Dead to Me

by Pamela Murray

  ‘Here you are,’ he said, as he handed it over.

  Fielding scanned through it, hoping that something of relevance would pop out at her, but the legal jargon was simply a confirmation of a five-year extension to the tenancy. It didn’t reveal anything of interest other than the fact that Caroline Watkins and Norman Bishop knew one another, and they’d both had dealings with Marilyn Parkinson. So, the question was, had Caroline picked the Tarot card reading as a night out for the women on the basis of the work connection, and had the cost of it been in lieu of their legal dealings? It was a question she would have to ask her. But even if she had, what did that have to do with Maria Turnbull’s death, or Norman Bishop’s for that matter?

  ‘I see that the tenancy for this person started eighteen months ago.’

  He nodded.

  ‘Why wasn’t it a longer tenancy then?’

  Younger explained that eighteen months is the initial tenancy agreement for any new businesses. After that time, five-year ones were the norm.

  ‘You see, it’s really a safeguard for both parties. If the business is successful, then it works for both them and us and we’re happy to extend the contract. But if it fails within that time, we don’t extend it and then they’re not tied into a five-year contract with all the associated fees and legal obligations.’

  Fielding found that logical. ‘So, this particular person’s business was successful then?’

  ‘More than, I would say. She pays her dues on time, which is always a good sign, plus we do check in now and again just to make sure everything is going okay with all our tenants.’

  It was then that another thought came to Fielding’s mind. Harry York was an estate agent. Could he be involved in this in any way, apart from the connection to Maria Turnbull via the school?

  ‘Just one last thing,’ she said to Younger. ‘When commencing a tenancy, would a tenant be required to initially go through an estate agent?’

  ‘Why, yes, that’s the normal way, then the business licenses are renewed via the council.’

  ‘Is there any way I can find out which agency Ms Parkinson had initial dealings with?’

  ‘It will be on record.’ He picked up the phone again and asked his secretary for Marilyn’s separate file from the records stack.

  ‘It may take a while,’ Younger said. ‘As you can imagine, we have a great deal of businesses in Manchester, and hold a lot of records.’

  ‘That’s okay, I’ve got all day,’ Fielding forced a wan smile. Their investigation had reached a stalemate with regard discovering a motive, and they were accumulating more bodies as each day passed. Even if she did find out what she now suspected, it wouldn’t help the investigation one bit, and would only create more unanswered questions.

  Despite Sam Younger thinking it would take more time, there was a knock on the door after only ten minutes. Again, his secretary had a smile for Fielding as she handed the information over. Now that’s efficiency, Fielding thought, speedy and polite.

  The file wasn’t too large, so she found what she was looking for relatively quickly. Marilyn Parkinson first viewed the property eighteen months ago, and a rental agreement was signed the following month. The estate agency firm handling the transaction was, as suspected, the one Harry York worked at.

  After thanking Mr Younger for his help, Fielding headed back to the station as she wanted to run this new development past Burton and get his take on it. She only hoped that he would be free.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The powers-that-be must have heard Fielding, for when she returned to the office Burton was sitting next to Simon Banks, looking at his computer screen.

  ‘I’ve got an hour free,’ Burton said on seeing her. ‘Thought I’d come in and see how you’re all doing.’

  ‘Thank goodness!’ she declared with an urgency in her voice, that caused him to raise an eyebrow.

  ‘What’s happened?’ he asked, concerned by a response so unlike her.

  ‘Let’s go into your office and I’ll bring you up to date.’

  While Fielding filled him in, Burton sat back and listened with interest.

  ‘You just couldn’t make this stuff up!’ he said. ‘So, what are you thinking about it all?’

  ‘I’m really not sure, which is why I need your take on it.’

  ‘Okay then, let’s go through it all at the board.’

  As they stood looking at the ever-increasing list of victims and suspects, they went through everything they knew so far. By the time they’d gone over it all, they had to admit that it didn’t make much sense. The one real lead, the connection between Maria Turnbull and Harry York, believing that their murders might be related to the school’s finances, had now been disproven by the forensic accounting team, so they were back to square one. The new information from Fielding regarding the tenancy lease on Madam Ortiz’s premises, linked the astrologer to not only Caroline Watkins and Norman Bishop, but also to Harry York. Both York and Bishop had been found with an astrological symbol on the body. So, what was the killer, or killers, trying to say, and exactly why were there now three deaths? Everything pointed towards the fortune-telling astrologer.

  The odd one out was Maria Turnbull, who did not have a symbol on her body but, there again, she had not been alone at the time of her death. This begged the question whether she might have had one if she had been alone. Also, there was the matter of the digitalis poison. They were yet to find out if it was in Bishop’s system when he died, but Fielding suspected that it might be, the same as the others. Hopefully, the results would come through soon to either confirm or deny. The only one of the three victims with a confirmed link to digitalis was Maria Turnbull, being a biology teacher who had also studied botany, plus the fact that she took the medication for a mild heart condition.

  So, what did Maria Turnbull, Harry York and Normal Bishop know, or what had they done, or indeed seen, that got all three of them killed? Forget Cluedo, it was a who’s who in an Agatha Christie novel.

  ***

  Burton felt nervous telling Fielding that DCI Ambleton had instructed him to organise a press conference for 4 p.m., mainly because as acting senior investigative officer she’d be the one having to head it up.

  ‘Oh, I can’t!’ Fielding declared when he finally plucked up the courage to tell her. ‘I’ve never even been to one before. They’ll catch me out and I’ll let something slip that I shouldn’t.’

  ‘You can’t let anything you don’t know slip out,’ he reassured her. He knew full well what press gatherings were like, but it was true what he said: they essentially knew nothing, other than the names of the three dead people, plus the fact that they were intricately connected.

  He was right, of course, she knew that, and they did not have anything that pointed to motive.

  ‘Okay then, can you prep me on what they’ll ask and how to respond?’

  ‘Because I’m an old hand you mean?’ he laughed.

  ‘If you want to phrase it that way, yes!’

  ‘I’ll miss you when I’m upstairs,’ Burton said softly. ‘I’ll miss this, our working together and sharing ideas, and trying to solve all the complex puzzles.’

  ‘But didn’t Ambleton say that you could always have the option of coming down and getting involved in cases now and then?’

  ‘Yes, she did. But now and then isn’t the same as every day, is it?’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I’m beginning to think,’ Burton ruminated, ‘that maybe it’s not such a good idea me taking on the DCI job.’

  ‘What?’ Fielding exclaimed. ‘Don’t be stupid. It’s a great honour to be offered such a prestigious position, and you’re surely not going to pull out and let somebody else take it. Tell me you’re not thinking that?’

  ‘Well, I was consider–’

  ‘No!’ she cut in, ‘you can’t let that happen. Ambleton wants you to have the position, to take over the role from her. Tell me you’re not going t
o let her down. You just can’t, Joe!’

  Burton sighed deeply. Being away from his long-term partner over the past few days had affected him more than he realised, more so now that they had finally taken the long-awaited personal step forward. If he was to take the job, perhaps this was the time to seriously think about what they’d already discussed – to settle down and buy a place together. Although they hadn’t talked about making their liaison more formal, an engagement and eventually marriage had certainly been on his mind recently. Could this be the right time?

  ‘Oh, forgive me Sally,’ he said at last, ‘it’s just that it’s all so new and different upstairs. You’d think the work would be the same, but it’s not really; it’s more administration than actual physical police work. Plus, I’m really missing you being there beside me during the day, that and our coffee trips. The ones from the machine just aren’t the same.’

  ‘I could put my arms around you just now,’ Fielding smiled. ‘But I won’t, bearing in mind your blinds are all open!’

  Burton laughed. At last, she’d managed to get him into a better frame of mind than he was a few moments before.

  ‘I don’t think anyone would mind,’ he joked. ‘I know I certainly wouldn’t!’

  ‘On a more serious note,’ Fielding continued, trying not to be distracted, ‘what about this press conference; what exactly do I need to tell them and what not to?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Although Burton’s briefing had been thorough, Fielding still didn’t feel confident going into the press conference. Not wanting to go alone, she asked Summers to come with her. He seemed far happier with the prospect than she did, and willingly went along. She remembered that he’d once told her he’d been into acting in his youth, even having had an audition with the prestigious London acting school, RADA, so perhaps he looked upon it as an on-stage appearance. Although she’d always loved English literature and the theatre, Fielding hadn’t wanted to get involved in productions, preferring to study and read literary works rather than perform them. That option would have taken her way too far out of her comfort zone, and required a more extrovert personality than hers to pull it off.

  Fielding felt completely overwhelmed by what she was confronted with as soon as she opened the door of the press room. She’d never been in this room before, and certainly hadn’t expected it to hold as many people as were in there now, every one of them looking towards her and Summers. All the memories of taking her sergeant’s exam came flooding back. Although passing it with higher-than-average marks, more than even she had hoped for or expected, the experience hadn’t been a particularly pleasant one and the memory of it had stayed with her for a long time. She was more than happy to see an unexpected presence in the room in the person of DCI Ambleton, who was already seated at the table. Burton hadn’t mentioned she was sitting in on this, but perhaps he hadn’t known. Was she going to lead, or would that all be left up to her, Fielding wondered? Seeing her flinch, Summers whispered ‘you’ll be all right’ in her ear as they moved towards their seats beside the DCI. If only she felt that positive. All she could do was keep telling herself that it would be over soon, and to keep her wits about her when asked any difficult questions.

  Once seated, the onslaught began. DCI Ambleton, in her own inimitable way, quickly quietened them then introduced Fielding to the throng. Burton had said that Ambleton could silence a room with a single stare, which Fielding could well believe, only this time, a firm request ‘silence please’ was needed.

  The first question had no bearing on the case whatsoever, as Fielding was asked why she was ‘acting’ Detective Inspector. After giving the DCI a sideways glance, and seeing that she nodded, she explained it in a brief sentence, hoping that the remainder of the reporters would ask specifically about the ongoing investigation. As all hands seemed to go in the air at once, Fielding picked out one from the third row.

  ‘What leads, if any, do you have?’ the young bearded man asked.

  ‘We are following a few at the moment, but I’m afraid that I cannot comment on them at this time.’ Fielding felt a little better for having answered the first question, although she knew that her ordeal was far from being over.

  The next person didn’t wait to be selected and just went straight into it. ‘And what about the notes found on the bodies; they’re astrological symbols, aren’t they?’

  Fielding followed the voice and settled on a bespectacled middle-aged man with rosy cheeks. She was temporarily taken aback. Burton had always wondered how members of the press received their inside information. This one troubled her, as the symbols had not been released to the public.

  Acting cautiously, she asked him where he’d obtained that information from.

  ‘From a reliable source,’ came the reply, ‘and one I can’t comment on.’

  Touché, she thought, but it was worrying. Perhaps the jogger witness she’d seen by the canal had overcome his shock and contacted one of the local newspapers for financial reward, or maybe there’d been another witness who hadn’t waited for the police to come and find the body? It had to be either one or the other, how else would they have known about the pieces of paper with the symbols on them? What would Burton do in a situation like this, would he go along with it or would he just ask for the next question? Again, she looked to Ambleton, and again she nodded. Thank goodness she was there, to help her on the right way to proceed.

  ‘I can confirm,’ Fielding began, ‘that there is a connection between the deaths and we are now asking for anyone with any information regarding the deaths of Harry York and Norman Bishop to come forward. Anyone who was near Mr York’s place of business two days ago and might remember seeing something which looked out of place. Likewise, with the area around the Quays last night or this morning. If you’ve seen anybody looking suspicious, either standing, driving or running from the area quickly, we’d like you to come forward or contact your local police station.’

  A woman from the front row was the next to speak up. ‘The astrological symbols that you’ve mentioned, are they in any way related to how the victims died?’

  Fielding felt like she was being grilled, and could feel herself begin to come out in a sweat. It was bad enough being the centre of attention and sitting in front of a large audience, but it was made worse by having to answer questions as well. She looked down at her clasped hands resting on the table; there were moisture beads on each of her fingers and thumbs. Ambleton must have also noticed her looking at them as she came to the rescue.

  ‘I think that my team have said all that they can at this juncture. A statement will be released for you all this afternoon,’ the DCI said, beginning to rise from her seat. Following her lead, Fielding and Summers did the same. When they were all standing and just about to turn to leave, one of the reporters shouted out a final question.

  ‘And what about the poison?’

  All three turned as one to face the voice. The other reporters in the room also swivelled to face the person who had asked the question. A young woman, no more than twenty if Fielding’s judgment was anything to go by, stood looking at them with a determined and resolute expression. She even stunned Ambleton, the die-hard veteran of the press conferences who could usually handle the most difficult of grillings from them. Poison had most definitely not been disclosed to anyone outside of either the mortuary or the police force, so how was it that this young woman standing before them knew all about it?

  ‘Can I ask you which newspaper you are from?’ the DCI asked her, to which she replied that she was working freelance. This concerned Ambleton as it was usually registered press officials who were invited to such conferences, and only allowed into the building on production of a press pass.

  ‘And do you have a pass?’ she continued.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ came the reply, to which she held something up in the air.

  ‘May I see it please?’

  All eyes were on the young woman as she approached
the table, and there were a couple of camera flashes. Taking the card, Ambleton saw it was a university student card with the woman’s name and course on it.

  ‘How did you get in with this?’ a confounded DCI almost whispered as she spoke to her. She could only presume that the woman had quickly shown it as she followed the rest of the crowd into the room. Ambleton would be sure to take this up with the person on duty, supposed to check all the reporters into the building. This was outrageous. The woman, Amanda Pearson, was not a freelance reporter but a third-year journalism student. However, Ambleton was far more concerned as to the woman’s knowledge about the poison.

  ‘I just showed it,’ Pearson smirked.

  ‘I think we need to have a further word with you about this. Summers,’ she said to the DC, ‘can you please escort Ms Pearson to one of our interview rooms.’

  ‘Yes boss,’ he said, gently taking hold of one of her arms and leading her away. Surprisingly, she went willingly.

  However, her question had raised increased interest among the members of the media, which prompted an onslaught of new and more invasive questioning. Ambleton instructed Fielding and Summers to remove the woman from the room while she stayed behind to inform them that reporting on this revelation was strictly forbidden due to its sensitivity. She even mentioned police action if any of them violated her strict order. It gave rise to shouts of ‘what about freedom of the press’ and ‘you can’t do that’. They were still calling out to her as she turned her back on them and headed for the door. After the interview with the young Ms Pearson she’d also be having strong words with the police officer supposed to be checking the credentials of the press cavalcade, which was exactly to prevent an issue such as this.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ‘You don’t have the right to hold me here,’ Amanda Pearson had been silent after being escorted from the press conference, but found her voice again when she was sitting across the table from both DCI Ambleton and acting DI Fielding in the interview room.