Cutting the Cord Page 5

  Over in Dublin, at just around the same time, Elsie was taking her first steps on Irish soil. She inhaled deeply and smiled as she exhaled the Irish air from her lungs. Life just kept getting better for her, she thought. She was no longer a wife, a mother of four, an adulteress or even a murderer! Elsie Arnold or May Collins no longer existed to her. Now she was Joanie Allen. Mistress of a very wealthy business man. Kept woman. Lady of leisure. Oh, life was definitely getting better and better.

  At the end of the dark alley behind Betty’s Hairdressers in Blackpool, Freddy’s body lay slumped against the cold wall, lifeless. The blood that had oozed from his stab wounds had long since stopped. It had soaked into his clothes and congealed on the ground, like a dirty deep brown stain. The darkness of the alley and the night engulfed him. Freddy wouldn’t be found tonight. No one who cared knew he was dead.

  Way across town, Ruby Walters lay crying into her pillow. She’d really thought that this Freddy was the one. Really thought he’d felt the same way about her but, obviously, she had been wrong. Very wrong. She’d waited nearly an hour for him to show up at the tram stop opposite The Manchester. What a fool she had been. He’d never turned up and now she felt so alone. So unwanted. So ashamed. Ruby buried her face deeper into the pillow and began to scream out in anger at Freddy.

  Just before one in the morning, Derek woke with a jolt as his head slipped off the steering wheel. His tongue felt like sandpaper and his head was beginning to pound. He groped around in the confines of the car for the bottle of Scotch. He needed another drink. He quickly located the bottle down by his feet, only to find it empty. He threw it into the passenger seat footwell and looked at his wristwatch. It was almost one. Surely Elsie would have buggered off by now, he thought. He hoped there was plenty to drink back at the flat. He started up the Mini. Feeling a little groggy, he opened the window slightly to let in the cool night air. Then, putting the Mini in gear, he sped off back in the direction of the flat. It was only a short journey and the roads were deserted so within fifteen minutes Derek was parking up outside the hairdressers below the flat. He’d probably get either an earful off Betty, the salon owner, for nicking her parking space or a ticket for illegal parking come the morning. But, right now, all he wanted to do was to get in the flat and pour himself a very large Scotch. He practically fell out of the car and stumbled his way round to the back entrance of the salon and up the fire escape to the flat’s front door. In his drunken haze, he didn’t register that the door was unlocked or that the living room looked like a bomb had dropped. All Derek noticed was the full bottle of Scotch on the drinks trolley and the welcome sight of the comfy couch. He unscrewed the cap off the Scotch and took a long, hard swig then collapsed, bottle in hand onto the couch. Several healthy swigs later, Derek was back in the land of nod, totally unaware of the bloody knife lying on the bedroom floor. For now, Derek was blissfully drunk and blissfully unaware of the horrors to come.

  THE TWINS

  Saturday, 22nd August 1970

  By 8:30am on the Saturday morning, Peter and Paul Taylor were enjoying a hearty cooked breakfast in Cathy’s Café on the main drag of Blackpool seafront. Paul had driven them there at breakneck speed in his new MG sports car. Peter, although the definite muscle of the two, had hung onto to the edge of his seat as Paul had hurtled down the M6 motorway at speeds of up to a hundred miles an hour. Paul looked up at his twin brother.

  “That breakfast is starting to put some colour back in your cheeks, Pete,” Paul teased. Peter looked straight into Paul’s eyes and saw the mischief there.

  “There were times on that motorway I thought I’d never get to eat again,” quipped Peter. Paul started to laugh.

  “I was in complete control, Pete. Sterling Moss has got nothing on me,” he replied with the laughter still in his voice.

  “That well may be, Paul, but I’m not in such a hurry to meet my maker as you appear to be,” began Peter. “Now shut up laughing and finish your grub. I’m here to have me a good time.”

  “Me too, Pete, me too,” replied Paul. They finished the rest of their breakfast in silence, promptly paid the bill, then headed off to meet Freddy at the B&B he’d booked them into.

  Mrs Davidson hurried to answer the front door of her B&B. Saturdays were always the busiest day. Current guests dragging their feet to check out and new guests hurrying to check in. It was as if the rules of 10am check out and 2pm check in did not exist. The front doorbell sounded again just as her hand reached out to open the door. Mrs Davidson wasn’t in a very good mood this morning and the bell ringing in her ear had done nothing to ease her mood at all. She yanked opened the door and immediately yelled at the two young men on her doorstep.

  “We have NO VACANCIES and booked rooms are not available until 2pm.” With that she went to shut the door, but Peter quickly wedged his foot in the doorway. This only blackened Mrs Davidson’s mood even more.

  “Take your foot out of my doorway and then kindly remove both of your persons off my property before I call the police,” she shouted at them. Peter stood his ground and, keeping his temper in check, began to speak.

  “We’re here to meet up with Freddy Arnold. He’s a guest of yours. Been here since Thursday. Booked an extra room for tonight, for me brother and me. We’re Paul and Peter Taylor.” Mrs Davidson immediately stepped back and opened the door wide.

  “You best come in. We need to talk.” She said. The twins entered the hallway. The landlady closed the door behind them and led them into the visitors’ lounge on the left and asked them to take a seat. They did as they were asked. Both now curious as to what was going on. Mrs Davidson sat down on a chair opposite the twins. She stared at them silently for a few minutes before she eventually spoke.

  “I’d like to apologise for my outburst on your arrival. Saturdays are always a bit fraught. But yesterday’s events played heavily on my mind and this morning has brought me no comfort.” She paused to take a breath before continuing. “Your friend Freddy has left me concerned for his well-being.”

  “What?” exclaimed Paul and Peter at the same time.

  “Freddy arrived Thursday as you said,” continued Mrs Davidson. “I found him to be very polite and he abided by the strict set of rules I ask all my guests to adhere to. He arrived early for both his evening meal Thursday and his breakfast yesterday morning. We chatted a little in the dining room as I cleared away the breakfast things. Before he left for the day, he asked what culinary delights I was serving that evening. I told him, as it was Friday, it would be a nice piece of fish served with new potatoes, veg and parsley sauce. His favourite, he informed me, then he was gone, waving a cheery goodbye as he left.” Mrs Davidson reached into her apron pocket and retrieved a handkerchief. She wiped her nose and replaced it where it had come from. The twins eagerly waited for her continue with her story.

  “Well, the evening meal came and went. But there was no sign of Freddy. I found this very odd after our conversation at breakfast time, but Blackpool has a way of making people lose track of time, so I assumed that was what had happened to Freddy. I close the door here at 11pm sharp. There’s no need for decent folk to be out after that. I noticed Freddy’s room key was still on the hook in reception as I locked up for the evening. I then decided to check on the room he was staying in. I knocked a couple of times on the door and when I didn’t get a reply I let myself in. The room was as it had been left by the maids earlier in the day. With a heavy heart, I retired to my quarters. I spent a restless night worrying about this polite young man. I have a bad feeling about why he’s never returned and you two turning up expecting to meet him here as only heightened that feeling.” Paul and Peter were now both worried about Freddy. If what this landlady was saying was true, it was just so out of character for Freddy. He was a stickler for timekeeping. He was never late for anything and he most certainly wouldn’t have stopped out all night! Unlike themselves, who would have thought nothing of pulling a bird an
d bunking down with her for the night. Freddy just wasn’t like that. It was Paul who spoke first.

  “Mrs Davidson did Freddy mention any names or places to you?” she just shook her head. She clearly had picked up on their own concerns.

  “Freddy rang us yesterday morning at home. We’d left for work, but he left a message with our mum. He’d said to let us know that he’d found his mum and he’d be seeing her later today and to tell us he had a date with Ruby that evening.”

  “He found his mum: whatever does that mean?” enquired Mrs Davidson.

  “It’s a long story, Mrs Davidson, but can you phone the police and ask them to meet us at the flat above the hairdressers on the corner of Windsor Street please?” The twins rose and headed for the B&B’s front door. Mrs Davidson came after them.

  “Ring the police?”

  “YES!” shouted Peter a little too loudly. “Sorry, but we think Freddy may be in a spot of bother and best go there ready armed, in case of any trouble.” The twins practically flew out of the front door. Across the road, parked up, was Freddy’s car. The twins quickly crossed over and peered inside. No sleeping Freddy. Not that for one minute they thought he would be, but they had hoped against hope.

  Remembering the telephone conversation they had had with Freddy on the Thursday evening when he had relayed the day’s events to them, they managed to navigate their way to Windsor Street. The hairdressers below the flat Elsie was renting was already a hive of activity. Paul and Peter walked passed the salon window and turned the corner and made for the rear entrance to the flat above. They cautiously entered the rear alleyway and made their way to the back gate of the hairdressers. Although it was fast approaching ten o’clock on a bright sunny morning the alley seemed cold and uninviting. The twins stopped outside the open gate and strained their eyes to see down to the bottom of the alleyway. A gust of wind separated the overgrown shrubbery at the end of the alleyway, allowing a ray of sunlight to make its way through, only to bounce off a shiny surface then disappear from view once again. But the glint of reflected light had not gone unnoticed by Peter. There was something or someone down the end of the alleyway and he was going to face whatever it was head-on. Paul waited patiently by the open gate, ready to back up his brother if need be. Peter slowly edged down the alleyway. It felt almost like dusk down here. Then the wind got up again and for a split second the end of the alleyway was bathed in the warm sunlight.

  Peter screamed out, “FREDDY, FREDDY,” as he ran to where he’d seen his best friend slumped against the wall. He threw himself to his knees alongside Freddy and instantly sensed his lifelong friend was dead. He let out a gut-wrenching scream that brought Paul hurrying to his side. He too fell to his knees at the sight of poor dead Freddy. Then, like two lost infants, they cradled each other and sobbed their hearts out.

  Derek was woken from his drunken reverie by a couple of policemen yanking him to his feet. His head was pounding and the entire flat seem to be a blur of police uniforms, swaying in and out of focus. He tried to make sense of it all, but the Scotch had scrambled his brain and his stomach was busy doing somersaults.

  “In here,” called out a strange voice from the bedroom. He tried once again to focus, to get his brain to work, but this time his somersaulting stomach won out. He threw up all over the policeman to his right. Both coppers quickly released him, cursing at him as he fell back onto the couch. Derek hung his head between his legs and threw up again. He stayed like that. Sitting on the edge of the couch with his head between his legs. A pair of shiny brown brogues appeared in his line of vision. He kept his head down. Sitting like this helped. The fog slowly began to clear.

  “Somebody get this piece of scum some black coffee. I want him sobered up, cuffed and locked up in a cell by lunchtime, do you all hear?” roared out Detective Inspector Jack Wilde. A chorus of “yes, sir” rang out around the flat.

  “We also need to locate Mrs Elsie Arnold. Better known round these parts as May Collins. I want to know all there is to know about Derek here and his absent partner. I want to know all their movements since the time the deceased arrived here in Blackpool. I want no stone left unturned, do you hear?”

  “Yes, sir” they all chorused once again. Inspector Jack Wilde had a gut feeling that all was not as it seemed here. Somethings just weren’t adding up. Hopefully they’d find this Elsie and then everything would come together. But, for now, he no option but to arrest Derek Collins for the murder of Frederick Arnold.

  “Can someone arrange for the victim’s father, Harry Arnold, to be informed and transported up here, please? I’d like to interview him myself.”

  “I’ll get right on it, sir,” said PC Jones. DI Jack Wilde thanked the PC then took a stroll out of the flat and down into the back yard. The sight of that poor young lad dead in the alleyway had really struck a nerve with him. His own son, Trevor, would be turning sixteen in a few weeks. This lad was only a few years older. Such a waste of life. He vowed there and then in that small cobbled backyard that he wouldn’t rest until Freddy and his family had justice. And he didn’t entirely believe that the blame lay with Derek!

  HARRY & JACK

  As soon as the two men climbed out of their car and crossed the garage forecourt towards Harry, he knew they were cops. He picked up an oily rag off the workbench and began to wipe the oil from his hands with it.

  “Mr Arnold? Mr Harry Arnold?” asked the taller of the two plain clothes policemen.

  “That’s me,” began Harry. “What can I do for you?” The shorter of the men spoke this time.

  “I’m Detective Inspector Mike Jarvis and my colleague here is PC Alan Beddows. We’d like a quiet word with you in private, if you don’t mind. Perhaps in your office, Mr Arnold?”

  “What’s this all about? I’m a busy man, Inspector.”

  DI Jarvis butted in. “It’s about your son Freddy,” he began.

  “Let me stop you right there,” started Harry. “Freddy’s in Manchester, seeing a lady friend, has been since Thursday, so don’t be thinking you can go accusing him of stuff. I’m first to admit he went a bit of the rails for a short time after his mum left but he’s back to the good lad he always was now.”

  “I really think we should talk in private, Mr Arnold. I understand your concerns, but I can assure you we are not here to frame your son up for anything.” Harry looked right into the eyes of the DI. There appeared to be some hint of sadness in them. Harry suddenly had a feeling that these two policemen were about to rock his world once again. Without saying a word, he walked off to his office.

  PC Beddows was the last to enter and he silently closed the door behind him. Harry was now seated behind his desk and DI Jarvis was seated opposite him. DI Mike Jarvis took a deep breath. He hated this part of the job. He knew Harry Arnold had been through the wringer over the past few months and now he was about to land an even bigger blow to this poor man.

  “I’m sorry to have to inform you of this, Harry, but I’m here to let you know that your son Freddy has been found murdered in Blackpool.” Suddenly Harry to laugh.

  “I think you’ll find you’re mistaken,” began Harry. “I’ve already told you. Freddy’s in Manchester has been since Thursday seeing a bird. You’ve got the wrong bloke.”

  “I wish I could say that was true, Harry, but I’m afraid your son has already been formally identified by both the Taylor twins. It was them who found the body.” Harry jumped to his feet, banging his fists down on the desk.

  “The Taylor twins? What the fuck is going on here? Freddy told me he was going to Manchester to meet up with a girl called May he’d met a few weeks back on a trip to Rhyl with those fucking good-for-nothing twins.” He slumped back down into his chair. Did he really know his son anymore? DI Jarvis let the outburst go and waited for a few minutes before he spoke again.

  “It seems Freddy had a tip-off from some friend of your daughter, Anne, that your wife Els
ie was living and working in Blackpool. She was going under the name of May Collins and was working at The Manchester pub. Freddy had gone up to confront her. The twins had wanted to go with him, but he refused their offer but had agreed for them to join him there this morning. He had telephoned twice while he was there. Once on the Thursday evening to let them know he’d located his mum and to give them the name and address of the B&B he was staying in and that of his mum’s. He rang again Friday morning and left a message with their mum. He said he was going to talk to his mum that afternoon and then he had a date in the evening with a young girl called Ruby. He went on to say he’d meet them the next morning at the B&B.” DI Jarvis paused to let Harry take in what he was saying.

  “The twins travelled up to Blackpool early this morning. When they arrived at the B&B, the landlady, a Mrs Davidson, said she was worried about the young man as she hadn’t seen him since he’d left after breakfast on the Friday morning. The twins told her to ring the police and get them to meet them at the address they gave her. Paul and Peter Taylor then ran round to the flat Elsie was renting. They found Freddy’s body slumped up against a wall at the end of the alleyway that led to the flat’s entrance.” DI Mike Jarvis stopped talking again. Harry Arnold had silent tears rolling down his cheeks and they were landing on a car parts catalogue left open on the desk before him. With his head bent, he looked like a defeated man. DI Jarvis had no desire to add to this man’s misery, but he still need to finish what he had to say.