by Norma Hanton
“I hope you’ve had better luck than me, Connie, those two in there have run rings around my interview with them. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going,” he laughed loudly, making her hush him.
“The only thing the woman in there notices is fashion and make –up,” she whispered, “but she did say that she’d noticed that Moorhead frequently wore a wig. She’d seen stray blonde hairs sticking out beneath the grey wig on two occasions. Nothing much, but better than nothing, I suppose.”
“Well I didn’t really know the woman, Sergeant, she passed the time of day after she moved in, but apart from a ‘good morning’ here and there that’s about it.”
Margaret Wilson leant over the pram in front of her and replaced the cover over the sleeping child.
“Mind you for the first week or so after she moved in I felt as if she was watching my every move. I remember mentioning it to Nigel and he said she’d been asking him about the other residents but he put it all down to her nervousness at living alone. Every single time I opened our front door hers opened. Every time I hung out the washing, she came out and spoke.” Margaret stopped and stared at Lucas, “No, not spoke – questioned. The woman asked me endless questions about the other residents.”
“What kind of questions, Mrs Wilson, can you remember?” Lucas enquired, leaning forward, watching as she screwed up her eyes in concentration. He was anxious and excited. Maybe this could be a breakthrough, something to break the deadlock.
“Once she asked if Mr Donovan – and his partner, mind you – had ever had children. I told her he was unmarried, as far as I knew. Then she asked if Anna Woodward in number three had a child – a girl?” Margaret frowned and looked at Lucas, “Do you know, now I’ve thought about it, the woman was obsessed by children, it never occurred to me at the time.” She touched the face of the sleeping child, fear showing on her face. “We’ll be leaving here, Sergeant, as quickly as possible. She could have taken my child.” Her voice rose higher, “That woman might have murdered my child.”
Lucas took her hand in his,
“Please try not to worry too much; we know she’s on the run and nowhere near here,” but he could see his words brought no comfort to the distraught woman.
“We’ll be out of here tonight, Sergeant; we can stay at my mothers. I will not put our sons life in jeopardy,” she rose to her feet, panic in her voice, “Will you stay and watch the pram until I find my handbag and car keys? Nigel can collect the other things later. I must go; you can see that, can’t you?”
Lucas nodded and stood with one hand on the pram as he watched her run into the building.
“Did you get a forwarding address, Sergeant, I’d like to call and see her myself. She may be a lot calmer at her mother’s house.”
“I did, guv, here.” He wrote it down on an envelope and handed it to Cotton.
“Number thirty one Avenue Road. Daft name isn’t it? It’s either one or the other, definitely not both.” Lucas pulled the car close to the curb. “Want me to wait here, or come with you?”
“Two pair of eyes might be better than one, so get your butt out of the car and follow my lead.” Cotton jested, and led the way up the path, his trousers raising an aromatic bouquet as they brushed against the lavender that had spread itself across the path.
On reaching the door Lucas pressed a finger to the doorbell. For a time he and Cotton looked aimlessly at each other then turned their heads to find themselves looking at Mrs Wilson and an elderly gentleman.
“How are you, Mrs Wilson, feeling better now?”
The question remained unanswered as they were admitted and shown to the sitting room. The gentleman seated himself in what was the most comfortable chair in the room and looked like a man that would not easily be budged. Margaret smiled at him,
“I’ll be fine, Dad, why don’t you put the kettle on and make us all a nice cup of tea?”
“If you’re sure you’ll be alright with them,” he prodded a thumb in the direction of the two policemen. Margaret Wilson smiled at him and nodded.
“I’ll be fine, Dad, I know both of them from the last time.”
“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me,” was his terse response.
“Ask your questions, Inspector, I have to go to work at three and Dad will want to watch the match then, so let’s get this over with.”
She showed none of the fear that Lucas had observed. The woman that sat in front of them was a calm, intelligent, relaxed and stress free.
“You told Sergeant Lucas here that Moorhead asked you a lot of questions about babies, but did she ask about anything else?”
Cotton waited in silence.
“She did ask about the usual things like transport, schools, shops, what time the bins were emptied, that sort of thing.” Margaret’s brow puckered as her father went to the assistance of her mother who was trying to lift the pram containing Wilson junior into the hallway. Then her eyes widened, she said softly, “She did once have a pram.”
Excitement thrilled through Cotton’s body, he struggled to keep his voice calm.
“When was this,” he asked.
“A while before the bodies were discovered, I would say a least a year. In fact, now I think of it, I actually saw it on two occasions, once going into number one and once in her front garden.”
“Did you ever see or hear a baby in the pram, or with Mrs Moorhead?” Cotton’s brain was churning. Why would an elderly woman need a pram?
But was she elderly? She could only be about forty odd for all they knew, and he must remember she was disguised.
“No, I never heard nor saw a child of any description with her.” Margaret shivered, “and I hope she never got her hands on one.”
“Did Moorhead ever go to the top floor of the building to your knowledge?”
“No. Not to my knowledge. No.” Margaret replied. “But Maria once said she’d seen her cleaning the landing area up there. I thought they’d employed her as a cleaner, she was obsessive about her front door, and the garden, you know.” Margaret smiled, “I often wonder how she was able to cope with all that mud when they dug out the pond in her garden. I bet she made them leave their boots outside when they used her toilet – if she ever let them in that is.”
Cotton rose to his feet completely catching Lucas off guard.
“You’ve been a great help, Mrs Wilson, and I’d like to talk to you again, if that’s alright,” he nudged Lucas forward, “my sergeant here will give you a call.”
“You can see yourselves out,” a voice from the doorway said, “the match is on in a minute.”
“We’ll do that, Mr Watson, sorry for the interruption.”
Cotton practically ran for the door.
“Come on, Sergeant, put the foot down.”
“What’s up, guv, were over the speed limited as it is,” Lucas could feel the excitement oozing from the Inspector.
“You can let the pedal hit the metal. She’s told me more than she thought, Sergeant Lucas, I know how Moorhead did it – I bloody well know.”
Chapter Twenty Four
Angela was just about to climb the stairs to put her coat on when Mr Mahal came in the front door.
“Good morning, Mrs Mason, have you had a good breakfast?” He enquired with strong accentuated English. “That always sets you up for the day. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes I certainly do. Mrs Mahal has fed me a delicious meal and I’m ready to face anything the day throws at me.” Angela hesitated, and then asked, “Mr Mahal, I was wondering if you knew anyone that I might approach to rent a flat. It would only be until I find a property to buy.”
He laughed. “Funny you should say that. I myself have a flat to let. The tenant is leaving on Saturday. The property is on Adelaide Terrace above a grocers shop. That’s just along the road a bit. You would like to see it first no doubt, but if you are interested I would be asking you for a bond of fifty pounds plus one month’s rent in advance. Would that be agreeable to you?”
“If the flat is suitable that would be no problem. Perhaps you could arrange for me to view it and book me in here for two more nights”
“Certainly! Certainly! No trouble at all. Enjoy your day out and leave it to me.”
Thanking Mr Mahal Angela went upstairs to collect her coat. She was smiling to herself when she left her room and literally bumped into Mrs Mahal on the landing.
“Oh! Don’t bother changing the bed Mrs Mahal; it will do me until Saturday.”
Mrs Mahal just stood and stared at her.
Angela did not to try and explain to the woman what had been decided,
“I’m just off to do some shopping. See you later.” Angela announced as she walked round the stationary woman and headed for the door.
“Bloody woman gives me the creeps” Mrs Mahal muttered on hearing the front door closing.
The buses were plentiful and it was just a short ride to the centre of Newcastle. Angela alighted outside the Grainger Market and strolled around it picking up useful items she would need for the flat on Saturday.
After a cup of coffee and a sandwich in Fenwicks department store she left to find a taxi. Outside one of the store entrances a vendor was selling local newspapers. She was shocked to the core to see her photograph on the front page. She hurried past, head down, found a taxi and gave the driver directions back to the B&B.
Going straight to her room, she was in no mood to come face to face with the silent landlady; she flung her purchases on to the bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, unsure whether or not to take the chance and stay until she got the flat, or to move on, Angela was close to tears.
“Of all the bloody luck,” she whispered. “They’re all against me.”
Jumping to her feet she threw some clothes into her haversack. Her purchases would have to be left behind, there was no way she could carry them. She wanted to scream, but held back. She would have to be very quiet when she left because she’d changed her wig for the grey one and was dressed like someone on a walking holiday, anorak and boots with thick woolly socks. Hopefully the hood of the anorak would hide her face.
Angela waited until she heard the sounds of pans and dishes being used to make the evening meal. Then she quietly descended the stairs and made her way to the station.
When Mrs Mahal went to call her lodger to dinner she found the room deserted save only for the kitchen utensils on the bed. A note advised her to keep the said items to pay for any monies owed. Shrugging her shoulders Mrs Mahal stuffed the note into her pocket and returned to her kitchen. She’d seen it all before. Some of course did not even bother to pay, others had taken sheets and towels and in one case, even the kettle and TV, but none had ever left her anything. She just hoped her husband was hungry as she had cooked for the three of them.
At that very moment her husband was taking delivery of his supplies of that night’s Evening Chronicle. He sorted the newspapers into piles for his paperboys to deliver, until finally the picture on the front page registered in his brain. He couldn’t believe what he read, dangerous woman, call the police right away, do not approach. That person was alone in his house with his wife. Fear gripped him. Leaving his amazed assistant to cope, he ran from the shop and drove home as if the devil were behind him.
When his wife told him the Mason woman had up and left he took her in his arms and, much to her surprise, hugged her tightly. It was only then that he called the police.
Chapter Twenty Five
Cotton decided not to telephone the Lumley’s to warn them that he was coming. He arrived on their doorstep as they sat down to tea.
Percy Lumley opened his front door to find the man he most wanted to kill standing on his step. Neither man spoke. Percy stepped to one side and allowed Cotton to enter the hallway. Still without a word he pointed to the hall chair and, turning his back on the visitor, went into the dining room. Both women looked up at him, the smiles leaving their faces when they saw the look on his. Mandy looked into her father’s eyes and knew who it was waiting outside. Percy put his arms around his daughter’s shoulders.
“If you want me to tell him to sling his hook, Angel, I’ll be more than happy to.”
Mandy shook her head and left the room. Her mother was prevented from following her by her husband saying quietly,
“This is between the two of them, love, there’s nothing we can do but be here for her when he leaves.” Percy was grating his teeth and silently swore if that man hurt his precious Mandy again he would swing for him.
Cotton and Mandy faced each other in the hallway.
“What do you want?” she asked.
There was silence as he studied her face. She looked ill. She was very white, her eyes red and swollen.
“Are you alright? You don’t look so good.” As the words passed his lips he regretted saying them. “I just meant you look ill,” he stuttered. “Sorry, can we start again?”
“OK. Hello, Inspector Cotton, what do you want?” Her coldness was not lost on him.
He sighed. “I came to see if you needed anything. If there was anything I could do?”
“No thank you, Inspector, I think you’ve done more than enough. Don’t you?” He could see the tears in her eyes. “Was that all?”
Cotton winced at her tone and felt very uncomfortable, but he asked her quietly, “Can I see him, or is that forbidden territory?”
Mandy stared at him for a moment then shrugging her shoulders said,
“Why not? You can see James, say hello and goodbye, and then walk away.”
Before he could answer she’d turned and went into the front room. She reappeared carrying a bundle wrapped in a soft, white blanket.
Standing directly in front of Cotton she lifted the blanket a little, and smiling down at the baby, whispered, “James, meet your father. The great and glorious Detective Inspector Cotton. The man that’s never wrong.” Then looking Cotton straight in the eye she gently pulled the blanket away and held James in front of him.
Cotton stood as if in a trance, his mouth hanging slackly open. Slowly, very slowly, he reached out and touched the child’s face. Suddenly he started to shake, his legs felt like rubber, tears filled his eyes as the hallway started to spin. Round and round it went. Cottons last thoughts were of the look of fear in Mandy’s eyes as she screamed for her father.
When he came to he was lying on the hall floor with a cushion under his head, a blanket covered him. He tried to get up but was firmly, maybe a little too firmly, pushed back down by Percy Lumley.
“Stay where you are. There’s an ambulance on the way. You gave yourself a nasty crack on the head when you fell,” there was a little hint of glee in Percy’s voice. “That knocked the cockiness out of you.”
When the ambulance arrived the crew checked Cotton over saying,
“You’ll be alright, sir, but we’ll take you to casualty and let them give you the once over. I think you might need a stitch in that cut but I’m sure that’s all. You been skipping meals?” he continued, as they helped him to his feet then sat him in their chair. “Never a good idea is it, sir?”
“Must have a thick skull, eh?” the driver joked.
“Oh! You can be sure of that,” said a white faced Mandy. “Can I go with him?”
“Of course you can, if that’s what you want, sir?” He raised an enquiring eyebrow at Cotton.
Cotton nodded his head and immediately regretted it. Bright stars chased even brighter moons in front of his eye. The driver caught him as he swayed. At that a stiff collar was fitted to his neck ‘just in case’ and away they went.
He was dismissed later that day, he and Mandy returning to her parent’s house by taxi. They’d hardly spoken. Cotton’s head was pounding, but when Mandy asked him if he was alright he replied, ‘Fine.’ A total lie of course, he felt like death warmed up, but what the hell. He’d remember to have something to eat at least once in the day in future.
After a bowl of soup provided by Mandy’s mother, he was offered the guest room for
the night. He was about to decline the offer when a look from Mandy stopped him. So the offer was accepted and, with pyjamas reluctantly supplied by Percy, he slipped between the crisp white sheets.
Cotton was awakened by loud, lusty crying. For a moment he was disorientated, and then he remembered. James was obviously in need of a feed or something. He lay listening to the sound of feet padding across the landing, then the crying subsiding and it was once again silent. He looked toward the window; the sun was just starting to rise. As he was drifting back to sleep the door to the room opened, someone entered and sat on the edge of the bed. Cotton rolled over to find Mandy sitting there. There was a determined look on her face. It was clear she was out for blood. He couldn’t find the words to describe how he felt, sorry, sickened or disgusted with himself. He knew he could never find a way to repair the damage he’d done. He’d lost them both now, he was sure of that.
“Well?” she asked in a voice tinged with ice.
“Mandy, I’m a stupid, ignorant, useless piece of shit. I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”
“You forgot to add arrogant, self-centred and totally wrong to your CV. I don’t think you did me, or yourself, any favours by suggesting that I would sleep with another man, on a one night stand at that, and then tell you that you were the father. You’ll never know how much you hurt me that night, never, but I survived it, thanks to my parents, and no one will ever get that close to me again. You were so sure of yourself weren’t you? I was a tramp and you weren’t the father and that was that, but I think you said it all when you passed out after seeing James.” she tittered. “When your head hit that onyx table, just for a second, I thought, oh yes! There is a God.”
She reached out a hand and touched his brow. “Doe’s it still hurt as much?”
“Only when I laugh, so I should be alright for a few years,” he whispered. Once again tears filled his eyes. “Oh! Mandy! He looks so much like me; it shocked me to the core. How could I have been so stupid? I’m so ashamed of myself.”
