Cutting the Cord Read online

  Elsie had no desire to go back to England, especially on some IRA bombing spree. She had too much to lose. If she were recognised or turned in to the police she’d be done for. She knew that this Detective Inspector Jack Wilde suspected her of being in some way involved in Freddy’s murder and she also knew he’d do his damn best to prove it. She had no intention of ending her days in Holloway Prison. Elsie also knew that Morris kept a stash of money behind the bath panel in the bathroom he’d had installed before she’d arrived. She’d woken up one night, just after New Year, to hear him cursing in the bathroom and a knocking sound. She’d waited a couple of days to check out what Morris had been doing in the bathroom. So, armed with her portable transistor radio and a book, Elsie had told Burt she was going to take a long soak in a hot bath. With the taps running and the radio blasting out the latest tunes, Elsie had managed to prise open the bath panel enough to peek in. Using the small torch she’d concealed in her toiletry bag, she’d peered into the gloom. In neatly stacked piles around the legs of the bathtub and under its belly were wads of notes, of all denominations. A small fortune lay concealed there. Ever since then, Elsie had made regular checks on the money. It was still there. That money, along with her newly acquired passport, was her way out. She’d pack a large amount of that money into her travel bag just before Burt took her to Belfast. As soon as he was gone she’d head into town and straight to the local travel agents. There she’d book the first available flight out to Spain, or anywhere in Europe failing that. She’d then dye her hair as Morris had requested and buy not secretary’s clothing but holiday attire. Come Monday morning, with any luck, she’d be sitting by a hotel pool drinking sangria when Morris came to collect her.

  JACK

  March 1976

  Recently promoted Detective Chief Inspector Jack Wilde made his way into the interview rooms of Wandsworth Prison. He’d been given clearance to interview an IRA man who had recently been captured after a foiled attempt at bombing a city-centre pub. Jack had no interest in the man’s IRA activity, only in his apparent dealings with the elusive Elsie Arnold. DCI Jack Wilde had never stopped looking for Elsie and finally he was on the verge of getting a genuine lead on her. Jack took his seat at the table and waited for the prisoner to arrive.

  Douglas Moore entered the room, screaming and shouting at the prison guards. Jack found this big man laughable. Despite being caught planting a bomb in a busy pub, being identified by another captured IRA member as one of their hotshots and having had numerous passports, licences and guns found in several of his properties, he was still shouting out his innocence. Jack lit a cigarette and offered the now-seated Douglas Moore one. He gave Jack a curious look then accepted the proffered cigarette. Jack lit the cigarette and Douglas inhaled deeply, letting the smoke curl from his lips.

  “So, what can I do for you?” asked Moore.

  “I’m here to ask after an old flame of yours,” replied Jack. Moore laughed out loud.

  “You expect a man like me to remember some bird I’ve poked. You’re having me on, mate, surely?” Jack smiled at Moore and took a drag on his cigarette. He’d met too many ‘hard men’ to feel intimidated by this one.

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ll remember this one. You picked her up on my turf in Blackpool. She used to visit you at the Grand Hotel. You and she went AWOL the day her son got stabbed to death in the alley at the back of her flat.” Jack stared Moore right in the eyes as he spoke. “You went under the name of Morris Connolly then. A passport was found in that name in your hotel room. You fit the description of him perfectly.” Jack continued to stare straight into Moore’s eyes. They were darting all over the place, but the expression on his face gave away the truth. He’d remembered Elsie and he obviously wasn’t best pleased with her.

  “I’m gathering from the look of pure rage on your face you remember our Elsie Arnold, or, should I say, your May Collins. Like you, Moore, she liked to change her name.” Moore let out a deep sigh and pursed his lips before spitting on the floor. Then he leaned back in his chair and grinned.

  “So, what if I did know this Elsie woman? What’s it to you? Or, more importantly, what’s it worth to me?” Jack had been expecting this. Moore wasn’t going to get any deal from either him or anyone in the entire judicial service, but he wasn’t to know that.

  “Well, Moore, that depends on how useful your information is to us.” Douglas Moore didn’t like the vibes he was getting off this DCI. He’d come across a lot of coppers in his time and this one was one of those rare breeds. They were like a dog with a bone. They just never gave up. Just kept digging and digging until they got what they wanted. This DCI Jack Wilde could cause him a lot of grief if he didn’t tell him what he wanted to know, he realised that. He’d keep after him and Douglas didn’t need any more grief bestowed upon him. The police hadn’t found all his money or even knew the half of the crimes he’d committed but this DCI Wilde would find out. He was sure of it and he couldn’t have that. Besides, May had ripped him off and now maybe it was time to repay that debt.

  “I want protection while I’m in here,” began Douglas. “I’ll do my time, but I want to walk out of here not be taken out in a wooden box because some screw turned a blind eye to me being done over.” Jack was a little surprised by how quickly Moore had agreed to a deal but still he took his time in replying. Best not appear too keen agreeing on a deal that would never happen.

  “I’m sure we can reach to that,” replied Jack. Douglas stubbed out his cigarette and reached for the newly opened packet on the table. Jack placed his hand over the cigarettes.

  “You need to talk before you smoke,” Jack informed Douglas. Douglas moved his hand away from the packet and began to regale his story. DCI Jack Wilde listened intently as Moore informed him of how May had robbed him of a sizeable chunk of money then had fled the country on the forged passport he’d had done for her in the name of Joanie Allen. He said he’d traced her back in ’72 to a resort on the Costa del Sol but by the time he’d got there she’d vanished into thin air. There’d been various sightings of someone answering to her description over the past few years but nothing solid. He did, however, believe that she was still in Spain. DCI Jack Wilde left Wandsworth Prison a happy man. At long last he had something to go on with Elsie Arnold. He felt a holiday to the Costa del Sol was just what he needed!

  ANNE

  April 1976

  Anne took a deep breath and then swung open the door to her father’s office at the garage. On seeing Harry, seated at his desk with a look of total confusion on his face, Anne launched into her prepared speech.

  “I’m getting married next month to Mr Eric Holmes. As you are my father and tradition states the father of the bride pays for the wedding, I’m here to collect a cheque from you for the sum of one thousand pounds.” Harry leaned back in his chair and began to laugh.

  “I’m not joking, Harry. I want that cheque. I need that money. It’s rightfully mine.” Anne’s words only made Harry laugh even more. Anne crossed the short distance from the doorway to her father’s desk and slammed both her fists down onto it.

  “Don’t you dare laugh at me,” she spat out. “I’m your only daughter and you cast me out for your whore of a sister and a spoilt little brat that’s not even yours, so you owe me big time.” Harry immediately stopped laughing and had to stop himself from doing what he’d done on their last encounter. Slapping her! Instead, he crossed his arms and starred back at his eldest daughter wondering where he had gone wrong! Anne straightened herself back up. She hadn’t meant to say those things, but she didn’t like being laughed at. And besides, she’d only spoken the truth, hadn’t she? Finally, Harry spoke.

  “As long as you insist on spewing out these dreadful lies, you’ll not get a penny out of me, Anne. It’s been almost six years since we lost Freddy and yet you proceeded to rip our family apart. I’ve tried to make amends over the years. I also know that Bea has tried on numerous occasions t
o talk with you. I’ve lost count of the times that Janie has come home crying after seeing you. And, well, Charlie…”

  “Charlie’s never been to see me. In fact, he just downright ignores me.”

  “Can you blame him, Anne?”

  “I’m his sister…”

  “And so is Janie, Anne, so is Janie.”

  “That’s not true, now, is it?” began Anne.

  “JANIE IS MY DAUGHTER, Anne, just as you are,” roared Harry.

  “Not according to Aunt Mary and gran she isn’t. There’s never been a carrot-head in our family despite what you say.”

  “Not on your gran’s side of the family, no, but on grandad’s there was.” Anne really didn’t want to pursue this but it was obvious that her dad wasn’t going to let it go. She just wanted her money, not a fight. But she wasn’t about to back down.

  “Well, he’s a liar too, seems to be a family trait among the men in our family,” Anne added.

  “It seems you’ve inherited the bitter and twisted trait from your gran’s side of the family,” responded Harry. Anne wanted with all her heart to say she was sorry. Sorry for calling Bea a whore. Sorry for saying Janie wasn’t her dad’s child, but between her own stubborn pride and the constant onslaught of nastiness towards them all from her aunt and gran, she just couldn’t seem to back down. Instead, she was turning into the same bitter, twisted person as them. That’s why she needed this money to marry Eric.

  Eric was twenty years older than her. He was as dull as dishwater and had no looks to speak of, but he was kind to her. He was her ticket out of all this mess. He’d promised to take her far away from her money-grabbing aunt and gran and that alone was why she’d agreed to marry him. It was also the reason why she was here asking for money. Eric had invested every last dime he had on a grocery shop with a small two-bedroomed flat above it, in a place called Heanor in Derbyshire. Anne couldn’t wait to leave this all behind her. But, now, here she was, losing every last chance of getting her hands on the money and still wading in with more insults.

  “At least we’re loyal, unlike Bea!” Anne began. “Seems she’s took off. Find a better proposition, did she? Someone with something better to offer come up? Should I check that she hasn’t tried to make off with Eric?” Anne threw in for good measure. It was Harry’s turn to slam his fists down on the desk this time, making Anne jump back in fright.

  “Like I said before, Anne, you spend too much time listening to the foul lies that spew out of those evil women’s mouths. Bea has gone to America to take custody of Arthur’s thirteen-year-old niece, who tragically lost both her parents in a car accident back in March. As soon as the papers are signed she’ll be returning to England with Megan and they shall both be living here with me, Charlie and Janie. And, so help me God, if any one of you cause that poor child any harm at all, I’ll not be responsible for my actions, do you hear?” yelled Harry. Anne nodded her head in acknowledgement.

  “Good. Now, on the subject of this money which you say is, ‘rightfully yours’, you can have it on one condition. You stop these vicious lies and apologise to Janie and to Bea on her return. Otherwise, you don’t get a penny out of me.” Anne knew it was not only the smart thing to do but also the right thing to do, but once again her stubbornness and pride won over.

  “Go to hell,” she screamed at Harry then before he could see the tears welling up in her eyes she turned and ran out of his office like a bat out of hell. Anne ran as fast and as far away from her father’s garage as she could before she collapsed to her knees crying her heart out. She’d blown it. What would Eric say? What would Aunt Mary and Gran have to say? What had she done? There would be no big white wedding now. Slowly the tears began to subside. After all, what did it matter what her aunt and gran had to say? Once she was married to Eric she’d be gone. And Eric wasn’t the one insisting on a big wedding. Why? It wasn’t even her idea. It was her aunt and gran’s. Eric had just wanted a quiet registry office wedding. Well, they could still do that, couldn’t they? She’d been squirrelling money away since she’d first arrived at Aunt Mary’s so now she had a nice little nest egg of her own. It would be more than enough to pay for a registry wedding and still have some left over for some nice new things for their little flat. Anne blew her nose on her hankie then checked out her face in the small compact mirror in her handbag. Her eyes were a little puffy and red, but Eric wouldn’t care or even notice. Getting to her feet and dusting herself off, Anne set off for Eric’s. She had a new plan to discuss with him.

  ELSIE

  June 1976

  Elsie lay on the top deck of the luxury yacht, three miles off the coast of Marbella reading a trashy romance novel and sipping sangria. Below decks, her ‘lover’, Tommy Jones, was in bed with her ‘son’, Carl Adams. The life she was leading would make a far more interesting story, she thought.

  Elsie put down the book and lit up a cigarette and cast her mind back to when she’d first meet Carl Banks, as he was known then. They were both tending bar in Torremolinos and had hit it off immediately. A lot of the customers assumed one of two things about them. They were either lovers or mother and son. Together they’d had fun acting out both roles. Life had been starting to look up again for Elsie, then a big, burly Irishman had shown up asking questions about a Joanie Allen. Luckily for Elsie, Carl had been the one he’d asked, and Carl had told him that she had been working there but had left a few weeks back with another man and he hadn’t seen or heard from her since. That very same evening, Elsie and Carl had packed their bags and left together for pastures new. Up until eighteen months ago, they had been working their way along the Costa del Sol, under various names and guises, in a variety of different jobs. Then they really landed on their feet. Elsie had been working in a swanky five-star hotel as a waitress when in walked Tommy Jones. Elsie was instantly attracted to him. At over six feet tall, with a well-toned, tanned body and a mass of blonde hair, he was every woman’s dream. Elsie was known now as Joyce Adams and long gone were her blonde locks. Instead, she sported the short-tussled redhead look. It suited her well. At almost forty she still looked good. It hadn’t taken her long to catch the eye of Tommy. But Tommy was no wide boy. He’d soon got the measure of Elsie and more importantly of her ‘son’, Carl. Carl, like Tommy, preferred the pleasures of men rather than women. But Tommy was an East End face and known hard man. If word got out that he was a ‘gay’, not only would his reputation be in tatters but also all his businesses. And Tommy couldn’t have that! He liked his lifestyle. He liked being a Face. He liked that people respected him and feared him. But most of all he liked all the trappings that his money brought him. So, to the outside world, Tommy Jones was a womaniser. Elsie, however, had spent enough time around Carl and his friends to spot a ‘gay’ at a hundred paces. Within days of their first meeting in the hotel restaurant an agreement had been arranged. Eighteen months on, Elsie was the respected wife of Tommy Jones and Carl was her son from a previous marriage. Together they lived in a huge six-bedroomed villa high in the hills overlooking the Mediterranean. Elsie had returned to the English coastline several times since they’d met but had never stepped foot on English soil once. Instead, she’d stay on their yacht and Tommy brought his business associates out to the yacht to be entertained by the glamorous Mrs Tommy Jones. At these times, Carl would go ashore and spend the evening cavorting with a string of girls. Carl enjoyed girls but he still preferred boys. But in order to keep up the pretence and the lifestyle he’d grown accustomed to, he was only too happy to bed a few gorgeous girls every now and then. Elsie lay back on the sun lounger and stared at the clear blue sky above her. She watched as a jet plane left a white trail across the skyline. More tourists thought Elsie as she drifted off to sleep.

  High above in the sky, DCI Jack Wilde was sitting in that jet plane. He was looking forward to his nice little break in the sun. He was even entertaining thoughts of finally coming face to face with the elusive Elsie Arnold
.

  BEA, HARRY, JANIE & MEGAN

  August 1976

  Harry parked his car in front of the garage and headed for the path running along the right-hand side of Bea’s cottage. From the front, it looked more like a small bungalow but once you headed down the pathway you soon became aware that it was so much bigger. The cottage was built on an incline and its sloping gardens stretched all the way down to the beach. At the back, you saw that the cottage was actually on two levels, with the lower level branching out to the left. The normally immaculate tiered garden was looking very sorry for itself. This summer was turning out to be the hottest and longest summer ever on record and water usage was restricted all over the UK. Gardens everywhere were becoming dry, arid areas rather than colourful blooming displays of flowers.

  Harry walked down the brick pathway to where Bea was seated on the lower patio, wearing one of her enormous sunhats. Janie and Megan were across the beach, splashing around in the sea. Their laughter carried easily across the sand towards Harry and Bea.

  “Hello, stranger,” began Bea as she rose from her lounger to give her younger brother a hug. “There’s beer and lemonade in the cool box just inside the sun house,” she finished as she returned to her seat. Harry crossed the patio and entered the sun house. The shade it offered from the blazing sun was very welcome and he quickly found the cold beer and took a long swig, quenching his thirst. He then sat on the bench outside the sun house that offered a modicum of shade from the sun.

  “Girls look like they’re having fun,” remarked Harry.

  “Janie’s been a godsend for Megan,” began Bea. “She’s found someone she can talk to in Janie. Janie listens and never passes comment, just offers a reassuring smile and a hug. She’s older than her years in some ways but such a little girl in so many others.”