‘Like I said, sir,’ the voice continued amid the crackles, his determination showing, ‘I’ve already tried and you’re the only ones I can get in contact with.’
Sighing just loud enough for the man to hear, he looked at Fielding and she nodded. One last trip out. Surely it wouldn’t take that long?
‘Okay then,’ he finally agreed, thinking someone owed him big on this one. ‘What’s the address?’ Expecting it to be somewhere in the city centre, more than likely a popular watering hole or nightclub where an affray would start up without any reason at all, he was more than surprised to discover their destination to be a care home in Middleton just about a mile away from where they were now.
They could see the glow of the flashing blue lights of the police vehicles in the distance even before they reached the road the care home was in. A solitary uniformed police officer standing on the pavement by the entrance to the driveway looked like he had his hands full holding back the small but exuberant crowd that had gathered around him when they arrived. They had probably been drawn there by the flashing lights and the increased police activity on the scene, and also out of morbid curiosity as to what was going on in the building beyond the dense leylandii hedging. Maybe they thought that they’d catch a glimpse of a dead body or two – as highly unlikely as that would be.
Pulling up by the side of the road, Burton and Fielding showed the police officer their warrant cards. He nodded for them to go on up through the gates to the house, undoing one side of the police barrier tape for them to drive through. They heard a few “What’s going on then?” questions from the crowd as they drove past, and one person even tried to run alongside the car as it rolled on. Burton very skilfully swerved to avoid him and, looking in his rear-view mirror, saw the officer drag him back outside the entrance and redo the tape again.
The officer repositioned his helmet which had veered off to one side during the scuffle and stood his ground, positioning himself once again with his back to the tape. The two detectives continued on, tyres crunching on the gravelled driveway, until they parked up behind one of the stationary vehicles that still had its flashing lights on, although nobody was inside it.
‘Dispatch didn’t say exactly what it was for, did they?’ Burton turned off the ignition, thinking that there was already a lot of police activity going on here. Whatever it was that had happened here, it couldn’t have just done so as the station had already positioned a constable on duty at the roadside.
‘Well, judging by the coroner’s van parked up over there,’ Fielding said, nodding over in its direction, ‘there’s certainly been a death. But I’d have thought that it would be quite a common occurrence in a care home. Must be something questionable about it.’
Quickly gathering up what they needed to take inside with them, they made their way up the small flight of stone steps, past the wheelchair ramp and in through the open front door.
There was already a lot of activity in the reception area. Three police officers, none of whom Fielding recognised, were taking statements from a group of carers. One of them looked as if she’d already been crying for quite some time as her eyes were red-rimmed and she had a ball of scrunched up tissue paper right up against her nose. Another carer, a very tall, youngish-looking man dressed in a white polo shirt and a pair of pale green casual trousers, was also being questioned, and although not in the same emotional state as his co-worker, he looked shaken and shocked by what was going on. He was twisting and tugging at the lanyard around his neck so hard, it looked as if he was going to strangle himself with it.
‘Oh, I thought you two had already signed off for the evening,’ they heard a voice say from behind them. Turning, they found Detective Chief Inspector Elizabeth Ambleton making her way over to them.
‘So did we. What’s going on, boss?’ Burton asked, voicing both his and Fielding’s thoughts. ‘Seems a bit more than a common or garden old person’s death.’
‘Well, it is a death,’ she informed them, ‘and it’s an old person, but there’s something not quite right about it. The home’s doctor was called in to certify the death of one of the residents this evening, but he thought it best to get us in after what he found. The medical examiner is up there now with him, and between them, they think that there’s been foul play. Go up and have a look,’ she said, looking past them and catching the eye of one of the office staff, indicating that she come over, ‘and see what your take on it is.’
Seeing the DCI waving her over, a woman came across to them, dressed in what Fielding thought was a skirt and blouse that were a little too tight for her shape and age. Now, she herself wouldn’t even claim to be the sharpest of dressers, but at least she wore clothing that were both age-appropriate and flattering for her. Then she chastised herself for her thoughts. It really wasn’t her place to judge someone else’s appearance. But being a police officer, she couldn’t help but notice people and the way they looked. First impressions, and all that. For that brief moment, she forgot that she wasn’t looking at a perp.
Elizabeth Ambleton had been Joe Burton’s detective inspector when he was a detective sergeant, but when she had been promoted seven years earlier, he’d been similarly moved up the ranks and Fielding stepped in as his DS. Both his partnerships with the now DCI and Fielding had been good ones. However, not so much could be said about Ambleton’s married life – which she kept as far away from her professional one as possible. Burton knew of her daily struggles, but her home life was very much left at home as soon as she walked through her front door in the morning, and kept there for the entirety of her shift.
As directed, both Burton and Fielding followed the member of staff upstairs and they were led to a room at the far end of the corridor on the second floor. The decor was somehow as expected for a care home. Was she being judgemental again? Floral patterned wallpaper above a dado rail halfway down the walls, and almost statutory magnolia paint adorning the lower half. Fielding also noticed a Perspex strip attached to the wall above the skirting boards, most likely to protect the walls from scuff marks caused by residents’ Zimmer frames and wheelchair collisions. A practical solution to what must be an everyday hazard in somewhere like this. Her designer elder sister with her apparent trademark plain-coloured minimalism would doubtlessly have tut-tutted at all the home’s mismatched floral decor and abundant furniture.
A constable stood outside the open door. Looking beyond him, Burton and Fielding could see two men inside with their backs towards them, who were presumably the doctor and the medical examiner, both bending over an elderly gentleman who was seated in a high, wing-back armchair. They flashed their cards to the constable, who nodded in acknowledgement and gestured for them to go in. Thanking the staff member for her assistance, Fielding watched as she teetered her way back along the corridor on her ridiculously high-heeled shoes. Maybe suitable for someone in an executive role in a big corporate company in the heart of the city, Fielding thought, but certainly not for someone working in the office of a care home on its outskirts. Talk about being overdressed for the wrong occasion! There she went again, judging someone by their appearance. Second chastisement of the day.
Both heads turned as they entered the room. After the detectives made themselves known and showed their warrant cards, the two doctors, likewise, introduced themselves.
Dr Philip Morton, the care home’s doctor, had a thatch of thick white hair and a neatly trimmed matching beard. Looking like a man nearing retirement, his once-smart suit showed signs that it had served him many years in the job. A few creases here and there, a little wear and tear on the pockets, including a loose button on the left cuff, showed he was very comfortable in it despite it being perhaps a size too small for him now. Problems of a sedentary job, the weight begins to pile on after a while. The man probably wore it every day, slept in it even, Burton contemplated. Like Fielding, he had over the years developed the skill to make initial judgements about people, and he had no problem with the doctor’s appearance. It sho
wed her that he would most likely care more about the welfare of his patients rather than take pride in his own appearance. Even the stethoscope clamped securely around his neck was probably a permanent feature of his, like his suit, and chances were, he forgot it was even there when not in use. In this case, however, it seemed to be redundant as there was now a corpse in front of him with not a great deal of need for it.
Dr Patrick Barnes was a much younger man, in his late thirties or early forties perhaps, and was the on-call medical examiner this evening from the city coroner’s office. By stark contrast, Barnes was casually dressed and looked as if he’d just come straight off his sofa, picking up his medical case as he walked out the door. His grey jogging bottoms and tangerine-coloured T-shirt clashed violently with the more reserved elder doctor’s garments, showing a generation gap of enormous proportions. Perhaps this was the twenty-first century take on the once obligatory two or three-piece suit – casual rather than formal. The only similarity was the same stethoscope clamped around both their necks, only Dr Barnes seemed to have adopted the habit of taking it off when he’d finished with it – as he did now to speak to the detectives.
Formalities over, they all looked down at the now deceased body of Mr Nathaniel Jackson.
‘He was found about an hour ago by one of the carers,’ Dr Philip Morton told them, ‘and the manager got in touch with me shortly after that.’
‘That’ll make it about 8.15 then,’ Burton said, taking a small A5-size notebook and pen out from his inside jacket pocket. Fielding smiled to herself every time she saw the book, as it reminded her so much of her father who used to always carry one around with him. A policeman’s notebook with an elastic strap fixed into the binding to be used as a page marker.
‘Yes, but I think he died quite some time before that,’ Dr Barnes spoke up, ‘judging by what I’ve seen so far, that is.’
‘And what makes you think that?’ Fielding asked, looking over towards the corpse. Quickly looking him up and down, she took note of his peculiar appearance. In fact, she’d never seen a corpse dressed in such an odd outfit before.
‘I did a few tests on Dr Morton’s advice here, and they confirmed that he must have been dead for about two hours before that.’
‘Had there been some sort of fancy dress party here today?’ Burton asked, looking at the same strange garments which had also caught Fielding’s eye.
‘Not that I know of,’ Dr Morton stated, now showing signs that he was beginning to feel the heat in the deceased’s room, as small beads of sweat had begun to trickle down his face and into his beard. The flannel suit couldn’t be helping matters either.
‘I thought that with Hallowe’en, it was maybe…’ Burton trailed off, thinking perhaps that he was being rude to assume that this was a costume and not Nathaniel Jackson’s everyday attire. The man may have been an eccentric for all he knew. ‘Was this his normal clothing then?’ Burton added, not wishing to jump to conclusions.
Dr Morton looked as confused as the rest of them. ‘No, certainly not,’ he confirmed. ‘Mr Jackson has always been such a smart dresser, for a man of his age.’
‘How old was he then?’ Fielding asked, trying to work it out for herself just by looking at him. But she had to admit that she was having problems trying to guess his age as he could have been anything from late sixties to mid-nineties.
‘He was seventy-nine,’ the doctor confirmed. ‘And quite compos mentis, if that was what you were thinking. He has… had… all his wits about him all right; played scrabble and chess with other residents down in the lounge on a regular basis, and took part in the weekly quiz night… Thursdays, I think… maybe not… sorry, I just can’t quite recall which exact night it is…’
‘No, that’s okay,’ Fielding reassured him, cutting in. ‘That’s not necessary.’ She could also feel the heat rising to uncomfortable levels.
‘So I really don’t understand all of this,’ Dr Morton stressed, hand outstretched indicating the garments on the body now in front of him.
The man before them now looked far from being a smart dresser or in a good mental state, as the doctor had described him. He was wearing a pair of baggy, old beige corduroy trousers held up with a pair of bright red braces, an oversized white shirt and a navy blue bow tie with white polka dots tied loosely around his neck.
‘Looks like a clown,’ Fielding murmured, more to herself than anybody else. All he needed was a red nose and an extra-large pair of shoes, and any coulrophobe would be having a meltdown right about now.
‘Oh, and there was this,’ Barnes said, holding up a playing card. ‘It was lying on the floor in front of him.’
‘He’d been playing cards?’ Fielding asked, looking around, trying to find the rest of the pack.
‘No idea,’ Morton said. ‘That was all there was, I think.’
‘Am I free to take him away for examination now, detectives?’ Dr Barnes asked, looking keen to remove the deceased away to the mortuary as soon as possible. ‘The sooner I get to start the tests, the sooner I can let you know what he died of.’
‘So you don’t think it’s natural causes then?’ Burton asked. ‘DCI Ambleton said that you thought there might be foul play involved.’
‘No,’ Barnes confirmed. ‘I need to confirm a few things back in the examination room before I can give you a definitive answer. But, from what I’ve seen, and with Dr Morton’s input on his medical history, I don’t think it was a natural death.’
2
With the possibility of Mr Jackson’s death now being due to unnatural rather than natural causes, the building was placed on lockdown immediately and nobody was allowed to leave for any reason.
The scene of crime forensic team arrived and they quickly set to work under the watchful eye of Dr Barnes, who seemed a little too eager to start work on the corpse. A bit morbid for Fielding’s taste, despite all the gruesome deaths she’d seen over the years, but she had to admire someone who threw themselves into their work to that degree. The doctor would just have to wait a little while longer while they got on with dusting and bagging and all the other forensic things they needed to do.
With samples and photographs taken, the SOC team relieved themselves of their protective gloves and white coveralls, and packed up all their belongings into the bags and cases they’d brought with them. As soon as they left, Dr Barnes looked hopefully at Burton, who nodded. He then made a call to his team who were waiting patiently on the driveway in the black van for the go-ahead, and about five minutes afterwards, two gentlemen dressed in formal black suits arrived with a gurney and a body bag, and they began the process of removing Mr Jackson’s corpse from the room to the morgue. The crowd on the pavement would be disappointed tonight. Nothing to see, folks, you can all go home now.
Back downstairs, Burton and Fielding informed the DCI of the medical examiner’s initial findings and were instructed to conduct interviews with all those present in the home.
‘I’m sorry about all of this,’ the DCI said. ‘I know your team have had a tough few weeks. I can reassign it to someone else in the morning if you’d prefer?’
‘No,’ Burton said, looking at Fielding then back to the DCI again. ‘We’re okay on this, boss.’
‘Should we rule out the other residents or do you want them questioned too? Fielding added.
DCI Ambleton sighed and rubbed her right temple. She’d obviously had a long day in the office and didn’t entirely welcome the prospect of going home to what would inevitably be waiting there for her. ‘I suppose we should question everyone. You never know with these old folk, maybe one of them held a grudge or something. Best to question them too… but not tonight. We’ll leave that until the morning. Most of them will probably be asleep by now anyway. You might not get much, but we’ll cover all our options. Can I leave that up to both of you then?’
The last was more of a statement than a question, but they both nodded. Burton felt sorry for Elizabeth Ambleton. He must make a point in the next few d
ays of having a quiet word with her to see if there was anything he could do to help her situation. He wasn’t entirely sure what he could do, if indeed he could do anything at all, but at least it would be good for her to know that somebody was thinking about her during this difficult time. The team had had a bad few weeks, but she was having a bad time at home on a daily basis. They had worked together for a long time, and he knew all the circumstances, so he hoped that she wouldn’t mind him talking to her about it. It pained him to see her suffering, so what harm could it do for him to try? And who knows, it may help – even to a small degree.
In total, there were two office staff on duty, the manager and the woman Fielding considered inappropriately dressed, along with ten carers who had started the night shift at 6pm. The twenty residents – or to be more correct, nineteen, now that Mr Jackson was deceased – would have to wait until the morning to be interviewed. Their ages ranged from early seventies right through to late nineties, and both Fielding and Burton surmised that it would take their team most of the next day to undertake the questioning. Under the circumstances, it seemed highly likely that they would be back there themselves sometime during the course of the day.
The manager, a Mr Nigel Pearson, a smartly dressed man in his mid-fifties, suggested that they use the residents’ lounge to conduct their interviews, and instructed two of the carers to go ahead and set the room up. The detectives weren’t really sure what “setting the room up” entailed as all they really wanted or needed was a private space with three chairs. But when they were shown into the lounge about ten minutes later, the gas fire had been turned on, as had all the lights, and a teapot and coffee pot had been placed on a table along with a jug of milk, a couple of porcelain cups and saucers, and a plateful of bourbon biscuits. Both detectives winced when they saw the drinks options, as another Costa wouldn’t have gone amiss at this point.
Murderland Page 2