The Irish Connection

by Norma Hanton

  “Out of your house and your life you bastard. I will make sure everyone knows what you did, everyone. You can get on and choke slowly to death. You’ll never see me again.”

  Before anyone could stop her she had crossed to the bed and ripping off her father’s mask she punched him in the face, twice. “That’s for the suffering you gave my mother, and this one is for the miserable life I’ve had to lead because of you. Die, you bastard - die.” She took another swing at him as Broom pulled her away. Pushing Broom away she turned and silently left the room.

  Cotton heard her start her car and drive away with tires sliding on the gravel drive. She was in no fit state to be driving after the shock of her father’s confession, but how could he stop her, he was in shock himself. What kind of animal was this man? How could a man treat his wife like that, it was a horrendous act of cruelty.

  Broom stood there like a zombie. He couldn’t believe what he’d heard. He’d written down the confession in his notebook and yet he didn’t know how he’d concentrated enough to do it. His hand was still shaking. He was totally against capital punishment, but in this case he was not so sure. If ever a man deserved hanging this man did. He was determined to find out the names of the other men involved with Nathaniel Bell and, if they were still alive, he would make it his business to bring them to book.

  “Can’t we arrest him guv, just for the hell of it?”

  “You know the answer to that, Sergeant, but I do understand how you feel. I could cheerfully go back in there and end his miserable life right now, but we can’t, he’s dying and won’t answer to anyone. Our job now is to find the killer of the two women, so let’s get on with it.” That was Cotton’s last word on the matter and they drove in silence back to Ellis Street.

  Chapter Fifteen

  WPC Alison Watson (or Al as she preferred to be called) was trying not to look conspicuous as she stood in the doorway of the antique shop. She’d had orders to follow Ann Bell when she left the office, find out where she went and who she saw on her day to day routine.

  Although he couldn’t quite believe she was capable of it, Ann Bell was now Cotton’s prime suspect for the murders. She might just have been seeking revenge for her mother and who would have blamed her.

  “The woman’s just a compulsive shopper,” Al mumbled to herself, “Although, when you have her kind of money I suppose it means nothing.”

  Her feet hurt and she was very hungry, but she still had another hour before PC Rogerson took over from her. She was beginning to wish she’d not volunteered for this job, but she was eager to gain a position as a detective and was always willing to learn about the job.

  Bell had left home, travelled by taxi to her office block and went straight in. She didn’t emerge again until twelve o’clock on the dot when she strolled up Front Street and down Market Street. Al had followed her to six different premises, but was puzzled by the fact that Bell didn’t seem to make any purchases. Her shoulder bag was large enough to hide any small items. Watson was also aware of how briefly Bell was in these shops. In and out in five minutes. Al, on the other hand, loved shopping, it was her favourite hobby. She could browse around for at least fifteen minutes even if she didn’t purchase anything and most, if not all, of her friends were the same.

  The last of Ann Bell’s calls took her to yet another jeweller, the third so far, and Watson timed her. It was a longer visit than the rest yet it still took only eight and a half minutes. Bell then walked back in the direction of her office at a brisker pace.

  Al was just about to follow her when a middle aged, well groomed, woman came out of the shop and stood staring at Bell’s retreating figure. She wiped her eyes with a delicate hankie and went back inside.

  “I followed Bell back to the office,” Watson reported back to DI Cotton, “She remained in the office until five o’clock, then she returned home and Rogerson took over from me,” at this Al waited.

  “That’s all, Watson. Well done. Go home and have a good sleep. I expect you back outside her home first thing in the morning. Goodnight.”

  Cotton sat at his desk trying to make sense of it. It was over ten months now and they’d nothing concrete to go on. Someone had been let into that flat, or had let themselves in and he was convinced Bell knew something about that.

  The biggest headache of all, of course, was where the women were killed? How were they moved onto the bed? It would have taken some strength to carry the bodies. Surely some noise must have been made, bumps in the night, dragging noises, something. Surely the tenant in the flat below had heard something? Someone had to have heard or seen something. They weren’t all deaf, surely? He’d get someone to look into Anna Woodward’s life, she had told them she was off to a fashion show in America yet he’d noticed her going into her apartment without bags or baggage. Well all he could do now was wait to see what the surveillance teams came up with. Bell’s father had been dropping hints that she was involved and, however much he detested the man, he couldn’t ignore the fact. Cotton switched off the desk light and went home.

  Two weeks later Cotton was getting decidedly edgy about the case. The thought of the murderer sitting there laughing at him was grating on his nerves. Ann Bell was a big thorn in his side. He got the feeling she was running rings round him. He’d convinced himself that she knew something about the deaths, but what? He didn’t know. She’d been very cocky yesterday and had given Watson the slip somehow. Watson had reported back to him last night in a hell of a mood.

  “I don’t understand it, sir. I was there all morning and nothing happened. She didn’t even go out for lunch as she usually does. Then at three fifteen I spotted her strolling back to her office as cool as you like. There has to be another exit from that building, sir.”

  After reassuring her it was not her fault DI Cotton decided he would have a look around the office block himself.

  Ann Bell was not having a good day. It was only one o’clock and so far she’d rowed with her secretary, which had ended in Miss Brown resigning, broken a nail opening her mail and spilt coffee on her office floor. While down on her knees mopping it up the telephone rang, her security officer informing her of a police officer asking to see what security was like at the back of the building.

  She grabbed at her coat and handbag, locked the office and went down to where Inspector Cotton was waiting for her at the porter’s desk.

  “Really, Detective Inspector, I’m losing patience with you. I’ve told you what you wanted to know and now you are presuming to inspect my security arrangements.”

  “I’m not presuming anything Miss Bell, this visit is purely about your safe keeping. You don’t seem to understand that you could be in danger yourself. Whoever did these murders, for all we know, could have you in mind as his next victim. I’m just doing my duty and making sure you’re safe at both home and work.” Cotton was almost sure she was grating her teeth yet her face looked calm enough.

  “Perhaps, after I’ve had a look around the building, we could discuss this over lunch, I know a smart little bistro just around the corner,” he said, giving her a bright smile.

  “I know the bistro you mean, Inspector,” she volunteered, seeming to relax a little. “Well, why not. I was just on my way for lunch anyway, and if you are offering to foot the bill, let’s go.”

  Bell headed towards the front entrance. Cotton gave a slight cough.

  “When we’ve finished our inspection surely?”

  Ann Bell turned back to instruct the security officer to do what was required of him then turned and went to the door, saying over her shoulder,

  “I’ll meet you at the bistro when you have done whatever it is you want to do, Inspector.” And then she left.

  The security guard did all that was asked of him enabling Cotton to discover that there was no way out of the rear of the building unless you had the required full set of keys. All in all it took four keys just to get outside and another two to unlock the high security gates before you could emerge onto the
lane that ran behind the building which then went both right and left. Choosing the right hand one, and leaving the guard to lock up after him, Cotton followed it into Market Street. It ran for two blocks before you could turn right and you were back onto Front Street. He would have the left turn checked out later as he was getting anxious to meet up with Bell in the bistro. He called back into the office block, before going to the bistro to thank the security officer for his help and to inform him he was finished his inspection - for now.

  Cotton found Bell sitting at a corner table finishing what look like a prawn salad on wholemeal bread. Her coffee cup was half empty so Cotton signalled the waiter for a refill for her and coffee for him with a ham salad sandwich.

  “I didn’t wait as I was not sure how long your inspection would take,” she began. “So how are my security arrangements, Inspector? I hope they were up to your exacting standards.”

  “They are excellent Miss Bell. No less than I’d expected.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  WPC Watson was not having much success with her new assignment.

  She’d tailed Bell for days now and, apart from that one incident, nothing else out of the ordinary had happened. As far as she could make out all Bell did was go to work and, apart from having lunch locally, went back home again. She was getting very bored with her job.

  It was becoming obvious that Bell knew she was being watched and was leading her up the garden path, so to speak.

  Then suddenly, one day, Bell spent the entire weekend going from one garden centre to another in a Bedford van. The van was deceptive in size because, to Alison’s eye, it held plenty. Bell had made purchases at all but one of the centres, only at two of these had she been in and out in minutes. It was as if the goods had been ordered and waiting for her to collect.

  “She must be entering Britain in Bloom,” Watson had quipped while making her report to DI Cotton. “I’ve been in a lot of these places, sir, I’m something of a gardener myself, and the plants Bell purchased can cost an arm and a leg.”

  “Did you check up where she got the van?” Cotton asked her, “and are you sure it was only plants she picked up?”

  Alison gave him a disappointed look.

  “Do you really think I’m just a novice at this sort of thing, or do you think of me as a total idiot, sir?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer but went on as if she were making a statement in court.

  “The van in question was hired from ‘Vans Inc.’ of Waverly Terrace. It was hired on Friday the thirteenth, sir, at three fifty five p.m. at the cost of five pounds for the weekend. Bell paid for it with a cheque, and had returned it at nine o’clock today. The registration number is…”

  Holding up his hands in mock submission Cotton laughed.

  “Alright Watson, that’s enough for now, put it all in your report. I think your suspicion that Bell is on to the fact she is being watched has to be considered, so I’m taking you off surveillance.” He could see the look of disappointment on her face and went quickly on. “Of course you’ll still be on the case we just have to keep you out of Bell’s sight for now. But you could earn yourself some brownie points by finding out what Anna Woodward is up to. She’s supposed to be away for six weeks, and she’s definitely not. Have a word with her. See what you can find out.”

  “Thank you sir,” her eyes shone, “You won’t regret it.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The telephone engineer working across the road from Ann Bell’s office caught her eye, but only for a second. She obviously had other things on her mind, and not what King was up to. She didn’t notice that when she left the building his mate came out from their tent-like hut and followed her. Nor did she take any notice of the pizza delivery van that had pulled up as she entered Abraham’s, the bespoke jewellers on Front Street. Then when she came out of the shop and headed towards Market Street she didn’t see DC John Blackwell enter the shop.

  Her next port of call was Coles Antiques on Main Street and when the two undercover officers entered the premises, (which clearly annoyed Bell) she left immediately, saying to the female assistant.

  “I’m afraid I can’t make up my mind, I’ll call again later.”

  John Blackwell had found himself none the wiser after leaving Abraham’s. He’d passed the time of day with the male assistant on the pretext of buying his wife an anniversary present. The ‘assistant’ turned out to be the owner. John then pretended he knew Ann Bells face but couldn’t remember her name. Mr Abraham had declined to give him her name.

  “If I gave out that sort of information I would have precious few customers left, sir.”

  “I’m sorry,” Blackwell had replied, “Of course you wouldn’t. How thoughtless of me. But doesn’t it drive you crazy when this sort of thing happens. I shall probably spend the rest of the day wondering who she is now.”

  Blackwell had hovered for a while, looking at this and that, and then purchased a rather neat little broach for his wife’s birthday and left

  Meanwhile Bell had left Coles and was walking back to the office watched by PC King, who was appreciating her easy, graceful stride. To his amazement a taxi came to a halt beside her and she jumped in and was gone before he could move a muscle. Stunned and, not a little, embarrassed, he thought of having to report the incident.

  Blackwell headed back to where King was waiting. He was amused at the effect the incident had, had on King and was just about to offer his condolences when King, with mouth hanging open, pointed to the taxi pulling up in front of the office block. Bell emerged from the cab looking rather pleased with herself. Broom noted that she didn’t appear to pay the driver and stepped into the building without a second glance. Looking at his watch Blackwell wrote down the time of Bell’s return and the taxi’s license number.

  They sat beside the workman’s hut drinking coffee, obtained from the nearby lentil and lettuce place, thinking Bell wouldn’t leave the building now until her usual home time. But how wrong can you be. Taking them completely by surprise, she emerged from the underground car park driving a black BMW, then headed in the opposite direction from her home and was out of sight before King and Blackwell could open the doors of their van. They drove after her, taking the same right hand turn as she had, but on turning the corner they found she could have taken a number of ways including the bridge over the river. Blackwell drove around for a while before giving up, phoning in, and returning to the station, where they stood with their heads down against the tirade aimed at them by Inspector Cotton. He was absolutely furious, accusing them of sitting in the hut drinking and playing cards, sloping off to the cafés or, and King was highly indignant of this, spending time in the Bookies.

  For the first time ever they witnessed Cotton losing his cool. He was beside himself with temper and ordered them to find her before the end of their shift or find themselves back on the beat by the beginning of their next one.

  When the red faced pair left his office Cotton immediately felt ashamed of his outburst. He knew he was letting this thing with Bell become an obsession. It was too personal with him now, but the thought of her laughing at them made his blood boil. Cotton knew he would have to make amends to the two, because, Christ Almighty, they had worked hard enough on the case. Meanwhile he would get Watson to wait outside Bell’s flat until she returned. He didn’t think Al would have long to wait as he felt sure that this and the taxi episode was Bell’s way of thumbing her nose at them.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Superintendent Mulhern sat back in his chair and put his hands on top of his aching head, as if to stop it erupting like a volcano. He was a very unhappy man. This never ending business with Mulberry Court was bad enough but, to top it off, his GP had told him his wife Mary had Alzheimer’s. Mary was regressing into her childhood. He’d arrived home yesterday to find her in the kitchen standing in a pool of mess trying to ‘bake Daddy a cake’. On other occasions he’d found her in the garden, in the pouring rain, because she ‘was lost and wa
iting for a policemen to come’. She was leaving gas taps turned on and unlit, and, once, she’d nearly stepped into a bath of scalding water fully clothed. Luckily their daughter Jane had been there to stop her.

  Now his beloved wife needed him desperately he had no choice but to consider early retirement. He didn’t want to retire yet, nor did he want his wife to be looked after by strangers. Mary had stuck by him through thick and thin and now it was his turn to give her the same care.

  Their daughter, Jane, had her own life to lead. Two beautiful sons and a job in advertising kept her very busy. He was not about to burden her with the care of her mother and he wouldn’t discuss the future of Mary with Jane, no; he would sort it out himself. With a huge sigh he reached for his pen as if to write out his resignation there and then, but a knock on the door stopped him.

  “Enter,” he bellowed, annoyed at the intrusion.

  “Sorry to disturb you, sir,” began Cotton, “but a man has phoned to tell us he’s found a body, in a boat, on the edge of the canal. I’m on my way there now. I think it could be our missing au pair. If it is we could have a serial killer on our hands. I’m also pretty sure that there is an Irish connection somewhere and, as we are blinkered by the lack of clues, and there could be more bodies, I’d like to begin at the beginning. So, with your permission, sir, I would like to go over to Ballymena and look at it from another angle.”

  “And, no doubt, spend time with Doyle testing out the local pubs. This is not a holiday agency, Cotton,” Cotton flinched at the ferocity of his tone, “Get yourself down to the canal and look for your bloody clues without flitting off to Ireland.”