The Irish Connection

by Norma Hanton

  “Don’t tell me – she’s admitted to the murders?”

  “No, sir,” WPC Watson answered, “but she has run off with all the charity monies she collected in the last two months for the children.”

  “You’re not serious?” Cotton was astounded at the news. “How the hell did you get onto that one?”

  “You remember Mrs Cohen, from one of the jeweller’s shops?”

  Cotton nodded.

  “Well she was one of the people I called on in my quest to find out all I could about Miss Bell. I, like you, was sure she was hiding something.” Al Watson was grinning from ear to ear. “I never thought for a moment it would be theft of money. I had thought she might have cooked the books on her father’s business and was about to ask if we could call in the fraud squad to check out her business dealings, when Mrs Cohen asked me in for a cuppa.”

  “OK Watson, I’m all ears, what did she tell you?” Cotton waited, impatient and annoyed that he had missed something because of that woman.

  “She told me that, after our enquiries about Bell, she and a couple of other women had become suspicious and checked with the charity. That’s when they found out that the charity had not received last month’s money, not a penny, and certainly hadn‘t received the full amounts they‘d paid Bell over this last year. She asked me to find out what we could as to where their money had gone. I’m sure the fraud squad will find it went straight into Bells personal account.” Though Watson had little chest to puff out she was trying hard to do so.

  “Where is she now?” Cotton asked, reaching for the file on Bell.

  “Your guess is as good as mine, sir; I would say headed abroad somewhere. By the way, she seems to have tricked a lot of people, not just the ones we interviewed, Mrs Cohen’s mother and father for starters. She told them that all the monies would be banked and a cheque from Bells Properties would be sent to the charity as usual. They seem to have trusted her implicitly”

  “I bloody well knew that woman was up to something, I bloody knew it. Let’s get over there, pronto.” Cotton grabbed his coat but was stayed by Brooms hand.

  “Already been there, guv, the bird has flown. Bell sold up the day after inheriting the place. She had promised a company first refusal after her father’s death so the sale was settled in no time.” Broom chuckled. “I think the fraud boys will find she’s milked the company blind since her father’s stroke. Our little victim really got her own back, didn’t she?”

  “Don’t think this is the end of the case, Joe, I’ll hunt her down if it takes forever.”

  “Which it probably will, guv, because only one couple, the Cohen’s, are prepared to bring charges. The others say Bell had collected their money for ten years and this was the only year they had any problem.”

  “How many people are involved?”

  “All we have to go on is this notebook containing a list of names found at Bell’s home, it wasn’t even hidden, it was lying in the middle of the table,” Broom handed it to him and Cotton flicked through it.

  “How much money are we talking about, for God’s sake, a rough estimate will do.”

  “Thousands I would say, but who knows. There is no evidence until we can access her bank details and she could have moved money abroad for all we know, in readiness for her ‘retirement’.”

  “Watson, you seem on friendly terms with Mrs Cohen, ask her to make a list of the sums paid by herself and her family. Joe, you and I are going to see the new owner of Nathaniel’s mansion.”

  Cotton reached for his coat and paused.

  “I wonder,” he said, a smile spreading slowly over his mouth, “how much of the tenants rent monies didn’t make the books?” he laughed, “Clever girl, eh, one in the eye for Nathaniel.”

  Broom grinned, “But there again, guv, she’d only be stealing from herself, unless she knew the contents of the will beforehand.”

  “I think she was well aware of the wills content, Joe, and lined her pockets with thousands of pounds meant for Mathew’s inheritance. I know for a fact that old man would rub it in, day after day, who would inherit just to upset her.”

  “I bet Mathews will be happy when you tell him he’s been ripped off as well,” Broom gloated. “I can’t wait to see his face.”

  “Can’t I come with you, sir, I’m sure I could see the Cohen’s later? I’ll do it on my own time,” Watson pleaded. “After all, if it wasn’t for me….” her voice trailed off.

  “All right, Watson, lift your chin off the floor, and let’s go.”

  ----

  Mathews had hired a ‘butler’ of his own. A pink faced youth opened the front door before they’d had time to knock.

  “Now just what can I do for you?” he simpered, “the master is sitting down to supper and cannot be disturbed.”

  “Tell him Detective Inspector Cotton and Sergeant Broom has news of his inheritance. I’m sure he’ll want to see us,” Cotton watched the long lashes flutter in annoyance.

  “OK, I’ll tell him, but if it makes him cross don’t blame me,” the boy flounced away. Half way down the hall he stopped and entered a door on the right, the room that had once contained Nathaniel Bell’s deathbed.

  Broom and Cotton heard a whispered discourse then Mathews appeared. They were amazed to find him in shirt sleeves and casual trousers.

  “Inspector Cotton, I thought our paths would never cross again, yet here you are being a flaming nuisance as usual,” he scowled at them. “Now what’s all this rubbish about my inheritance? Has miss goody two shoes been whining in your ear? Well tough titty, it’s all mine now and totally legal.”

  “If we could come in for five minutes, Mr Mathews, we have found out something you may care to hear,” Brooms voice was firm and his gaze steady

  “All right, if you must, but mark my words this will be the very last time you will step over this threshold while I’m alive. Is that understood?”

  He stepped aside and they entered.

  To say Mathews was furious at the news was an understatement. The youth ran out of the room when he exploded with temper.

  “That bitch, that crafty, conniving, two faced, lying, bitch,” he screamed, sounding so feminine Broom almost smiled. “And what are you lot doing about it? Nothing I bet. She’s probably shagged the pair of you – together,” His ‘butler’ peeped around the door and was dismissed by a flying salt cellar. “I’ll have every police force in the country looking for her. I’ll find her, and believe me, I’ll have every penny that slag has stolen from her father and me before the month is out.”

  “If you have any idea where she is,” Cotton spoke through gritted teeth, “you’d be best to tell us now.”

  “If I knew where she was, Inspector, I would not be sitting here wasting time,” he seemed to be getting his emotions under control now and asked calmly, “Will you come and tell me the minute you find her? I won’t rest until you do.”

  Neither of the detectives answered, and the falsetto voice returned.

  “Get the hell out of my house. I’ll hire someone to hunt the bitch down and believe me it will be someone with no scruples.”

  He pushed them toward the front door, slapping their backs if they hesitated.

  “We’re leaving, sir, so please stop this behaviour or we’ll be forced to arrest you for assaulting police officers,” Cotton’s voice had a hard edge to it. He was sure that Mathews had been a party to the cruelty suffered by Ann Bell and her mother. He had probably been in the house when her mother fell to her death. He was equally as sure that Mathews had been one of Nathaniel’s play things in exchange for money.

  Once the front door slammed behind them he turned to Broom.

  “I want to know the name and, more importantly, the age of that young boy. Then I want a forensic team to go over Bell’s flat. Bring any paperwork you find back to the station. I’ll set up teams to cover the airports, railway stations, etc. I want Ann Bell in custody before that scumbag can get to her.”

  “Tickets ple
ase,” the ticket collector repeated.

  Ann had been gloating over her escape from England which had gone without a hitch. She turned to where a young man slept quietly next to her and smiled.

  “Tickets please, I have asked you for the last time, madam.”

  “So sorry, I was miles away,” she woke the sleeping man beside her.

  “Darling, tickets please, the man’s waiting.”

  Doctor Eduard Jackson Brown, junior, fished in his pocket and handed them over, asking the sour faced man if the buffet car were open yet.

  “Wi, Monsieur, for the last hour,” his lips curled as he handed the tickets back, “We are very prompt and efficient on this train.”

  He walked to the next seat and the happy pair smiled at each other.

  “Reminds me of father,” she giggled. “Oh! How I hope he can see me now.”

  “Let’s forget both your father and the ticket collector and go and eat, I’m starving.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. “Now can we go to that very efficient buffet car and eat before I starve to death?”

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Mandy met him at the hospital entrance.

  “Where’s James.” Cotton asked.

  “I left him with Mum and Dad,” she replied, smiling up at him, “I thought we could go for a meal, and then back to your place. Unless you have other ideas”

  “None whatsoever,” he kissed her brow, “Let’s go and see Seamus then the night is ours”.

  They entered the building arm in arm.

  “We believe,” Cotton began after a grateful Seamus welcomed them back, “that Angela killed Caroline and Dawn, with Heroin overdoses then, using the baby’s pram she’d bought at a junk shop to transport them, mutilated Caroline in the bathroom and placed her alongside Dawn on the bed. She bragged how clever she’d been buying the old pram, pretending she was about to become a grandmother. Then she cleaned up over the next couple of days and left.

  Unfortunately for her, Maria Hernandez saw Agatha coming down in the lift with the pram late one night. Agatha told her she’d borrowed it for Caroline to push her niece around in when she came for a holiday and was just collecting it to return it to her god-daughter.

  After the bodies were discovered Hernandez knew she was lying and stupidly tried to blackmail her. Agatha invited her in on pretence of counting out the blackmail money and killed Hernandez by simply gripping her tight and injecting her with Heroin. She kept her body in the freezer until she felt safe enough to take it out in her car and get rid of it.”

  “What an evil, sick bitch she is,” Mandy looked as pale as Seamus now and Cotton refused to continue until Seamus was back in bed and they’d all had a fresh cup of coffee.

  “So that poor innocent girl and her friend died simply because her mother loved George Mitchell?” Mandy asked.

  “I’m afraid so,” Cotton replied, “The moment she was asked about Caroline Angela went totally calm and said,‘He told me he never wanted children you know, and I believed him. He said that they would spoil our life together, that they would come between us. Well he’s got none now that’s for sure’.

  At this she began to laugh in a way that made your skin crawl and they had to take her back to the ward.”

  Seamus lay quiet for a moment before saying, “Well that’s the end of the mystery I can get some real sleep now and look forward to the future.”

  “We’ll leave you to your slumbers and, I hope, try to sort out our future – together.” Eddie looked at Mandy who smiled across at him.

  “You’ll have to wait a while for me to be your Best Man,” Seamus grinned, “So take your time, no rush, just get it sorted out before I’m out of here.”

  They looked at each other and laughed. “Now away with you while I get my strength back for the wedding.”

  They left him and walked to Cotton’s apartment in silence.

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © Norma Hanton, 2013

  Norma Hanton is hereby identified as author of this work in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  The book cover picture is copyright to Norma Hanton

  ISBN 978-1-78148-156-1 in epub format

  This book is published by

  Grosvenor House Publishing Ltd

  28-30 High Street, Guildford, Surrey, GU1 3EL. www.grosvenorhousepublishing.co.uk

  This book is sold subject to the conditions that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author’s or publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library

  Cover by Norma Hanton Book Design