stood behind the desk. Everything in the room was in perfect symmetry. Not a speck of dust or a paper out of place to mar the perfection. The room reflected the polished look of its occupant, Miss Ann Bell, who had just risen from the winged backed chair.
An unusually tall, blonde haired, slender limbed, woman, of thirty-something, dressed in a smart navy blue suit, watched them enter. The snowy whiteness of her blouse framed her beautifully delicate features. All three men stared at her as they were waved toward the three straight- backed chairs. She settled back into the red leather chair then sat with her head nestled into its wing, thus slightly annoying DI Cotton who could no longer see her face clearly.
Sergeant Broom opened his notebook and with pencil poised, tried to watch her body language, he was a great believer in body language, especially ones as good as this lady.
“I must apologise for this intrusion,” began Cotton, “It’s regrettable, but unavoidable.”
She didn’t reply but sat waiting for him to continue.
“May I first of all offer my condolences on the death of your friends, but regrettably this is a murder enquiry. I’m sure you’ll understand. I’m here to ask you a few questions about them.”
Without moving a muscle, Miss Bell told him,
“They were not ‘friends’, they were merely ‘tenants’. I am not given to hysterics and I am quite ready to answer any of your questions, Detective Inspector Cotton, so please carry on,” she leant forward and gave Cotton a cold, hard stare, “I can only give you a few minutes as I have to return home to see my father who is very ill.” She added, “No, not ill, that’s not quite correct. What I should have said is, he’s dying.” Folding her hands on her lap she sat waiting.
Inspector Doyle moved his chair out of the direct sunlight coming in the window behind the desk and so was in a better position to watch her face. He thought she seemed totally relaxed and in control.
“I was surprised to find you’d made no attempt to visit me, Miss Bell. You must have been informed by your agency, or seen it in the news, about the murders?” Cotton raised an eyebrow, she didn’t answer. “Weren’t you even a little curious to find out what had or was going to happen? After all, we are given to understand that you were their landlady.”
“I have a business to run and people who rely on me for their wages,” Bell told him, “Not to mention a sick father. I would hate to let them all down just because of something I have no control over.”
“Do you know of anyone who would want to harm either of the two women?” he asked, “anyone at all?”
“I wouldn’t know of any enemies, Inspector, because I know nothing whatsoever about any of the tenants. I do not involve myself in the tenant’s affairs. I was informed by my staff about the killings, but saw no need to contact the police. I knew you would be calling on me, given time. I also knew you had been told their names.” She waited for their confirming nod. “I’d also told my staff to co-operate in any way they could to assist you with your enquiries. I did not see what else I could do. I had, on hearing the news, come to the conclusion that one had killed the other and then herself. I don’t know what they did for a living or who their relatives are. As I said, Detective Inspector Cotton, I was unacquainted with the two women, but believe me I do know what lengths some people will go to when roused with jealousy, greed, envy, money, hate? Yes hate. An ugly word don’t you think? As I see it, hate is the root of all evil.”
“Have you ever been in a situation where you have been roused enough to contemplate murder, Miss Bell?”
At this point she stood up and walked over to the door and held it open. “As I told you Inspector, I have an important appointment and, as you seem to have run out of sensible questions, I will ask you to leave. I have nothing further to add.”
They stood up and walked over to the door.
“May I suggest, Miss Bell, that you ask Miss Brown to make me another appointment? I will be back. I still have a lot of questions needing answers?”
Ann Bell, as Broom put it later, gave Cotton a look that said someone had better cover their wedding tackle, as she took her coat from the peg.
“What did you make of her Seamus?” Cotton asked. They’d stopped on the way from Bell’s office for a pint and a meal at the Rose and Crown. “Why would she think Peters would kill Johnston and then herself? Just because she was jealous of the other girls looks? I don’t believe that for a minute. They were both beautiful women and, judging by the comments of the other tenants, they’d obviously been friends for years, so why now. Somehow I can’t see her cutting up her friends face like that, however jealous she was.
Whoever did this planned it all very carefully and spent a long time on Johnston’s face and an even longer time cleaning up the mess. No! Believe me Seamus, this doesn’t feel right. Something about this smells and I don’t mean Bell’s Chanel.”
“I agree with you there, sir,” Sergeant Broom interjected, “there’s something odd there alright. That Miss Bell’s a strange one for a start. Cold as ice, it seemed to me. She doesn’t seem at all upset about her father, or the deaths of the two women. She seemed to want to push the suicide idea though. Why would Peters want to murder Johnston? They both seem to have lived well and had everything going for them, looks, money, freedom.” Broom looked at Cotton, “I did wonder, guv, if they might have been having a lesbian relationship.”
“We might find out one day Broom. In the meantime, try to discover any clues about who their doctors were. That way we can find out about any medical or mental problems they might have had, anything that might have driven one of them over the edge. Anything at all”
On their arrival, back at Ellis Street, Broom was handed a card. He read it then gave a soft whistle.
“Look at this, sir. It’s Bell’s solicitor. Now he is what you might call ‘top of the range’. She’s certainly wasted no time in contacting him, has she? Apparently, he’s been here demanding to see the Super and reading the riot act, police harassment of his client etc. The usual shite”
Broom handed the burgundy card to Cotton. It read, I Hampton - Solicitor.
“Pretty odd behaviour at this stage of the enquiry don’t you think?” Broom asked, “We were only asking her routine questions about the murdered girls, so why is she so jumpy? Why does she feel the need to call in the heavy mob? All we really asked her was to verify the names of the dead women.”
“It’s odd alright, Joe, because I know this man. This man’s a right bastard. Loves having a go at the police, and certainly loves the money he gets from most of his rich clientele,” he smiled at Broom. “Well, let’s see what the lady’s getting so excited about. Run her particulars through the files and see what they come up with. Then find out what you can about that company of hers, Bell Property Developers. At the same time find out all you can about her relationship with the two deceased women, or anyone else for that matter.” Then as Broom started to leave the room he added, “And I want whatever was used to skin Johnston’s face found, and anyone who knew either of the deceased, brought in for questioning again, including all those deaf and blind tenants of hers. Let’s get this show on the
road.”
Chapter Nine
The following day Cotton decided to have another word with the owner of Mulberry Court. He’d take Seamus along as a witness. Just to make sure he didn’t upset Hampton again and get accused of ‘harassing’ his client.
His visit was not unexpected this time as Cotton had telephoned ahead to confirm that Ann Bell was in her office. He’d simply told the secretary that he was on his way and he would be with them in ten minutes. He hung up without waiting until she put the call through.
Ann Bell was not amused at his ploy. On arriving at her office, Cotton was told she had contacted her solicitor who would be joining them shortly.
“I want to have a witness to your arrogant behaviour, Mr Cotton, and I will not say one word until he gets here, is that understood.”
“This is all totally unnecessary, Miss Bell. You have, of course, every right to have your solicitor present but, I think you’ll find that we have the right to make routine enquiries following a murder and that all this is, simply routine.
Remember, Miss Bell, the quicker we find who did this the sooner you can have your property back, and your privacy. I thought you‘d be as anxious as we are to get to the bottom of it.” Cotton kept his eyes fixed on her face and saw it relax a little. “We are not trying to upset you, we are simply trying to do our job the best way we can. However, if you still wish to have your solicitor present we are willing to sit here and wait on his arrival.”
“I know you think I‘m trying to avoid your questions, Inspector, but I can assure you I’m not. I’ve told you all I know and therefore see this as a pure waste of time. I have a lot on my mind at the moment with my father being so ill, but, if it will make you happy, you may proceed and ask me whatever you like. If I’ve already answered that particular question I will not answer it again.” Ann Bell sat back and waited.
