‘I spoke to each separately, as I know you interviewed them together,’ the DC said to Burton and Fielding. ‘I went to see Selina Douglas first. She told me what we already knew, the night out was Caroline’s idea; nobody knew until she’d announced it when they were all together at Maria’s house.’
‘How do all of them know one other?’ asked Fielding. ‘I know that Selina and Barbara work together, but did you find out where they initially met?’
‘It seems they were at school together. They kept in touch when they went off to different universities, and connected in person again when they returned to work in Manchester.’
‘What about husbands or partners?’ Burton joined in. ‘Did you ask about them?’
‘Selina is single, and I got the impression that she isn’t really looking for anyone at the moment. But she did tell me that Madame Ortiz read the Tarot cards for her and told her she’d be married within the year. At first, she was a bit excited by the prediction, but after talking about it with the others realised that it was very unlikely bearing in mind that she isn’t actually going out with anybody. When I asked her about Caroline, she says that, although they’ve known one another a very long time, she’s often reluctant to share the way girlfriends normally do. She might have a boyfriend, but then she might not; she’s not really sure as Caroline doesn’t talk much about her private life. She’ll talk about work, and everyday things, but when it comes to anything she doesn’t want to tell about herself, she simply won’t. Selina certainly didn’t like the joke she’d played on Maria, when she made out that she’d heard bad news, saying it was cruel. She knew that Maria didn’t really like things like astrology or fortune telling, yet Caroline went ahead and booked it for all of them anyway. She thought that Caroline would have known that, being a friend and all.’
‘It sounds like there was some friction there. Jealous of her friend being married before her, perhaps?’ Burton speculated.
‘Whatever it was,’ Francis continued, ‘Selina said that Barbara was particularly upset at Caroline’s actions and got into an argument with her about it.’
‘Yes, we noticed when we interviewed them that she took over and made herself the spokesperson,’ Fielding recalled. ‘Even her boss at the law practice said as much about her. Good worker, though, he told me.’
Simon Banks then informed them that he’d finished looking through the CCTV footage for the time Harry York had died.
‘Unfortunately,’ he said, ‘there aren’t any cameras at the rear of the building, but I’ve managed to see who I think is our latest victim coming out of a side street a block away.’
‘Let’s take a look at that,’ Burton said, walking over to Banks’s desk. Fielding and Francis followed him.
All three stood behind Banks as he re-ran the video. The quality was far superior to what they’d seen before in CCTV surveillance footage.
‘Have they upgraded their systems or something?’ Burton asked nobody in particular, eyes still on the monitor.
As they watched they saw their latest victim, Valerie Wilton, exiting from the alley in a hurry; it was about five businesses away from York’s estate agency. She looked both ways before turning left and rushing away. Simon Banks froze the image there.
‘So, she must have seen the killer,’ he observed.
‘And the killer must have also seen her and followed her,’ Francis offered.
‘We heard that she was on holiday that day; I wonder why she was near the business then?’
‘Popped into town for something maybe?’
‘Possibly,’ Burton agreed.
‘But what about the bow; didn’t we say that someone carrying one would have been spotted?’ Fielding added.
‘Then perhaps there was an accomplice, who followed Valerie while the archer either got rid of, or took the bow with them,’ Burton said.
‘Should we check the back of the alley then boss?’ Banks asked.
‘I don’t really think that they would have left the weapon behind for two reasons: one, it would have been spotted before now, and two, why leave it when you’ve just killed somebody with it? But there could very well be something there that they dropped accidentally,’ Burton continued. ‘Yes, you and Jane head off there and see what turns up, will you Simon? But before you go, start the CCTV up again and let’s see if anyone followed her.’
Banks stayed on the camera fixed on the same spot. There was nothing for a few moments, and Burton was just about to tell him to stop, when they all saw a second figure emerging from the same alley.
‘Freeze it right there!’ Burton called and approached the monitor. He pointed his finger at the person, ‘Can you enlarge this?’
As Banks zoomed in and cleared up the picture, none of them could believe what they were seeing. They couldn’t make out a person’s face, but it was the clothing that surprised them.
‘It’s not university RAG week, is it?’ Fielding asked, astonished. Both DCs informed her that it was not. ‘Then what–’
‘Isn’t that a Royal Mail bag?’ Burton interrupted, squinting at the person’s sack slung over his shoulder.
As Banks zoomed in even closer, the DI’s supposition was confirmed; the logo was clear and recognisable. But it wasn’t just the mail sack that caught their eye. What concerned them more was the fact that this person was in full fancy dress and carrying a large bow.
***
‘If that’s a Royal Mail post person, then why is he dressed up like that? Who is he supposed to be anyway, Robin Hood?’ Francis surmised. Nobody could answer that question.
‘So that’s why nobody thought anything of it,’ Fielding murmured. ‘Harry York’s killer didn’t escape by car; they simply dressed up as a postal worker and followed the person who’d witnessed it home. The piece of material that was found at Valerie Wilton’s home must have come from that costume.’
‘Banks, get onto the Royal Mail and see if any of their deliverers in central Manchester are wearing fancy dress for some unknown reason, will you?’
Taking Fielding to one side, Burton again apologised to her. ‘I can’t help it. Seven years as DI and I still think I’m heading up the case when I’m not.’
‘It’s okay, don’t worry about it,’ she reassured him, ‘I’m not complaining in the slightest.’
‘I know but–’
‘Listen, I’m glad of the help right now; I feel like I’m failing.’
‘You’re certainly not doing that.’ Burton so wanted to tell her about her practical exam but couldn’t as Ambleton had sworn him to secrecy. He felt sure it would have helped her right now.
Despite his words of comfort, Fielding felt otherwise, so decided to change the subject – well, not entirely, as it was still about the case.
‘What do we think about this latest development? I don’t for one moment believe that a postal worker is the killer.’
‘Me neither, but I thought it best for Simon to check with the company. Anyone can copy a logo and stick it on a bag; it wouldn’t be hard to do.’
‘That particular costume was carefully thought out, bearing in mind the symbol found on the body. It would also solve the problem of what to do with a bow: simply hide it in plain sight. I wonder if the costume was hired; we could check local fancy dress suppliers to see if there were any recent rentals.’
‘I could get one of the team onto that, or I could check it out if you like?’ It was an offer Fielding couldn’t refuse. It was great to have him back, albeit it only temporary. ‘Have you heard back from Summers yet; wasn’t he checking out Norman Bishop’s hotel?’
‘No, not as yet. I asked him to take someone from CSI with him to give the room a good going over.’
‘The only problem I have with that being the crime scene is, if Bishop was killed in his hotel room, how did the murderer get him out of there? I’m having difficulty visualising that.’
‘I agree,’ Fielding nodded, ‘but if they’ve p
lanned ahead, they must have accounted for all possibilities. Incidentally, what do you make of Louise’s idea that the killer is killing multiple times to cover up the fact that only one person was the intended victim?’
‘I’d say that’s a distinct possibility,’ he replied quickly, not needing to even consider it. ‘If we’re going to think on those lines, who would you say would be the intended target?’
‘I’d say our first victim, Maria Turnbull.’
‘For what reason?’
‘I don’t know, just a hunch,’ Fielding said.
‘Oh, so, you’re going with hunches now!’
‘I learned from the best,’ she said graciously. ‘Seriously though, despite the myriad of connections between all the others, I believe her to be the killer’s main target. Maybe because there wasn’t a sign left at the scene, maybe because she was the first victim, I just don’t know. That’s why I’m putting it down as a hunch.’
‘We explained away the reason for there not being a sign left, so I just don’t know with this one. Maria Turnbull seems to be the odd one out, that’s all.’
‘Exactly, and for that reason I think she’s central to it all.’
Burton still wasn’t sure, and Fielding knew that was unusual for him. His hunches were usually the basis for any, if not all, of his enquiries. Perhaps his mind was elsewhere – perhaps on his job covering DCI Ambleton in her day-to-day duties.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Heaton Park is a magnificent 600-acre municipal area a few miles north of Manchester’s city centre. Apart from woodland, the park boasts a wealth of outdoor attractions to cater for virtually every interest and age group. There’s an eighteen-hole golf course and bowling green, an observatory, a boating lake, and an animal farm. It has just about everything anyone would want in order to escape from the hustle and bustle of busy northern city life. For that reason, it is a very popular and well patronised spot during summer months.
As dawn rose on what promised to be another warm, sunny day, the park’s first influx of visitors began to arrive. The early morning sunshine brought with it the daily collection of die-hard pre-work joggers and early morning dog walkers. It is also a favoured haunt of Sally Fielding who can be found here running up a sweat in rare moments of free time.
Mrs Mary Jones always walked her faithful Labrador, Jinx, in Heaton Park. Having lost her husband some five years ago, she acquired the rescue dog for companionship shortly after. Their daily pattern was once around the boating lake and back home again via the ornamental gardens. Over the years she’d become a recognisable sight to other dog walkers. Jinx was a placid dog, who would happily and most loyally trot along at his owner’s side. So, when he suddenly began acting strangely on this particular morning, Mary Jones was concerned.
‘What is it boy?’ she looked at her barking dog trying to pull away from her. She loosened the taut leash slightly and let him lead her. His exuberance led them in the direction of the magnificent Old Town Hall Colonnade, the façade of which consisted of four Ionian columns set between two main turret-like sections.
When they reached the structure, the barking now turned to sniffing. Mary was intrigued and curious as she could see nothing that could have possibly aroused this sudden interest.
‘I don’t know what’s got you so worked up, Jinxy,’ she said, but it was then that he started clawing at the ground. Deeper and deeper he went, taking off a clump of loose grass in the process.
‘You’ll get me in trouble, boy,’ she declared, cautiously looking around to make sure there wasn’t a park keeper patrolling the grounds.
Eventually, he sat down and cocked his head at his owner, as if he was urging her to look at what he’d found. Taking the hint, Mary moved forward and looked down; there was a clear polythene bag in the hole with something inside of it. Still holding onto Jinx’s leash, she bent forward and worked it loose. His claws had caught on part of the bag while he was uncovering it and had torn a section open, revealing what was inside.
‘Now what’s that doing here?’ she saw what appeared to be a fancy-dress outfit, which she was just about to put back in the ground. Then she noticed something, it could have easily been ketchup, or paint even, but something inside her told her otherwise, especially as it had been so carefully hidden.
‘Is that blood, Jinx?’ she murmured, to which Jinx responded with a bark.
***
As Mary Jones had no idea where the nearest police station was, she decided to go home first and call 101 to find out. It turned out to be Harpurhey Police Station on Upper Conran Street. Mary gathered up the package – should she have worn gloves? – and her car keys and headed for the front door. She’d feel a bit stupid if the red stain would be what she’d first thought: ketchup or paint. But the words of her late husband filled her head, ‘better safe than sorry,’ so on she went.
Once inside the police station, she gave the package to the sergeant on the main reception desk. She then was let into a private room off to the side where a young police constable interviewed her.
‘Will you need to take my fingerprints?’ she asked, and he said that he would. She was waiting for the infamous words, but he just said it was to check with any prints they found on the bag or its contents.
‘So, what happens now?’ Mary asked while reading over the report before signing her statement. He said that it would be examined and further action would be taken if necessary. He went on to thank her for her diligence, and for bringing the matter to their immediate attention. She felt as if it was a standardised reply in such circumstances.
When she returned home, she felt a bit deflated. She knew that she had to hand it in, of course she did, but she needed to know more about it; who had left it there, and why they were hiding it. So, when she turned on the television that evening, she was astonished to see the highlights of a press conference held that afternoon with the Manchester Police Force. The young woman leading the conference was appealing for anyone in the vicinity of the town centre the previous day between 12 and 1 p.m. to come forward if they had seen a person in fancy dress carrying a Royal Mail bag. If it hadn’t appeared to be a very serious matter it would have sounded ludicrous. But then the woman went on to describe the costume the person was wearing, and that was when she picked up her phone and dialled the Freephone number on the television screen.
***
‘Acting Detective Inspector Sally Fielding,’ she announced to the caller who had been put through to her from the incident line.
‘I saw you on the news,’ Mary Jones said.
There was a momentary silence on Fielding’s end of the line. Since the television stations had broadcast her meeting with the media, she’d had a grand total of twenty-five similar calls, none of which had amounted to anything concrete. In fact, they’d all been crank calls by attention-seekers; she had no reason to think that this latest one would be any different.
‘Are you still there?’ Mary asked anxiously.
‘Yes, I’m here. How can I help you?’
As Fielding braced herself for another load of nonsense, the lady she was speaking to went on to describe the events of the morning, describing in detail what she’d found in the park.
‘Well, it was Jinx really,’ she explained as Fielding grabbed a pen to jot it all down.
‘Jinx?’
‘My dog, he’s a Labrador, and he’s normally so quiet, but he just kept barking and barking you see so I knew that something was wrong. Then he led me to where it was buried.’
‘And you didn’t see anybody hiding it or running away from the scene?’
‘No, there was nobody around, well not there anyway. There were other dog walkers, the regulars like me, and of course there were a few joggers in the park.’
‘You said that you took it to the nearest police station; which one was that?’
‘Harpurhey Police Station, on Upper Conran Street.’
‘Did they give you an in
cident number?’ Fielding asked, and Mary gave it to her.
‘That’s extremely helpful of you, Mrs Jones, and thank you for getting in touch with us.’
‘It’s my duty, my dear.’
‘Well, you’d be surprised by the number of people who would have just walked away from something like that.’
‘Surely not!’
‘Sadly yes.’
When Mary Jones ended the call, she explained to her faithful dog what had just happened. Jinx sat attentively listening, head cocking from side to side as his mistress related the story. He had no idea what she was talking about, of course, but she seemed very excited by it all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Sally Fielding looked up the number for Harpurhey Police Station and rang them. Quoting the incident number they’d given Mrs Jones, she was put through to one of the detectives on duty.
‘Yes, we have it here in storage,’ he said.
‘It’s important evidence in an ongoing case and I’ll need to come and get it straightaway.’
‘We’ll need confirmation from the officer in charge of the case before you can do that.’
‘I’m in charge of the case,’ Fielding stressed with some urgency. Surely she wasn’t going to encounter a problem with red tape, was she?
‘Oh, I see. In that you’ll need to email the request over to the evidence section and then we’ll take it from there.’
Fielding was starting to become impatient, but managed to calm herself down before replying. ‘Can you let me have their email address then please?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘And is the section manned twenty-four hours?’
‘It isn’t, but someone will be able to access the section for you.’
Keep calm, keep calm, she told herself. ‘And can I send a copy to you; if it’s not manned then I’ll need someone to know about it and get if for me?’
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