by A K Shattock
As if by magic, Tobias’s phone rang at that very moment. It was Ellen.
“Hi there,” he answered. “How’s it going?”
“It’s been amazing Tobias! You won’t believe it,” she spoke in a lowered voice. “Fowler is actually quivering in anger. He’s absolutely furious that you properly ended that case against his wishes. I wish you could be here to see it.”
“Me too,” he replied, forlornly. “And have you managed to connect Mr Hudson to Mr Huntley yet? Any luck finding that fox-hunt painting anywhere?” “Unfortunately not,” sighed Ellen. “It seems we may just have a copy-cat case after all. Mr Huntley’s death is still a mystery. On the bright-side, at least there doesn’t appear to be a serial killer on the loose.” “That's a shame,” replied Tobias sadly. “I suppose we can’t have everything. And how are you? How's the arm?”
“I’m fine,” Ellen said, nonchalantly. “My cut is a bit sore, but that's to be expected. The attention has been nice though. Harris actually bought me a coffee.” Tobias wolf-whistled. “Wow, he loves you. That stingy bastard never buys anyone anything!” Ellen laughed. “What are you up to this evening? I figured you must be bored?”
“You would certainly be right,” smiled Tobias. “I can meet you at the bar?”
“Actually… do you want to come over to mine? I’ve got a half day today. About five thirty? I live in block four, flat 2a. I’ll cook you dinner, my treat.” “Sure! I’ll see you there.”
Tobias lay back on his tattered sofa-bed. It was only 2pm. What else could he do? As usual, his mind went straight back to work and he thought of everything that was outstanding. In fact, he had missed something.
He’d never checked Mrs Fielding’s psychiatric notes from Diane. He had completely forgotten about it. Would it make a difference? Unlikely, but Tobias was intrigued. He wanted to know more about what had happened with those blackouts.
Before he knew what he was doing, he had thrown his coat on and he was making his way to the police station. He knew he’d get in trouble for being there, but he could argue that he wasn’t formally on shift. He just had to be a bit sneaky.
A few minutes later, he was sniffing his way around the records and evidence department. Karen was in charge. She had four kids and lived near Brixton. She smiled at him warmly and waved. He waved back. She didn’t even question why he was there or why he hadn’t signed in. It was at that point, Tobias realised he probably had worked there too long.
He located Gregory Fielding’s murder case notes and flicked through. He found Diane’s neat handwriting and saw what she had dotted down about Mrs Fielding’s counseling session. It turned out that Diane had actually managed to talk to this other personality, Agnes. And she’d written that Agnes had denied being involved in Mr Fielding’s murder. It was all extremely interesting. He felt relieved to see that Diane’s work supported his own. He still couldn’t help but wish he could’ve picked up the phone and called her up instead. But this was how she wanted it. He scanned through the rest of the notes and glanced at the photographs. As he read, he thought he noticed that something was amiss, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He re-read the notes a few more times and realised he wasn’t mistaken. There was definitely some information missing from this.
A few hours later, Tobias had made his way to Ellen’s apartment block.
“Tobias,” she had greeted him warmly. It looked like she was going to give him a friendly embrace, but then had thought twice about it. “Welcome! Come in!”
Ellen took his coat and offered him a drink; which of course Tobias accepted. Her flat was modern and pleasant, very clean. She had a spacious living room, with a black and white open-plan kitchen. It was also quite sparse and showed lack of character. It gave absolutely nothing away about her personality. “Nice place,” Tobias said politely.
“Thanks. It’s not cheap, as you can imagine. But it came furnished and the rent includes bills, so I thought it was worth it just for that.”
“Oh, I agree. You don’t want the hassle of council tax,” Tobias reached for the beer she had handed over to him. “Y’know, I’ve been thinking about the Fielding case,” Tobias didn’t really want to bring up work, but that was inevitable with work friends. And he didn’t really know what else to chat about. “Do you think we dealt with it properly?”
Ellen shot him a nervous look. “What do you mean?” “I’ve been thinking a lot about it,” mused Tobias. “Do you ever think that it might be… too perfect? How we just happened to find all that evidence against Hudson in his possession? And I agree, that it was definitely him who attacked us, but what if it was an isolated incident? What if he thought we were after him because of his money troubles? He seemed genuinely surprised to be charged with murder.” “But then how does that explain the gloves with Fielding’s blood?”
“True,” Tobias shrugged. “Unless they were planted. It was weird how they were… together. I don’t know. I overthink a lot. I worry that we miss stuff. Don’t mind me.” He took a swig of his drink. “Actually… there was something I noticed that was strange when I read through the case notes. You mentioned right at the beginning that Mrs Fielding was left-handed, and that whoever committed the murder was left-handed. But looking through the notes, the fact that Mrs Fielding was left-handed was never mentioned or documented during initial questioning.”
“Really,” Ellen blinked. “That’s bizarre. I’m sure I read it somewhere.”
“And something else that’s been bugging me. Mrs Fielding signed her signature in front of me. She’s actually right-handed.”
Ellen shrugged. “Well it doesn’t matter now. She didn’t do the murder anyway.”
“I suppose so,” Tobias sighed. “I can’t stop myself going over it. It’s probably the most tiring job in the world, being a detective. Your brain just never stops until it’s satisfied. Do you ever feel like that?” Ellen nodded. “When I got too involved in that case back in Derby… I couldn’t sleep. I lived and breathed it. I couldn’t rest. It took over my life. But that’s the essence of the job, isn’t it. What we signed up for. Sometimes I wonder if my personality isn’t quite right for it. That I’m not strong or hard enough.” Tobias smiled kindly. “You have to be a little bit human. You have to take on some emotion. Like when you tell a person that a loved one has died, that person is going to remember you forever. And they’ll remember those exact words for the rest of their life. You gotta make them count.”
“You’re right, Tobias,” she sighed. “You’re always right.”
Not always, he thought. It was at that moment, his mobile rang. He smiled at Ellen and she smiled back. He considered muting the call.
“It’s fine, take it,” Ellen said with a wave. “Don’t worry I’ll work on dinner.”
To his surprise, it was Diane on the caller ID. “Excuse me,” Tobias said to Ellen, as he stood up and walked over to the other side of the room, towards the patio doors that led out to a small balcony. “Di? Hello?”
“Toby,” her voice was panicked, frightened. “Where are you right now?”
Tobias looked around him. “I’m er, I’m at Ellen’s. Why, what’s wrong?”
“Don’t say anything, don’t speak. Don’t say my name. Listen to me carefully. I had a session with Mrs Fielding today, and she disclosed what Gregory Fielding did. Apparently, they used to look after a neighbour’s child. Nellie, her name was.”
“Okay… but what’s that got to do with anything?” “Toby! I said listen! She thinks her husband abused Nellie. She doesn’t know for sure, but her other personality probably does. She said that she had tried to meet this Nellie years later, but had been stood up. The day of the murder, they had tried to meet, but again, she didn’t turn up. Somebody else has a motive for the murder!”
Tobias’s heart skipped a beat. “And where is this Nellie now?”
“She doesn’t know! But Toby, this is the part where you have to listen. Nellie… it’s a nickname, short for Ellen. She fitted Ellen’s
description and age. And the night you were attacked… No one saw the attacker apart from Ellen.”
Tobias’s heart practically sunk. “But we arrested another suspect! Are you trying to suggest…” “Ellen murdered Gregory Fielding! She set them up! She’s been working against you this whole time. Please, get out of there before she hurts you again!” Tobias froze, his hand was still holding his phone to his ear, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, although it made sense. It explained almost everything. He didn’t know what to think.
“Tobias.” Ellen was now standing in front of him. Her voice was oddly calm. She had clearly overheard some of their conversation. “Is that the psychiatrist you are talking to?”
The phone was still held near his ear. He could hear Diane shouting down the phone, but his brain couldn’t comprehend her words.
“I have to go,” he somehow managed to get the words out and began to make his way towards the front door. Ellen stepped in front of him. She held a large, glinting, kitchen knife firmly in her left hand, the blood of the meat she had been chopping up, was dripping silently onto the floor.
“I don’t think so,” she said, slowly shaking her head. “Ellen,” his voice was very dry. He stepped back. “Think about what you’re doing.”
“Oh believe me,” she said in a firm voice, her large blue eyes glinting menacingly. “I have.”
ELLEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Murdering Gregory Fielding was one of the greatest accomplishments of my life.
I was eleven when the abuse started. It was around the time when Mary had to move away for a while to look after her sister in Newcastle. The first time it happened, it was when I had gone round for refuge, away from my agitated mother. Greg had only been too happy to let me stay, even though Mary wasn’t there. Then, I didn’t recognise what was going on. I didn’t fully understand that the things that Greg had asked me to do were wrong. I just knew it was bad. Very bad.
And it carried on, even when Mary got back. He’d take me to his study to show me ‘a game on his computer’. Up in the bedroom to ‘look at a cute dog across the road’. Even in the living room, when he grew more confident at not getting caught. I tried to stay away from their house entirely and made excuses. But my Dad was desperate and forced me to go. I couldn’t tell him the truth. I didn’t even know how to explain it.
There were times when Mary did walk in, particularly towards the end. Greg always managed to swiftly move away and make it look like nothing had happened. But Mary had froze, staring at us, completely paralysed, as if she could sense that something wasn’t right. And then she would back out of the room without a word. At the time, I didn’t understand her behaviour at all.
It was later, when I realised what was the matter with Mary. When she had seen what was going on, she switched. I knew about Agnes, her other personality. The one that protected her. Agnes had introduced herself to me when I was a small child. She explained that she wasn’t the same as Mary and that Mary wouldn’t remember these encounters. I liked Agnes. She was not as soft and motherly as Mary, but she was forward, straight to the point. She didn’t mind telling me the facts of life. It was her that I turned to during this crisis.
Mary switched into Agnes the last time it had happened when she had walked in and could fully see what was going on. Then Agnes had bounded straight into the room and screamed at her husband. She had ripped me away, had coddled me, and had taken me home. From then on, not only did she try to protect Mary, but also me.
Agnes had sat me down and we had talked about it. She had wanted to turn him in to the police. She wanted him to rot in jail. But I had refused. I was barely a teenager, but I knew how the world worked. If the police were involved, they’d look at my home life. They’d see that I was being cared for by a parent who couldn’t look after herself; that had frequent trips away to the psychiatric unit. That my other parent was barely at home either; who had to work long, exhausting hours just to keep us going. I didn’t want to be questioned, to be more scarred and put my Dad through more grief. And I didn’t want to lose my third parent. Mary.
“But Nel,” Agnes had cried. “Mary doesn’t know about this. She can’t know about this, it would destroy her. Her mind is physically unable to take in the information. But that also means that she can’t protect you. I can’t protect you.”
In the end, we had mutually decided that I would stay away. I wouldn’t visit anymore. It was difficult to explain to my father. He couldn’t see why it was such an issue to stay with the Fieldings. I made up all sorts of excuses. And in the end, my father eventually agreed that I could look after myself.
The wounded looks on Mary’s face were hard to bear, whenever I passed her, whenever she was gardening on her front lawn. She didn’t know, she didn’t understand. I wished I could tell her. But I had promised not to.
“Mary had a hard time when she was little,” Agnes had explained. “That is why I exist. Her mind can’t cope with this. She automatically switches to me. But it’s not her fault. Don’t feel bad that we’re keeping her in the dark. It’s for her own good.”
It wasn’t long after that, that we moved away. My Dad got a more stable job up North and we could afford to keep my mother in a more secure, mental health unit; where we didn’t have to panic about leaving sharp objects around, with the paranoia of making sure that anything that could be used as a tool for suicide was safely locked away. It meant that we could get on with our lives.
I did well at school, and it was a while before I could see the effects of the damage that Greg had inflicted on me. I found it difficult to trust people. I had few friends. I found that all I wanted to do in life was to protect people. Protect the people that were vulnerable, like I was. To protect, like Agnes had tried to protect me.
I signed up to be a police officer as soon as I left school and it wasn’t long before I was a detective trainee. I loved it, but I found certain cases too hard. I saw young children with ruined lives. Abusers that roamed free, and offended repeatedly. Some were imprisoned, but were out within a few years. I couldn’t cope with those cases. I had breakdowns, I was traumatised and I was angry. The anger that had flickered throughout all these years, was now ablaze. I wanted to punish every single criminal that thought it was okay to violate others for their own enjoyment. It was to the point, where I feared that I was becoming mentally unstable and unpredictable like my mother. And that was when I decided it was vital that I got my own justice.
But I needed help. And I knew who I could ask.
Agnes had never kept her dislike of Greg a secret. She assured me that Mary felt the same way, but had never acted on it. When I wrote to her half a year ago, she had responded resolutely. We decided to meet. But we didn’t want Mary to be involved.
Agnes wrote in her letters that she would turn up at the meeting place with a shiny, red handbag that Mary would never use. If she did not have this handbag, then it was Mary and I was not to approach her. So that’s what we did. Agnes still had no control over switching, so it took a few times to meet her. On the third go, there was Agnes, strutting in the café with her gleaming hand bag.
I expressed my desire to her to report what had happened and to get justice for what Greg did to me. That I was finding it increasingly difficult to move on, that I would never be able to function properly as a normal human being with relationships unless I had closed this door, forever. Agnes listened carefully. “It’s going to be very traumatic for you,” she had said calmly. “And you can’t guarantee that you’ll get the result that you want. And even if you do, he’ll likely get a couple of years. Then he’ll be free. You might find it makes you feel worse,” she leaned forward. “I say we go one step further. Let’s kill him.” At first, I thought she was joking. I shakily laughed, until I noticed she was serious. “Why?” was all I said.
Agnes proceeded to tell me what Greg had done to her and Mary all these years. How he had trapped them in this marriage. How he
had refused to have children. How he had used her name to forge documents. How he left bruises on her. How he cheated with her sister. How they were now in huge debt, and how they would lose everything. How they fought all the time. And the worst crime of all, what he did to me.
“My point is,” Agnes had said. “Is that he will never stop. He will keep going. He’s going to hurt more people. He’s going to divorce me soon, I can tell and take my sister away. Manipulate her too. I’m terrified, because I have no control. Mary has all of it. And I don’t think she knows entirely what he’s capable of.”
To my surprise, I found that I wasn’t as repulsed as I should’ve been by the idea. In fact, it calmed me. Had I been that dehumanised by my job? I saw many murder scenes, many bodies, that were acts seemingly justified by the perpetrators. They had thought they were doing the right thing. Would I be doing society a favour to remove Greg from it? It was then, when I realised I truly believed I would be. We set up our plan.
I applied for a job as a DS in London so I would be closer to the scene of the crime. I couldn’t believe my luck when I had been offered the job. I contacted Agnes straight away. We planned to do it the day before I started my new job.
We managed to get Mary away from the house. Yet another letter was sent, asking her to meet me. She just couldn’t resist. We couldn’t risk her being there. But it wasn’t a proper alibi.
“We need to make the murder point to me to begin with,” Agnes had explained. “Either they’ll take the bait and assume I did it. Or they’ll assume I’ve been framed. And this will be the case until we can find someone else to pin it on. The main thing is that we protect you.”