Dead to Me

by Pamela Murray

  ‘A heart attack?’ Fielding intervened. ‘Why would you say that; did Mrs Turnbull have a heart condition that you know of?’

  Caroline appeared to be confused, looking towards the other two women. ‘Why, yes, she did. But I thought that you must already know that, with that being the cause of her death?’

  ‘We didn’t say that she died of a heart attack,’ Burton raised his eyes from his note-taking.

  There was a gasp from Barbara. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, as the realisation of what he’d said sank in. ‘Are you saying that she didn’t? But we thought–’

  ‘It’s too early to say,’ he admitted, stopping her mid-sentence, ‘but at the moment we’re just trying to collect all the facts.’ He had hoped that they’d have heard back from the post mortem tests by now, but knew that was perhaps too much considering they’d only just gone off the day before – and on a Sunday, too.

  All three women fell silent at that revelation, and for once Caroline appeared to be lost for words.

  Fielding waited until they’d taken that piece of news in before asking them to elaborate on Maria Turnbull’s health condition.

  Selena Douglas responded this time. ‘She has . . . had . . . a problem with her heart pumping correctly–’

  ‘Bundle branch block,’ Barbara offered. ‘I was a medical secretary before my current job,’ she explained, ‘and I recognised the symptoms she was having and suggested that she see her doctor. This was a few years ago now, but she was being treated for it.’

  ‘So, what is it, exactly?’ Burton asked, still jotting down notes.

  ‘It’s a condition in which there’s a delay or a blockage along the pathway that electrical impulses travel to make the heart beat, causing it to sometimes beat irregularly and making it harder for the heart to pump blood efficiently.’

  ‘Dangerous?’

  ‘Not necessarily. In Maria’s case it was easily treatable with medication and regular check-ups.’

  ‘I see.’ Burton made a note to look it up as he was unaware of it, and to mention it to the pathologist, although by now Adamson should have received her GP information and that fact would be in Maria’s file.

  ‘So, why was Maria not keen to go on this night out?’ Fielding asked, looking to each of the women in turn but settling on Caroline as she’d been the one to mention it.

  It was Selena who replied first. ‘Maria didn’t like anything hocus pocus. I remember her telling me that a couple of her friends had experienced something odd following them using a Ouija board at a party. They seemed to lose all sense of time and space on their way home. Scared her witless, as I recall, and she was never quite the same with anything remotely spooky after that.’

  ‘I didn’t know that,’ Caroline wondered why she’d never heard that story before.

  ‘No, you really don’t know anything, do you!’ Barbara suddenly snapped, her pent-up tension finally exploding. ‘You forced her to go along last night when she didn’t really want to. I wouldn’t be surprised if you already knew that she hated that sort of thing and just did it for spite! That little trick you pulled after you’d been in was well out of order too. Thinking about yourself, as usual!’

  ‘Barbara . . . no . . . no, I didn’t. I never would. How could you?’

  Selena put a hand on Barbara’s shoulder, and pleaded with her to stop. It was like they’d all forgotten they had two police officers in the room with them.

  ‘What little trick?’ Burton certainly hadn’t missed that comment. His question stopped their bickering.

  ‘It was nothing–’ Caroline began.

  ‘Yes, it was,’ Selena contradicted her. ‘You deliberately came out of your consultation and pretended that what Madame Ortiz said had upset you. Pretty stupid, really.’

  ‘I only did it for a laugh–’

  ‘Well, we’re not laughing now, are we?’ Barbara’s voice trembled and her hands were shaking on her lap.

  ‘Ladies, please!’ Joe Burton intervened, putting himself in the middle of what was becoming a heated debate between the three of them. ‘The best thing you can do for your friend now is to tell me exactly what happened as it happened.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Caroline appeared genuinely remorseful. ‘That was unforgiveable, of all of us.’

  ‘So, Caroline,’ he continued, addressing her directly, ‘you came out from seeing this fortune teller person and put on an act to make believe that what she’d told you scared you somehow?’

  ‘Well, put that way it does now sound stupid–’

  ‘And petty!’ Selena retorted, still annoyed by what she’d done.

  ‘All right, all right, it was out of order, I know that now. Yes, I did. I’m not proud of doing it, but I did it and can’t really go back on that now can I?’

  Barbara continued. ‘Maria went storming in to give Madame Ortiz a piece of her mind. Caroline by this time had told us that she’d just been joking, but when Maria came out, she was very upset; marched straight past us and down the stairs. We all followed her down to the pavement, where she and Caroline had a little set-to again. After that we called a cab. Quite frankly, I’d had enough by then too. The evening had turned into a disaster.’

  ‘So why did you have another “set-to” as it’s been described?’ Fielding asked.

  ‘She knew my reaction when I came out had been a pretence, but she also looked a bit disturbed by what she’d been told by Madame Ortiz.’

  ‘Okay then.’ Burton looked over to Fielding. ‘We’ll have to pay a visit to Madam Ortiz, don’t you think?’

  When she nodded in response, he continued to address Maria’s friends. ‘Just one last question, can you tell me what Maria had to eat and drink that night?’

  ‘Well, we all agreed that we’d have something to eat before coming out,’ Caroline said, after casting a glance in the others’ way, ‘and just stop off somewhere for a drink before going on to the appointment.’

  ‘And Maria, did she tell you that she’d eaten before meeting up with you?’

  ‘She didn’t mention it, but I expect she would have as that’s what we agreed to do.

  ‘And drinks,’ he continued, ‘what did she have?’

  The pathologist believed that Maria Turnbull could have ingested a poison. The main question was, when, and in what form? It could have been minutes before she died, or it could have been days, but they were now working on the assumption that it had been in the few hours beforehand.

  ‘I don’t know what she had at home, but after we picked up Maria we went to a bar in town–’

  ‘Which bar in town?’

  ‘We went to The Anthologist on St Peter Square.’

  Burton wrote it down. ‘And what did you all drink?’

  ‘Well, we had a couple of bottles of Prosecco between us.’

  ‘And were you sitting at a table?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And did they arrive with the corks popped?’

  Caroline thought for a moment. ‘No, a waiter brought a bottle over in a cooler and popped it at the table.’

  ‘The same with the second?’

  ‘Yes.’

  More note-taking. ‘And did anyone leave the table during the time you were there?’

  ‘Well, I think we all did at some time, to go to the loo.’

  ‘No-one was left alone with Maria then?’

  ‘No, not that I recall.’

  ‘Okay, one last thing. Would you be so kind as to let me know where each of you work?’ After writing down their responses, he closed his notebook and put it back into his pocket. ‘We also may need to get back in touch with you again; we have your numbers so we’ll give you a call if we do. In the meantime, thank you for your co-operation.’

  He then ended with ‘I’m very sorry for your loss,’ as both detectives left the house.

  ***

  ‘Did any of that seem odd to you?’ Burton asked his partner when they were back in
the car.

  ‘Well,’ Fielding began, ‘apart from the hysteria towards the end, what I took from it was Caroline Watkins appears to think of herself as the main player there, the one in charge . . . or wants to be. Thinks she’s the group’s leader, but I’d say she’s not as well-liked as she imagines herself to be. Selena comes across as being very quiet and doesn’t like anything confrontational, and it seems that Barbara’s patience for Caroline is wearing a bit thin. But, of course, they’ve just lost their friend and probably all feel guilty about insisting she go out with them last night.’

  ‘You got all that from the short while we were in there?’ Burton was amazed, as ever, of his DS.

  ‘Yes, didn’t you?’

  Burton started the car. ‘Some of it, yes. I have to admit, though, I wasn’t too keen on that Caroline.’

  ‘I know what you mean. I don’t think she came across as that much of a friend, especially not to Maria, who she played a really mean trick on. The others seem to be a bit sick of her too judging by Barbara’s outburst. One thing I did think, though, was that she was putting on a bit of an act for our benefit.’

  ‘In what way do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, you know, just her overall demeanour, and trying to put on a brave face. I thought she seemed a bit frightened underneath it all,’ Fielding admitted.

  ‘You know what was noticeably absent?’ he asked when she’d finished.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The fact that not one of them asked how Maria Turnbull’s husband was. That’s something anyone would do, isn’t it, bearing in mind he’s just lost his wife?’

  ‘Now that you mention it, yes, that is a bit unusual. Unless, of course, they’re so wound up about losing their friend and having to deal with their own grief.’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ Burton agreed.

  There was silence for a moment while he took that all in.

  ‘Okay, where to now?’ Fielding finally asked.

  ‘I’d like to meet this Madame Ortiz, and get her take on what happened Saturday evening. But before that, give Jack a call would you, and get him to request the CCTV from the bar the women visited. Let’s see if anyone was left alone with Maria at any time.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  The door to Madame Ortiz’s business premises was locked when Burton tried it. He looked the place up and down, trying to find a contact number somewhere. There was nothing on the etched glass panel on the door other than her name and the by-appointment-only message, or on either of the two upstairs windows. Business premises usually had its number on display somewhere, and this exception was the first he’d encountered.

  ‘Didn’t the women say that she has a website?’ he asked his partner in frustration.

  Fielding nodded.

  ‘Have a look will you, and see if there’s a contact number for her on there.’

  While Fielding started an internet search on her phone, Burton went into the business next door to see if they could give him any information about the woman. When nothing was forthcoming, he tried the premises on the other side. Fielding didn’t look up from scrolling as he quickly walked past her.

  ‘She’s been there about a year and a half I’d say,’ a woman on the reception desk of the hairdressers said. ‘Seems to only work in the evening though, as it doesn’t appear to be open during the day.’

  ‘I think it does open sometimes, Janet.’ One of the two clients sitting in the waiting area spoke up. ‘I know someone who’s been in to see her,’ she then said to Burton, ‘and most of the appointments are in the evening, but there must be some at certain times during the day too.’

  As neither of them could provide him with a contact number, he thanked them and returned to his partner.

  ‘There isn’t anything on the website apart from an online booking form. No contact number, nothing; and the only business address mentioned is the one right here. Might be a good idea to have our tech team take a look at the site and see what they can glean from it?’

  ‘If that’s the only way then yes. I’ll get Peter Westerby on it, he’s the best in the business. If anyone can find his way around this he can.’

  ***

  ‘Yes, that should be easy enough,’ Westerby said when they went to see him in the station’s tech department.

  ‘So how would you actually go about doing that?’ Fielding asked out of curiosity. She was keener and far more tech-savvy than her partner when it came to wanting to know how things worked. Burton was happier not knowing; as long as whatever tech he had worked, it was fine for him. It set him apart from most men she knew, but then he was totally different to any man she’d ever known – in a very good way.

  Westerby seemed delighted that he was being asked to elaborate.

  ‘Well,’ he began, smiling, ‘in simple terms, what I’d usually do in order to determine the source is find the web server. All domains are registered with domain name registrars, but in this case, you know who the website belongs to so it should be a lot easier. What happens then is I find out where the site was created and then go in and find the details of the person who created it.’

  ‘And that’s in simple terms?’ Burton quipped.

  ‘I know how your non-tech mind works, so, yes, that’s as simplistic as I could make it for you!’

  Burton laughed. He knew that Peter Westerby was well aware of his knowledge shortfall when it came to up-to-date technology.

  ‘So, it’s more complicated than that?’

  ‘Just a bit, but leave it to me and I’ll get you what you need from it.’

  ‘I knew you’d be able to do it,’ Burton said. ‘We need to get in touch with this woman as soon as possible, so I’d be grateful if you could treat this as a priority, Peter.’

  ‘No problem,’ he smiled as he started on his search. ‘I’ll ring you with the information you need as soon as I find it which, hopefully, shouldn’t be too long.’

  True to his word, Westerby contacted them within thirty minutes.

  ‘Well, that’s quick, even for you Peter,’ Burton said.

  ‘Told you this one wasn’t too difficult.’

  After the detective jotted down Madame Ortiz’s telephone number, Westerby added, ‘Oh, and by the way, the lady’s name isn’t Ortiz; that’s just her professional name. She’s not even Spanish if it comes to that. Goes by Marilyn Parkinson when she’s not working, and she’s a local lass too.’

  ‘Thanks Peter, much appreciated.’

  ‘Anytime Joe. You know where I am when you need me.’

  ‘Right,’ Burton announced to Fielding, ‘let’s get in touch with this woman and go and see her.’

  ***

  Madame Ortiz or better, Marilyn Parkinson, lived in a detached house in Ashton-under-Lyne.

  ‘Must be well-paid, this fortune telling business,’ Fielding noted as they drew up at the kerb outside.

  ‘It certainly looks like it.’

  As they opened the gate, they heard a dog barking from inside the property.

  ‘Not another dog!’ Burton declared, remembering the last time they’d come across a canine when interviewing a witness. It was what he had called the Baskerville hound simply because of its sheer size – a Great Dane as Fielding recalled – and the fact it had taken a chunk out of the fabric of his trousers. The owner had assured him that his beloved pet was harmless and was simply playing, but Burton hadn’t seen it that way despite being offered a replacement pair as compensation. He’d refused, of course, but hadn’t forgotten the incident. It was probably why he enjoyed the company of Fielding’s two cats so much; they only purred and swished around his legs, and certainly hadn’t wanted to devour his trousers.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll protect you!’ Fielding said, remembering the incident with humour, but was met with a wan expression from her partner which made her laugh out loud. By the time they reached the front door, and Burton rang the doorbell, she’d managed to compose herself. However, s
he wanted to laugh again when she saw the size of the tiny dog being held by Ms Parkinson, but successfully kept it in check. The Pomeranian didn’t look like it would have managed to nibble at his shoe let alone destroy his trouser leg.

  ‘Detective Inspector Joe Burton and Detective Sergeant Sally Fielding,’ Burton introduced themselves to the alter ego of Madame Ortiz. ‘We spoke on the phone.’

  ‘Ah yes, of course. Do come in.’

  Fielding knew what Madame Ortiz looked like from the photographs on her website, but the domestic version was far less dramatic that her professional appearance. Gone was the façade of the American Prohibition era, the flapper-style clothing and the feather boa headband – although, what that particular period of history had to do with telling people’s fortunes was anybody’s guess. In its place she wore a pair of cream chinos, flat ballet pumps in a matching colour and an oversized pink shirt with several of the top buttons left open, dipping it far lower to the cleavage than Fielding herself would have worn. The almost Egyptian-style eye make-up was gone to reveal a fresh, unadorned complexion. She was undoubtedly a very attractive woman, a fact which she must have been fully aware of.

  Marilyn Parkinson led them into a room at the back of the house. Its big picture window revealed a spacious and well-tended garden which was, at this time of year, alive with luscious shrubbery and a mass of colourful blooms. Inviting them to sit down on the light grey fabric sofa, she did likewise on the oversized chair opposite. As she put the dog onto the floor Burton braced himself for the worst, but it just scuttled off into the bed set aside for it by the French doors leading out into the garden.

  ‘Her bark’s worse than her bite,’ Marilyn laughed, and Fielding tried hard not to look at Burton for fear of what his face must have looked like at that moment.

  ‘You’re hard to track down,’ he said, happy in the knowledge that the pooch was out of the picture for the time being.