Why I Want You Dead

by A K Shattock

  “Art dealer. He ran a gallery in Kensington. He had a long-term partnership with Stanley Hudson. They started it up together around thirty years ago.”

  Tobias nodded. “Sounds like he may have made some dodgy investments. Did you look into this partner?” “Stanley Hudson currently doesn’t reside in the country. There are some police reports accusing him of selling inauthentic art a few decades ago; but no formal investigation or conviction had ever come out of it. Mr Fielding claimed to have no involvement. He then started up various galleries abroad whilst Mr Fielding stayed here to run the show. He then retired in the United Arab Emirates. It would be difficult to question him, but we can probably do it,” DS Phillip’s eyes flashed nervously. “It would require higher authority to get in contact with the UAE police. We probably wouldn’t be able to do it on the low-down.” Tobias sighed. She was right. “Any chance he’s come back for a holiday?” he said hopefully.

  “We can find out, try and track his whereabouts. Judging by the emails between Fielding and Hudson, it looked like Hudson traveled back often.”

  “Seems like the perfect alibi though. To live abroad and suddenly your business partner that happens to be drowning in debt, dies. I suppose if the debts stem from the gallery, it would likely be passed to Mr Hudson?”

  DS Phillips nodded. “The gallery in Kensington is primarily in Gregory Fielding’s name. But yes, it seems like the debts and therefore the insurance money would get into Mr Hudson’s hands.” “So, we have a clear motive for murder from Hudson, but at the moment we can’t confirm opportunity. But what did Mrs Fielding feel about this situation? Was she aware that she was very close to losing everything she’s ever owned?”

  “It’s possible,” added Phillips. “Perhaps another motive on her part. Or maybe the murder was unplanned; a spur of the moment impulse during an altercation.”

  “Was there a chance of a history of domestic violence? You mentioned that the neighbours heard an argument before the murder. But did they hear of any fights prior to that?”

  Phillips shook her head. “I asked, but they hadn’t heard of any previous altercations.”

  “Alright,” Tobias scanned over the rough, barely legible notes he had just scrawled whilst they had been talking. “To summarise, Mrs Fielding had opportunity, no proper alibi and potentially at least two motives. Her sister’s affair and the debt. Mr Hudson however, has a definite motive - the clearance of his business’s debts. He could’ve tried to frame Mrs Fielding. Although, we don’t know if he has an alibi or even opportunity, I think he should be the next person we try to contact.”

  “I’ll get onto that now,” DS Phillips flashed him a small smile. “We make quite a good team, don’t we?” The shrivelled up muscle that comprised Tobias's heart, suddenly started to run a little faster than usual.

  “We do,” he grinned. “I’ll go and see what Fowler wants.” He had noticed that during the past few minutes, the Superintendent had been glaring at them virtually non-stop through his office window. “I’m sure there’s another job he wants me to do. I’ll catch up with you later?”

  Tobias reluctantly dragged himself to Fowler’s lair and was met by an inferno of torrential insult. By the time Fowler had finished, Tobias was sure that there was enough spit to fill a swimming pool layered on his face alone; and that his eardrums would be painful for weeks. He had a huge pile of unsolved, impossible cases in his arms and the effects of his cheap, instant coffee had long since worn off; but inside there was a flicker of hope. DS Phillips had smiled - his partner was warming up to him! They were a team.

  At the end of the day, he finally managed to get a chance to speak to her again.

  “I’ve found an address of a property that Mr Hudson owns in London. I’ll try and pop in there tomorrow. He also has an elderly mother that lives nearby too, so I'll try her too. It’s also worth having a look at the gallery as well. I would’ve gone today… but you know,” she glanced at her own massive pile of unsolved cases; though admittedly the pile was a lot smaller than his. “I tried ringing the contact details for him, but his UK mobile appears to be switched off. We could try getting his mobile contact from the United Arab Emirates elsewhere, perhaps at the gallery or from his mother?”

  “Good thinking,” said Tobias. He just loved a woman, colleague or anyone for that matter; who worked hard for their paycheck. “Now what I’m thinking is that we definitely deserve a drink at the pub. First round on me?”

  DS Phillips seemed hesitant for a split second. “Sure,” she said, that beautiful smile filled her face.

  A couple of hours later, they sat at Tobias’s usual bar. He didn’t know why he kept coming back here. Was it because he had a particular fondness for the sticky glasses and that bar stool with the short leg that rocked whenever he sat on it? Unlikely. Or was it more to do with the fact that it was his place, his place and Diane’s? Filled with all those happy memories. That whenever he was there, he couldn’t help but gaze at the front doors, hoping for a certain someone to walk through…

  Not tonight, though. Tonight was all about his new work partner.

  “What’s your poison? Let me guess… you’re a gin girl. You look like Gordon’s lady. In fact, I think most women secretly survive off pink gin, it’s like water to them.” Tobias was babbling again, but he couldn’t help it.

  “I don’t drink alcohol,” DS Phillips replied. “I’ll just have a Coke.”

  Tobias’s heart sunk. How on earth will she be able to find his horrendous jokes funny if she wasn’t even slightly tipsy? He’d have to ramp them up a bit. “And why is that?” he asked, interested.

  She shrugged. “Just don’t like not being in control.” Tobias wondered if this would be a good thing or a bad thing when it came to work.

  “I get that. It’s a terrible thing… to have to depend on alcohol. I don’t go out too often, myself,” he garbled as he waved at Tom at the bar. Tom beamed at him when he spotted him.

  “Hello Toby! How are you, mate? The usual is it? Just to let you know, your tab needs sorting out, otherwise the manager’s gonna kick my arse!” Tobias could feel his face going red. He did not think this through. DS Phillips raised her eyebrows.

  “When I do come out… I tend to only come here,” Tobias said carefully, fishing into his large trench coat pockets for his already stretched debit card. “Right,” smiled DS Phillips. Tobias could see a flicker of amusement in her face. Maybe he hadn’t completely ballsed this up then.

  Once they had their drinks, they began to talk. Tobias ended up telling her in not-so-much detail about where he lived and how he’d lived in a rough area of London his whole life. How he had dreamed as a kid to become a policeman to ‘sort the world out’. The disappointment in his adult life that soon developed when he found that wasn’t going to be possible. How the only woman in his life at the moment was actually his mother, and even that relationship was on tenterhooks because he didn’t check up on her as often as he should. It was at that moment that Tobias realised he gave away too much information. As usual.

  DS Phillips - or Natalie he felt he could now call her spoke of a quiet upbringing a bit more closer to the central underground lines than him. How she went to train as a police woman and was fixated on becoming a detective from a very young age.

  “I knew that detective training was extremely competitive in London, so that’s why I went up to Derbyshire,” Natalie explained. “I liked it up there, but it was always my dream to come back and work here.”

  “Indeed, we are living the dream,” Tobias gestured to the dim, sticky bar with the distinct, constant ringing of sirens that could be heard in the streets around them. “Have you still got any family around here?” he said sipping his pint, innocently. What he really meant of course, was there a boyfriend or husband on the scene?

  Natalie's eyes went distant for a while. “Not really. Both my parents are dead. I just wanted to come back to be… closer to them I guess.” Tobias went quiet. He didn’t feel at that
moment that it was appropriate to ask how. Her pain was clearly still raw. “What about you?” she asked, changing her tone flippantly. “Apart from your mother… any other women in your life?”

  Tobias almost choked on his beer. She had asked first! Well, directly at least.

  “I’ve got an ex, but I’ve not seen her for six months.” Not strictly true, but he saw her at work and that didn’t count.

  “That psychiatrist that Harris mentioned?” she smiled.

  “Ahem… well yes. But it was all a bit too intense y’know? A lot of and how do you feel about that? Felt my brain was being constantly analysed. Had to end it,” he shrugged. None of that was the slightest bit accurate, but she didn’t need to know that. “And you? Any… partners?” He didn’t want to assume. Natalie sighed. “I don’t get on too well with most men. Most that I end up with are arseholes. I have a hard time trusting people.”

  “I get that,” said Tobias softly. He couldn’t trust people to accept him for who he was.

  “I don’t get a bad vibe from you at all, Tobias,” Natalie leaned in a bit closer as she said this. Tobias took that to be a compliment. “I can genuinely tell that you are a good person. And that is often rare to come by. I think I’m gonna like working with you.” Yes, thought Tobias. But for how long? He grinned at her. “Another round?”

  DIANE

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Diane didn’t like having to do this, but unfortunately she had no choice. Usually, she would refuse to see her patient in such a setting. It was disrespectful to them, to ask very personal, very detailed questions in an interview room with a one-way mirror and with various people watching and listening. It infuriated her that despite being a prime suspect for murder; that didn’t change the fact that Mrs Fielding was her patient and she was entitled to be treated the same as anyone else that she counselled.

  She argued with the police officers at the station for a long time and eventually they compromised. The setting still wasn’t ideal. It was effectively a concrete cell with tiny windows with barely any furniture; but at least they would be alone. Mrs Fielding was to be shackled to the bolted tables for her own and Diane’s ‘safety’. She did not know how she was going to make Mrs Fielding relaxed and trusting enough to tell her life story; but somehow, she had to. Many didn’t realise this, but sitting in a cosy room, with good lighting, a window and plants could have such an effect on your mood. It was an essential part of Diane’s job. She was going to have to work a miracle. Diane’s working diagnosis at the moment was Dissociative Identity Disorder. Or otherwise known as Multiple Personality Disorder. With the information that she had so far, this lady appeared to be a textbook case.

  To start with, the ‘blackouts’ or rather the gaps in her memory that she had described, fitted very well. Dissociative Identity Disorder was defined as a person having two or more distinct identities, alters or ‘personality states’.’ In each identity, the person could experience separate age, gender, race, different perceptions, beliefs. It was thought that this disorder developed as a form of coping mechanism. Most sufferers would have experienced some sort of trauma in their lives; mostly related to their upbringing. Abusive parents were the most common trigger and usually before the age of six. The most significant symptom of this disorder were the gaps in memory or periods of amnesia. This disorder was very rare however, and organic causes such as brain abnormalities, physical trauma or seizures had to be ruled out first. Other psychiatric conditions should also be considered. The incidence of anxiety, depression and other personality disorders were also highly associated with DID.

  Diane surveyed her new patient now. Mrs Fielding had been changed into a generic grey jumper and jogging bottoms. Her face was still smeared with remnants of make-up, her short blonde hair was more disheveled and stuck up than before. She somehow looked more gaunt, like she hadn’t eaten or seen the sun in weeks.

  “Mrs Fielding, it’s nice to see you. I’m Dr Diane Smith, the psychiatrist, we met yesterday? How are you feeling this morning?”

  Her patient shrugged. Her eyes were glued to the floor.

  “I understand, a lot must be going through your head right now. This is a very difficult time for you. I would really appreciate it if we could talk, so I can get to know you better. I’m trying to help you. If it turns out you are unwell, there are treatments that we can do. We can get you better, get the help you deserve.” Mrs Fielding's eyes lifted. She was listening.

  “I could… I could get treatment?” she whimpered. “Of course!” exclaimed Diane. “It doesn’t matter what you may or may not have done, everyone is entitled to be well. Will you let me ask you a few questions?” Mrs Fielding nodded.

  “Great. First of all, I would like to get to know you. Would you mind telling me a brief synopsis of who you are? Where you grew up, where you worked? Your family?”

  Mrs Fielding then began to tell her, in a wobbling voice, about how she had lived in London her whole life. How she grew up with a younger sister she was close with. How her father died at a young age. How she got married young, to an older, richer man. How she’d never really worked, never had a career. How she desperately wanted children, but it was never meant to be.

  “That must’ve been very hard for you,” Diane said empathically. “You must’ve been very frustrated with your husband. Do you have any idea why he didn’t want children?”

  Mrs Fielding shook her head. “None at all. I just don’t think he cared for them.” Something told Diane that she wasn’t telling the entire truth.

  “This might be a sensitive question… but did you try to change his mind? Did you not talk about it?” “I did,” said Mrs Fielding. “I tried desperately. But he wouldn’t listen. He didn’t care what I wanted. I felt like that was his intention; this whole marriage - to trap me. He wouldn’t let me work. I didn’t have my own penny to my name. I couldn’t leave him. Did he ever love me? I don’t know. But what I know for sure, is that he didn’t love me in the end.”

  Diane could feel her fury pulsating out like an angry wasp that had been batted away. It was abundantly clear that this woman had been bitter for a long time, frustration that she had kept in all these years. Potentially, at the cost of a human life?

  “What makes you so sure?” Diane prompted. “Well, he cheated on me. With my sister.” Tears were building up in her eyes. “I found out about a year ago. But I didn’t tell them that I knew. I kept it in.” Diane couldn’t hide the shock that she felt on her face. “I know what you’re thinking,” Mrs Fielding continued. “How could I just carry on with my life, knowing that my husband and sister were shacking up somewhere along the M1 every other week? How could I not react whenever my husband told me he would be off traveling for work this weekend; when I knew for a fact that it was a lie? I was surprised with myself to be honest. But it was easier than I thought it would be. I don’t love my husband. I stopped years ago. But I love my sister. And if I had divorced Greg, who could say what would happen next? Maybe they would move in together, get married. The truth was, I didn’t want my sister to find out who the real Greg was. I’m sure she didn’t know him. She couldn’t have… if she loved him.”

  Diane waited a moment to make sure her patient had finished speaking. “What do you mean by that? The real Greg? Did he used to hurt you?”

  Mrs Fielding hesitated. “He was a bad man,” she said finally. It appeared that Diane didn’t have her trust fully… not yet.

  “And your sister? How do you feel about her?” “I’m angry at her… but at the same time, I can’t be. My whole life, she has always been behind me, picking up the pieces. She was doing the same thing then. She was picking up the pieces for Greg, for me. They hadn’t even tried to tell me about the affair. I bet Elizabeth didn’t let him. She thinks she is protecting me. But in reality, it’s me that's been protecting her all along.”

  Diane nodded. She’d never had a sister, always had been an only child, so she could never appreciate the deep bond between sisters.
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  “But… Why did you feel you had to keep it a secret? That you couldn’t disclose that you knew about the affair to your sister and then explain to her why she shouldn’t be with Greg?”

  “Because… Greg is a dangerous man. He is very manipulative. He knows how to sweep in and save the day. He knows how to charm. I was terrified that she wouldn’t believe me, wouldn’t listen. That she’d run off with him and marry him. That she’d leave her entire family. I couldn’t let that happen.”

  “I see,” said Diane. “You were very brave to do that. I don’t think most people would’ve managed it. It must’ve had an awful effect on your well-being and mental health.”

  Mrs Fielding nodded, tearing up. “I can tell when my mental health is playing up. I felt very anxious, more depressed, and would anger more easily. The frequency of blackouts I had increased. I always worried about what used to happen during those moments. Greg would never tell me. I was afraid to ask.”

  “Going back to the blackouts, do you remember at what age they started?”

  Her patient concentrated. “Maybe about ten years old? I can’t be too sure. They were definitely rampant during my teenage years.”

  “And did anything… trigger those blackouts? An initial event that might have sparked it off. Particularly… anything that was traumatic?” Her patient went quiet for a few moments. Then sighed, and looked down, defeated. “You might as well know. My dad was an alcoholic, and he was a beater. He hit my mum and he hit me. I protected Elizabeth as much as I could. I don’t think she remembers any of it. Luckily, he died. He died in a bar brawl when I was about eleven, and none of us were sorry that he was dead. We could carry on as normal. That was when I noticed… the blackouts starting up. I was very aggressive during those times. I know it was because I was angry. I was furious at my dad. How he died before I had the chance to stand up to him, to report him, to get him punished. At my mum, for not leaving him sooner. For letting me get in the way, letting him hurt me,” she was tearing up again. “My whole life… I’ve been angry and I’ve never tried to fix it. Never tried to get closure. I suppose this is all my fault. It was a matter of time before I cracked. Before I hurt someone.”