Cutting the Cord Page 6

  “On their arrival at the flat, the police found Derek Collins passed out on the couch. There’d obviously been some altercation in the living room as it was turned upside down. On further inspection of the flat a flick knife with DC etched into the handle was recovered in the bedroom. It had blood all over it. The room had been ransacked but there was no sign of your wife Elsie Arnold. We’re still trying to track down her whereabouts. Derek Collins has been arrested for the murder of your son Harry. A Detective Inspector Jack Wilde has requested that we come here to inform you of this tragedy and asked that we accompany you up to Blackpool, where he’d like to talk to you about matters leading up to this event.” Harry looked up at the DI. The tears still blurred his vision, but he had heard every last word that had been spoken to him. He felt sorry for the poor copper. What an awful job he’d been sent to do! What on earth had possessed Freddy to go chasing after that WHORE of a mother of his? And where was the BITCH now? Taking care of herself somewhere safe, no doubt, if he knew her! What part had she played in the death of her own son? The thought frightened him, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t believe her incapable of such an atrocity. Harry was only too happy to go to Blackpool and help solve his son’s murder but first there were things he needed to do.

  A couple of hours later, Harry was sitting in the back of the unmarked police car heading towards Blackpool. He’d left the garage in the capable hands of Frank Aston, his lifelong friend. His elder sister Mary was taking care of his children Anne, Charlie and Janie. He felt such a heel leaving them right now, but they had all understood his reasons. They’d only asked that he bring Freddy back home where he belonged.

  “Almost there, Harry,” spoke PC Beddows, who was sat in the back with him. Harry just nodded his head. He already knew that. He’d brought the kids here along with Elsie many times for short breaks and fun-filled days out. It had always been Freddy’s favourite seaside destination. Anne preferred Borth, Charlie loved Barmouth and little Janie just loved beaches. All the Bs, they’d sing out in unison. Harry doubted they’d ever return to Blackpool after this. All the memories of the thrills at the funfair. The splashing in the sea and laughing at the clowns in the tower would all now be overshadowed by Freddy’s brutal and untimely death here. Harry already wanted to leave before he had even arrived but that wasn’t an option for him.

  The first two faces to greet Harry at the police station in Blackpool were those of Paul and Peter Taylor. Harry was shocked by their appearance. Their sharp suits were all crumbled and covered in stains. Harry didn’t want to hazard a guess from what! Their hair, normally groomed to perfection, was just a tangled mess, sprouting from their scalps. But the most striking difference was the looks on their faces and body posture. Gone were the identical cocky, self-assured expressions and puffed-out chests. Now they looked like two lost, frightened souls who wouldn’t say boo to a goose. They rose from their seats in the waiting room and were obviously bracing themselves for the usual dressing-down Harry bestowed upon them. But Harry felt nothing but compassion for these two boys and hurried over to them and gave them both a fatherly embrace.

  “We’re so, so sorry, Mr Arnold,” spluttered out Peter. “We should have insisted we came with him. He’d still be with us if we had. It’s all our fault,” he tailed off.

  “He’s right,” said Paul, as he placed a protective arm around his twin. “We should never have let him come alone.” Harry smiled at the twins. He knew they could be right tearaways at times but as far as his Freddy went they’d always been diamonds. Freddy being a gentle soul had always been plagued by bully boys, but the twins had always run to his rescue. It must be hitting them hard to know that this time they hadn’t stopped the bully. Hadn’t protected their favourite buddy. Harry gently touched Paul and Peter on the shoulder.

  “You found him, though, for me. You made sure he was found. Freddy wouldn’t blame you for his death and neither do I. No one was to know what evil lay in store for our Freddy. But now we can help him. We can make sure the person who did this to Freddy gets his just deserts. That they’re made to pay for what they’ve done. So, no matter what happens, we have to open up. We have to answer all the questions asked of us truthfully and honestly. No matter what the consequences are to ourselves. We must help the police one hundred per cent. Do you understand me, boys? The police need to know everything!”

  “We understand, Mr Arnold,” answered Paul for them both. Harry hugged the boys once more then was beckoned down a long corridor to meet the man in charge of the investigation.

  Harry immediately took to Detective Inspector Jack Wilde. He seemed like a man who would stop at nothing to find the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. After formally introducing himself, he’d gone on to bring Harry up to speed on the events so far. He’d then accompanied Harry to the local morgue to see Freddy. He’d stayed only for a few moments with Harry, then he had discreetly left Harry alone with his son. DI Jack Wilde had then waited outside until Harry had finally joined him.

  It was already late in the day and Jack didn’t want to keep Harry holed up in the police interview room all night. So together they strolled to a quiet restaurant that Jack knew served good food and over dinner Harry told Detective Inspector Wilde all about his doomed marriage to Elsie. DI Jack Wilde had been an avid listener. His gut feeling about something not being right about this case loomed large again in his stomach. He also had a sneaky feeling that Harry also thought that Elsie was perhaps more than an innocent victim in all of this. There was still no sign of her, but some useful information had come to light from both The Manchester public house staff and its owners. DI Wilde escorted Harry back to Mrs Davidson’s B&B. She’d been only too happy to let Harry have the room Freddy had already paid for and the twins were already tucked up in their room for the night. As Jack made his way back to the station he was already forming a plan of action for the following day.

  Early the next morning a break in the case came from the unlikely source of Mrs Taylor, the twins’ mother. She’d phoned up the B&B her boys were staying in to check that they were all right. However, she got talking to Mrs Davidson and out came the conversation she’d had with Freddy on the phone. When Freddy had mentioned he was going to talk to his mum, she’d asked what on earth he was up to. Freddy had told her he’d gone up to Blackpool to check out if the information about her being there was true. He’d not only found out it was her and she was shacked up with this Derek bloke but that, while he was following her, he’d caught her up to her old tricks with some swanky bloke staying at the Grand Hotel on the front. Mrs Davidson had immediately told Mrs Taylor to contact the police and relay the conversation with Freddy to them; it could prove to be very important. It was just the break Detective Inspector Jack Wilde needed. Armed with two officers in uniform and photographs of both Elsie and Freddy, Jack descended on the Grand Hotel.

  It hadn’t taken long to establish that both Elsie and Freddy had been recent visitors to the Grand. The young girl on reception not only remembered Elsie but also that she’d been a frequent guest of a Mr Morris Connolly. She’d handed over Mr Connolly’s home address and the time of him checking out. She’d added that he wasn’t due to leave for another three days but a call had been taken on the Friday morning for him and he’d checked out by 1:30pm that same day. No, she hadn’t taken the call. Mary Stokes had. It was her day off today, but she was happy to give them her home address as well if that would help. However, she’d not seen Freddy in the hotel. That didn’t matter though. A bellboy had confirmed he’d spoken to Freddy on the Thursday evening. Something about, “other areas to eat, drink or sit”. He’d informed him that there weren’t, and he’d left. He hadn’t seen him since. By Monday afternoon, the address given to the Grand Hotel as Mr Morris Connolly’s home address was found to be bogus. Oh! A Mr Morris Connolly lived there all right, but he was a seventy-year-old farmer who had never in his life travelled further than the local farmers’ market. Righ
t now, the police artist was drawing up sketches of the said ‘Mr Morris Connolly’ from both the receptionists at the Grand. DI Jack Wilde had a team of officers knocking door to door with a photograph of Elsie in the vain hope that someone would recognise her and remember seeing her on the Friday. He still had a feeling that she had more to do with the demise of her son than just simply running away with a lover. But, unfortunately, that wasn’t a crime he could charge her with when he eventually tracked her down. And track her down he would!

  As for Derek Collins’s tale of events, there was nothing of any significance to prove his innocence but a whole stack of it to prove his guilt. Unless he had a major breakthrough in the next day or so, Derek Collins was going to be found guilty of the murder of Frederick Arnold. And, still, it didn’t rest easy with DI Jack Wilde. Too many questions were being left unanswered. Where was Elsie? Why hadn’t she come forward if she had nothing to hide? He didn’t believe for one minute she was dead. Murdered by Derek? It didn’t fit! Why hide her body and not Freddy’s? And who really was this Morris Connolly fellow? Why had he given a false name and address to the hotel? Yes, there were far too many unanswered questions for Jack and he wouldn’t stop looking until they’d all been answered.

  BEA

  Monday, 21st September 1970

  Derek Collins stared at the cold, grey walls of his cell in Strangeways Prison, Manchester. He was waiting for the courts to decide his fate on the murder of Frederick George Arnold. A murder he hadn’t committed but he knew he’d be sentenced for. Without Elsie being found, he was damned. And he knew it. Derek knew that today Freddy’s family would lay him to rest. He offered up a prayer for the poor young man. He suspected his own mother had stabbed him. He even suspected that Detective Inspector Jack Wilde had his own suspicions. But suspicions were of no help to Derek. He needed hard evidence and that was something he greatly lacked. Derek lay down on his bunk and for the umpteenth time tried to think of a way of finding the elusive Elsie and getting out of this nightmare she’d left him in.

  In their local family church, Harry listened as the Reverend Stokes spoke so elegantly and knowledgably about his son. He talked of Freddy’s christening in this very church. Of his time spent in Sunday School and his brief venture into the choir. Reverend Stokes spoke of a sensitive young man, who’d patiently taught his younger brother Charlie to ride a bike. Of how he’d walk Anne home from the Girl Guides on the dark winter nights. The times he’d spent down the local park, pushing little Janie on the swings. And how until his untimely death he’d worked side by side with his father at the family garage. Reverend Stokes finally wound up his eulogy with how greatly missed this young man would be by everyone who had ever met him.

  “Time is a great healer,” he finished off, “but no amount of time could ever fill the void that has been left by the sudden and so unnecessary death of young Freddy. Amen.” Harry, holding tightly onto Janie’s hand, led the procession behind Freddy’s coffin out of the church and across the graveyard, to what was to be Freddy’s last resting place. As they gathered around the graveside, Harry looked out across the sea of familiar faces, searching for one particular face. Finally, he found her! The black veil covering her face didn’t fool him. It was her! She’d actually come! Bea had come to his rescue!

  Beatrice Evesham had stood right at the back of the church during the funeral of the nephew she’d never got to meet. With her veiled face, her presence had gone unnoticed by her so-called family. Except for Harry, of course! Harry had recognised her straightaway at the graveside. Oh! How her heart ached for her younger brother. He’d just been about to celebrate his tenth birthday, in 1943, when she’d been thrown out of the family home. The war was full on with Germany. Every able-bodied man and woman was doing their bit for the war effort. Bea’s father, George, had shut up his small garage and gone off to keep the tanks rolling across enemy lines. If he’d been home, she’d never have been cast out. He would have seen through Mary’s lies and would have gone on to welcome Arthur into their home and family. But, he hadn’t been there to save her. But luckily, Bea had other allies in her camp. Allies that had helped make her forced exile bearable. Allies that had tried to tell George the truth on his return from the war. But war had changed George. He’d left as a strong-willed, determined man, only to return as a mere shadow of his former self. All the fight was gone from him. He’d just accepted the lies fed to him. He just let Ethel and Mary walk all over him.

  Patricia Aston had remained her best friend and link to her home. Trish was the elder sister of Frank, Harry’s best friend. In those first few dark weeks, months, years, Trish had, along with Irene, been her lifeline. Bea used to write to Trish, enclosing a message for Harry. Trish would pass on the message to Harry when he’d call round for her brother Frank. There’d always be a PS at the end of Trish’s letter to Bea with a return message from Harry. Trish had continued to be their go-between until Harry left home. After that, they’d written directly to each other without the rest of the family knowing. Harry had pleaded with her over the years to come home. To clear her name. But Bea had refused. She had a new life. A wonderful life and even when Arthur passed away she had still refused to come home, as Bea hadn’t been up for ‘the battle’, as she’d called it, with Mary and her mother. But now, now was different. Harry needed her to get through this dreadful period in his family’s life. Now, it was time to return the favour, so to speak. So, two days ago, she’d made the journey home! Trish and her husband, Ron, had been letting her hide out at their home.

  “It’s the least we can do,” they’d both said. “After all, you and Arthur gave us the money to buy this house back in 1955 when we got married. Bea had smiled at that. Back then they’d fought against the very idea, but she and Arthur had won out.

  “Let’s call it a loan,” Arthur had said. “A no-interest loan, with no time limits and only one restriction. You pay us back the exact amount when we ask and not before.” And that had been that. Over the years, they’d offered both Arthur and Bea the money, but they’d always refused it. “We’ll ask when we need it,” they’d always replied. Finally, they’d stopped asking and accepted that they’d never be asked to repay the money. But every now and then it was brought up in jest, just like it had when Bea had asked if they’d take her in, prior to Freddy’s funeral.

  Bea had returned to Patricia’s after the funeral. She’d waited there patiently, for most of the mourners to leave the wake back at Harry’s, before making her entrance. Now, she was standing just inside the living room, veil still in place. Harry somehow sensed she was there and rushed over and held her in a warm embrace. The chatter stopped. Tension filled the room. Who was this woman Harry had run to embrace? It couldn’t possibly be Elsie, could it? Noticing how quiet the room had gone, Harry released Bea and slowly she raised the veil from her face. Instantly, Mary set about her.

  “How dare you show your face here,” she screamed. “You have no right to be here. We don’t need your sort round here. This is NOT YOUR FAMILY. Just FUCK OFF back into whatever hole you crawled out of.” Bea had come prepared for this and was determined to stand her ground.

  “Still shouting out the odds according to your rules, I see, Mary,” began Bea smiling. “Still stamping your feet if you don’t get your own way,” she added. “Well, I’m back, Mary. In fact, if truth be told, I should never have been made to leave. Thrown out by my own mother because you DIDN’T GET YOUR OWN WAY. Poor little spoilt Mary had mummy throw the naughty girl out.”

  “You stole my man, Beatrice Arnold. You and your sluttish ways. Came onto him like a bad rash, you did. Arthur didn’t stand a chance against your wicked ways.”

  Bea just laughed out loud.

  “I stole your man?” she chuckled. “Arthur was never YOUR man, Mary. Arthur thought you was a vicious, back-stabbing cow. He’d say, you’d never guess in a million years we were related, let alone sisters.”

  “That doesn’t surprise m
e,” butted in Mary. “You with your boobs hung out for all the world to see. Fluttering your eyelashes, face caked in make-up, reeking of cheap perfume. While I showed respect for myself. I didn’t go around flaunting my wares for all the world to see.” Mary became even more angry by Bea laughing even louder than before.

  “What’s so funny, Bea?” she snarled.

  “You! You stupid cow. You walked around in Dad’s overalls from the garage like you owned the place. Treating people like dirt, with that venomous tongue of yours. You never had a kind word for anyone. But you couldn’t handle it when someone stood up to you, could you, Mary? You’d run off crying to mummy when someone said something hurtful to you. Then Mummy would give whoever had upset her precious Mary a right tongue lashing, wouldn’t she? Even going so far as to cast aside her other daughter. And what for, Mary? Hey! Did it send Arthur flying into your arms? No, it didn’t? Instead he lost interest in the farm. Handed it over to the war effort and signed up for active duty. People relied on him, Mary. He wasn’t just their boss. He not only paid them good wages but made sure families were well taken care of while their menfolk fought on the front line.”