Why I Want You Dead

by A K Shattock

  They were close now, he could feel it. Tobias was buzzing as he pulled out his mobile and called for forensics.

  “Now, I think we need to question one of the artists,” he explained, as the forensics team in their white disposable suits started to appear one-by-one; like fireflies on a dusky night. “We still need to find somebody who knows him, who might be able to give us a better idea of his character. How about we pay a visit to Kim Watts?”

  Not long later, after a quick call to his colleague Matthew Waterhouse - who was currently training in Cybersecurity as well as being the station’s go-to technological wizard - Tobias and Natalie were out in the patrol car again to the address of the artist, Kim Watts.

  Tobias didn’t really know what he had envisioned as the home of a talented artist; but it certainly wasn’t this. Kim Watts lived in a derelict neighbourhood, in a shabby block of flats; shamefully shabbier than the block of flats that Tobias lived in. Her living space was tiny, however clean and cheerful with large potted plants in every corner. Kim Watts was an eccentric lady in her late forties; with long, straggly brown hair and stretched, bony limbs. She was wearing an apron, splattered with paint when she answered the door.

  “Hello?” she had appeared almost fearful as she peered around the door. They introduced themselves, but the woman still seemed tense.

  Not long later, they were sitting between the potted plants on a sunken sofa. There were so many plants in such a small area that Tobias actually began to feel like a vegetable. Clearly, she did not get much commission from her pricey paintings.

  He then got straight to the point. “We want to find out more information about Stanley Hudson. I believe he represents your work in the Kensington Art Gallery?”

  Ms Watts nodded. “Him and Greg Fielding. I’ve had the most awful time with them. I wanted to end my contract with them. But I… couldn’t. Hudson claimed my paintings weren’t good enough to go anywhere else. That I should be grateful I was working for them.”

  “That’s awful,” Tobias said apologetically. “I thought your paintings were very good.”

  “But I’m not dead,” Ms Watts rolled her eyes. “Contemporary art doesn’t go for much these days. I knew I made a mistake choosing their gallery, but I was trying to aim high. I overestimated my abilities. Now I’ve ended up dealing with crooks.”

  “Crooks?” Natalie prompted.

  “They rip me off all the time. They take such a high percentage of whatever I earn. They took some of my paintings abroad. But I never got a penny from them. Who knows if they were sold or not; I haven’t got the means to find out.”

  “That’s awful,” said Natalie sympathetically. “Why didn’t you contact the police?”

  “I wanted to… but I’m desperate. I still get the odd bit of cash from them, just for hosting my paintings in their gallery. I couldn’t sign up with any other art dealers - it’s in their contract and I’m sure they’ll spread dirt on me so that I wouldn’t be hired by anyone else if I tried. I don’t know what I’ll do if that money goes. I’ll lose everything.” Ms Watts lowered her head sadly. Tobias felt immensely sorry for her. “They won’t know that I talked to you will they?” “Of course not,” said Tobias. “Fielding is dead anyway. And we are trying to find Hudson as part of an investigation. I hope that I can assure you that once we get to the bottom of this we can get your paintings back. Do you know where Hudson might be?”

  Ms Watts shook her head. “I only ever saw him at the gallery. What happened to Greg?”

  “He was murdered. That’s why we need to find Hudson.”

  Ms Watts' eyes grew. “He was murdered?”

  “What is Hudson like as a person? Is he aggressive at all? Short tempered?”

  “Yes, he is, now that you mention it,” Ms Watts sighed. “Greg was gentler. It was his idea to pay me a monthly installment. It was Hudson who was cruel. He took my paintings abroad, took a higher percentage of my commissions and threatened me when I wanted to cancel our contract. He never had a family as far as I know. Which was good, because he didn’t care about anyone apart from himself.” “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Tobias. “When was the last time you saw him?”

  The woman pondered. “I think a few months ago. I went to the gallery one day to see if I could get any more money. It looked like he had been sleeping there, he was all messy and it was early. He was very rude to me and told me to stop complaining. That my paintings were worth less than turd spread on a sheet and that I should be thankful for what I got,” she shook her head. “I hadn’t been back since.” “When was the last time you saw Greg Fielding?” “Oh… it was probably about six months ago now. I had gone into the gallery to drop off one of my paintings. I was glad Greg was there, rather than Hudson. He actually complimented my work, and he said he would try to get me a raise on my next paycheck. He was such a nice man. I’m sad that he’s gone.”

  “You speak very highly of him. Did you ever witness any… arguments or tension between Mr Fielding and Mr Hudson?”

  Ms Watts blinked. “No… they had a very professional relationship and I believe they had been friends a long time. I didn’t really see the both of them together much. Hudson was always away. But I would find it very hard to believe if Hudson was the one responsible for Greg’s death. Greg was the only person in this world that Hudson didn’t treat like absolute crap. At least...to his face, anyway.” “Did you know of anyone who did dislike Mr Fielding?”

  Ms Watts when quiet for a moment, her face frozen in thought. “Come to think of it… there was one girl he used to have trouble with.”

  “What girl?”

  “Rose Bennet. A young, talented artist. Way more talented than me. She was only a teenager when her artwork was displayed in the gallery. She was the daughter of this rich businessman who used to throw money at the gallery, as some sort of payment or bribe for displaying his daughter’s work. Not that they needed to be bribed. Her modern, still-lifes were amazing. It just didn’t suit the general theme of the gallery. But that didn’t matter. Anyway, the girl got what she wanted and as a result she managed to get into one of the most prestigious art schools in the world.”

  “So, if she got what she wanted, why did she cause Gregory Fielding trouble?”

  Ms Watts frowned. “She made some allegations about him.”

  Tobias exchanged looks with his partner. Natalie's eyes were wide.

  “What sort of allegations?”

  “Of the sexual sort. Don’t know if it was true, it was years ago. The police never investigated it. By that time, Rose Bennet’s father and Greg were practically sharing each other’s financial pockets, both profiting from each other. They did dealings together and shared contacts. It would’ve been a disaster for the gallery if the allegations had been followed through.” “And what do you think? Do you think they could be true?”

  The woman sighed. “I don’t know what I think. I heard that Rose was a troubled child. I only met her the one time at a gallery opening in Mayfair. She was adopted, you see. Spent years of her life in foster care, and suddenly she had everything she could ever want in life. She was never going to slip easily into a privileged life. I think she was annoyed at her father for buying her success, rather than to let her achieve it herself. I could understand where she was coming from. She didn’t seem like the type to mess around though she could have been petty enough to make up a lie about her father’s new business partner, purely just to spite them. She was only a child, after all.” Tobias thanked her and promised that they’d try and get her justice. As he rose, one of the plants tried to attach itself to his coat. He peeled it off and hoped there wasn’t more on his backside. Natalie didn’t utter a word as they made their way back to the car. “That's really interesting,” mused Tobias, as he popped himself into the driver’s seat. “An allegation made against Fielding. Why is this the first time this has come up?”

  “He did it,” Natalie’s eyes were focused on something in the distance, her hands clenched. “I
t wouldn’t make sense for her to make it up. Why deliberately cause a rift between her father’s partner and also the man responsible for benefiting her artistic reputation? She would have a lot to lose.”

  “But if he did, then why did she not push the allegation further?”

  Natalie jerked in her seat to face him, the air around her suddenly fiery.

  “You men always wonder why women don’t report sexual assault. It’s because it’s never that simple. First, they have to find someone who believes them. Second, the perpetrator is usually someone that they know, someone they used to trust. And third, reporting means reliving the experience again and again and then after eventually getting questioned in a court proceeding, recounting it many times to complete strangers, who actually don’t give a toss about whether it happened or not. And inevitably, the perpetrator gets away with it. It’s not something a woman can easily do. You have to be very strong. It’s no wonder that most just give up.” Tobias could almost feel the anger radiating off her. He briefly wondered what had stemmed her outburst. What had happened to her in Derby?

  “I’m sorry, Natalie,” Tobias said uncomfortably. She actually made him feel like a misogynistic pig, not that he meant any offense. “You’re right. There is something more to this. How about we focus on finding Hudson, and then we’ll find this Rose Bennet and get to the bottom of it. It’s not too late to do something about it.”

  Natalie shakily laughed, oddly, the kind of laugh that was borderline sarcastic. “Well, it is too late. Fielding is dead. She’ll never get the justice she deserves.” “But we can still listen to her,” Tobias vowed. “We can make her heard. We can make some of this right again.”

  Natalie didn’t say anything for a while, gazing out the window deep in thought. Then she turned to him and smiled thinly. “You’re right. We can still try to make some of this right. And I’m sorry I shouted at you, you were asking the right question. I just get rather... tetchy about this stuff. Let’s get going.”

  Tobias nodded and didn’t comment further. He hadn’t meant to upset her and didn’t want to push her either.

  Not long later, they stopped outside Hudson’s mother’s address. The curtains were all closed, apart from one. Mrs Hudson could be seen at the downstairs front window. She was peering out, keeping a lookout of the streets. Her gaze turned into a glare when she spotted Tobias and Natalie pulling up. She’d wrenched open the front door before they had even got to the front path.

  “For the last time,” she screeched. “He is not here! Leave me alone! I’ll report you for harassment!” “Mrs Hudson,” Tobias replied back calmly. “You are now disrupting a formal investigation. We would like you to step aside and let us in, if you may.”

  “I don’t bloody think so! What reason do you have to assume that my son is here? I told you, he lives abroad and I haven’t seen him in months! I don’t see you with a warrant, you can’t be that serious about finding him. Now clear off, before I report you for persecuting an innocent, old lady!”

  Tobias cursed under his breath. What was with the obsession that the public had with warrants? People were just becoming more and more unhelpful, just because they could. And it was more infuriating when they clearly had something to hide.

  “Very well,” Tobias eventually said. “We’ll be back, with the warrant.” He wondered how on earth he was going to get it. He would have to run it by Fowler and he would much rather run through a forest fire naked, than to do that.

  “It’s alright, we’ll get in,” Natalie assured him back in the car. “And Hudson is definitely hiding in there.” Tobias glanced at her. “How can you be so sure?” Natalie smirked. “I saw a curtain twitch upstairs whilst you were bickering with that old lady. Someone was watching. Hudson is in there without a doubt.”

  “Okay, so hopefully that’ll make Fowler skinning me alive worth it then,” Tobias laughed.

  Back at the police station, they managed to get their paperwork finalised quite quickly. They were a great team, Tobias realised. He should’ve had a partner years ago. His eyes kept flitting up to Fowler’s office, but fortunately it appeared that he had taken off early for the day. He would have to ask for the warrant tomorrow. He could barely wait. At least he had more time to mentally prepare for the encounter. Would it help if he brought a stack of freshly baked muffins? If he went on his knees and begged? Who could say? Only one thing was for certain, and that was Tobias needed to get cracking with writing his will.

  DIANE

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Diane was ready.

  She had been up for a good part of the night reading about Dissociative Identity Disorder; regarding how to ‘switch’ an alter, or identity. Apparently, it was a process that could be quite uncomfortable and disturbing for the patient at hand. It had to be done in a calm, controlled environment and only with the patient’s permission.

  She had particularly focused on switch triggers and found there to be a whole load of possibilities. It was mainly based on emotions and situations at hand, however, alter switching could ultimately be triggered by anything; even by specific music. It was all extremely interesting.

  She had even read that different alters could develop different voices, different styles, different ages. It was common for individuals with DID to feel depersonalised, to feel like they are observing their own speech and movements, to feel like they had no control over sudden impulses or excessive emotions. They may even feel like their bodies have changed, such as the feeling of being more muscular or to have the body of a young child. It was common in DID for sufferers to experience a dissociative fugue - an event where they may have travelled but have no recollection of it.

  Treatment involved heavy, long-term psychotherapy with the aim of analysing each of the separate personalities and trying to integrate them into one. Diane found it hard to imagine what it would be like to have to share her head with others. Her brain was so busy, she could barely keep up with the one. It must be an extremely difficult condition to cope with; particularly as most individuals would live with it alone and undiagnosed. This only made her more determined to help and treat Mrs Fielding. But first and foremost, they had to get to the bottom of this murder.

  Diane had arranged to meet Mrs Fielding first thing, back at the police station. Again, she was careful not to bump into Tobias, and indeed she didn’t. Part of her longed to tell him about the disastrous date from the previous night, just like how they used to. He would have found it hilarious and Diane would’ve instantly felt better.

  She settled herself in the uncomfortable metallic chair and waited for Mrs Fielding. The poor woman arrived not long after she did. She looked partially better, she’d had a wash and her short hair was combed back; however she was still a deathly pale with sunken, dark rings around her sad, grey eyes. She was brought in and handcuffed to the table, just like before.

  “Excuse me,” said Diane. “Please unchain her. It is completely unnecessary.”

  “Lady,” replied the policeman. “She’s in for murder.” As if she didn’t already know. Diane left it, as it wasn’t worth arguing over and wasting precious time. “Good morning Mrs Fielding, how are you feeling?” Her patient shrugged, her eyes fixed to the floor. “I just want to know the truth,” her voice wobbled. “And we will get there,” promised Diane. “Let’s try summoning your other identity again. Are you happy for me to continue?”

  Mrs Fielding nodded. Diane switched on the tape. “Sit back, and try to relax. Close your eyes. Deep breaths in and out. I want you to think about your husband. I want you to think about how you felt when you found him. How scared you were. How hurt you are that someone took him from you.” Diane waited a moment. Mrs Fielding was cooperating brilliantly. But it seemed like her husband's death wouldn’t be the trigger today. Diane delved deeper. “Now I want you to think about the affair, between him and your sister. How betrayed you felt. They went behind your back for years. How does that make you feel? The two people you trust most in this world.
Imagine that your sister is here in this room. What would you say to her?”

  Mrs Fielding’s breathing became more rapid. Her fists were clenching. It was working.

  “Your sister was supposed to look out for you! She should’ve told you the truth! She owed you that at least. And your husband… he broke his vow to you. He managed to hide such a big secret from you for so long…”

  Mrs Fielding made an angry noise, like a quiet groan. Her figure became more hunched.

  “And now your husband has been taken from you. You’ll never get to tell him how you feel; how he made you feel.”

  Then suddenly it happened.

  It was one of the most amazing moments in Diane’s career. Mrs Fielding’s body leant backwards, her back straightening, her posture completely changing. She began to wring her hands in a way that Diane had never seen before. There was suddenly an air of confidence about her. Mrs Fielding’s eyes fluttered open. They were still grey, but there was something different in them. They were hostile, angry. “What do you want?” The voice was brisk, sharp. Not soft and calming like Mrs Fielding’s.

  “Hello, I am Dr Diane Smith. I’m a psychiatrist. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Can I know your name?” Mrs Fielding’s - or rather this identity’s - eyes stared at her suspiciously. “I didn’t know Mary was seeing a psychiatrist?”

  Diane leaned forward, trying not to tremble with excitement. “Mary needs your help. We need to know the truth about what happened to Greg, her husband.”

  The other identity smirked at her. “Why should I help her? She refuses to acknowledge that I’m here all the time. She gladly lets me save her and then shuts me away. I’m fed up with her. I do everything secretly now. I pretend to be her when I take over. It drives her crazy, not knowing what is going on. It’s very entertaining.”