Dead to Me

by Pamela Murray

  ‘I have to be in court soon,’ Caroline Watkins said the two detectives, as they were being shown into her office at the firm of solicitors. She was busily gathering together manila files from the filing cabinets and putting them into a large leather briefcase on the desk.

  ‘I’m afraid that’s going to have to wait,’ Fielding said unflinchingly.

  Caroline stopped and looked at her, the file in her hand half-in and half-out of the case. ‘No, it can’t wait, detective, I’m defending a client in a very important case in about twenty minutes.’

  ‘You’ll either have to get someone to cover you or you’ll need to get the case postponed.’

  ‘I don’t think so, detective,’ she retorted.

  ‘We’re going to have to take you into the station for questioning.’

  The solicitor appeared stunned. ‘Questioning; for what reason?’

  ‘We need to speak to you about the murder of Valerie Wilton.’

  ‘Who? I don’t know who that is.’ She laid the file on her desk.

  ‘That’s what we need to speak to you about.’

  ***

  Despite her initial objections, Caroline Watkins knew that it would not look good if she refused point blank not to do as they wished.

  ‘I need to speak to my boss before I go,’ she informed Fielding, who nodded her approval.

  As Fielding waited in reception, Summers accompanied Caroline. Her boss was as stunned as she was as to why they needed to speak to her at the station, and came out of his office to confront Fielding.

  ‘Is this really necessary?’ he asked angrily.

  ‘Yes, it is necessary, sir,’ she said.

  ‘And exactly why are you taking her in?’ he continued, not letting it go as easily as Fielding hoped.

  ‘To help us with our enquiries.’

  ‘And she can’t help you here in the office?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ Fielding held her ground and stood firm.

  Burton would be proud.

  ‘Very well, very well.’ Like Caroline, he knew how it would look if she refused to go, but was far from happy with the fact that one of his team was being whisked away to a police station, especially when a vital court case she was working on was pending.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  ‘Well, that’s the strangest thing,’ Caroline Watkins said, as she looked at the garment on the table in front of her.

  ‘And why’s that?’ Fielding asked coldly.

  ‘I used to have an outfit like that, but then I think it ended up in a charity shop, you know, in one of those bags that are put through your door and then collected.’

  ‘Why did you have a fancy-dress costume?’ Summers asked, puzzled why one of the city’s top-notch solicitors, and someone who was so obviously fashion-conscious, would buy something like that.

  ‘For a fancy-dress party, of course,’ she said somewhat sarcastically, looking at Summers with an expression of bewilderment. ‘Why else would I have it?’

  ‘When exactly did you get rid of it?’ Fielding felt completely deflated by this revelation. DNA didn’t lie, and she thought that she had the whole thing sussed out, apart from the actual motive, and here she was back to square one again.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, a few months back I suppose. I’d only worn it once, for a specific occasion and then got rid of it. Look, what’s this all about, and who is . . . what was that person’s name again?’

  ‘Valerie Wilton,’ Summers obliged.

  ‘Who is she?’ Caroline pushed for an answer, and Fielding felt that she had no other option than to explain to her despite not wanting to.

  ‘We think that she witnessed Harry York’s murder and was followed home by somebody wearing a Robin Hood costume – your actual costume as it happens as it has your DNA on it.’

  ‘How on earth do you know it was my DNA?’ Caroline asked in horror.

  ‘It was in the system, from when you visited one of your clients in his home following an incident two years ago.’

  Fielding could see her trying to recall.

  ‘Ah yes, I remember now, but that DNA sample should have been destroyed when the case was resolved!’ The solicitor was furious.

  ‘I know that, but somehow it wasn’t.’

  ‘I shall be raising a complaint about this at the highest level, detective.’

  ‘I have no doubt that you will,’ Fielding replied and left it at that. She could see it being an administrative nightmare, especially with the tenacious Ms Watkins on the case.

  ‘You said that you gave it to charity, Ms Watkins?’ Summers asked hoping for some kind of lead here. ‘Can you remember which one?’

  Caroline Watkins gave him a withering look. ‘Do you know how many charity bags come through the door over the course of a month?’

  Summers actually did, as he received a fair share of them himself.

  ‘So, it was just a random bag then?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Again, an expression designed to frighten clients and witnesses alike. She’d managed to perfect it, and obviously used it to her advantage in her career. As Summers had almost gone on to an acting career, he recognised somebody putting on a show for an audience – which on this occasion was himself and Fielding. He smiled to himself, which didn’t go down well with the undeterred Ms Watkins.

  ‘Why are you smiling?’ she asked angrily.

  ‘I know an act when I see one,’ he said, which seemed to temporarily cause a chink in her armour. Her manner changed, but then she bristled once again and sat upright in her seat.

  ‘I am not putting on an act,’ she declared defiantly, but Summers still smiled.

  ‘Whatever you say,’ was all he said, but it had the desired effect of quietening her.

  Fielding could tell that this was going nowhere. Caroline Watkins had an answer for everything which, considering she was a solicitor, made sense. She’d made a career out of having something to say. Under the circumstances, Fielding had no other option than to end the questioning right there and allow her to leave.

  ‘But we may need to question you again,’ she added.

  ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘Well, for one thing, you knew all the victims.’

  ‘But, surely, that doesn’t make me a person of interest?’ The solicitor stood her ground firmly.

  ‘Maybe not, but we may need to speak to you again.’

  ‘Can I go now?’ Caroline Watkins demanded, to which Fielding just nodded.

  ‘So, what do we think?’ Summers asked when he and Fielding returned to the squad room.

  Fielding shrugged. ‘I really don’t know what to think. Okay, so supposing she’s right and she did give her outfit to charity, isn’t it a bit of a coincidence that it’s turned up in a murder case, one in which she has multiple connections?’

  ‘I agree. It does seem far-fetched, and we can’t just discard it.’

  ‘Absolutely. We’ll wait to see what Joe Burton comes back to us with and get his take on it as well.’

  ***

  Joe Burton hoped to learn who Ortiz knew among all the victims and suspects, and how she knew them. He knew for certain some of the connections, but wanted to hear it from her.

  ‘Hello again,’ Marilyn Parkinson greeted Burton at the front door and held it open for him. Her faithful pooch was held tightly in her arms, which he was again grateful for. Although there hadn’t been any kind of incident with the pet the last time he’d visited, he still worried about any dog he now encountered. The incident with his trousers and the over-enthusiastic hound had left an indelible mark upon his psyche.

  Burton thought of Fielding, and the phrase ‘into the lion’s den’ popped into his head. He smiled to himself, then thought to extend that smile to a greeting of his own so that it didn’t look out of place. ‘And you,’ he said, stepping into the hallway. He again followed his host to the conservatory at the back of the house and sat down on a seat opposite her.<
br />
  ‘Would you like a drink, detective?’ Marilyn offered, but he declined, saying that he likely would only be a few minutes.

  In stark contrast to the previous time, she wore make-up, making her look more like her professional persona and not the private casual one. The previous apparel of relaxed shirt and trousers had been replaced by a mid-calf length summer’s dress with, yet again, a plunging front neckline. Was it for his benefit, he mused? If it was, it was lost on him. Perhaps Sally had been right in her assumption after all? Yes, she was attractive, he couldn’t deny that, but the only woman for him was his Sally Fielding. No other person could come near, in his opinion, and certainly not some fancy fake Tarot card reader.

  She uncrossed then re-crossed her legs somewhat provocatively, but Burton ignored it and delved into his pocket to produce his trusty elasticated notebook.

  ‘Now, Ms Parkinson,’ he began, ‘I only have a few questions to ask you, but they are very important ones so I hope you can oblige with the answers.’

  ‘Of course,’ she purred. Burton ignored it.

  ‘Please tell me how you know Harry York and Norman Bishop.’

  Her eyebrows crinkled slightly. ‘Well, I’ve heard about them on the news, of course.’

  ‘But you’ve met them, haven’t you?’

  ‘Have I?’ She answered the question with a question, but Burton didn’t see it as a ploy to try to put him off. Did she genuinely not remember them, or was it a well put on front? He wasn’t sure.

  ‘I believe that Harry York and the estate agency he worked for was instrumental with finding you your business property. Norman Bishop worked for the council and was one of the people who drew up your tenancy agreement.’

  ‘My, you’ve been busy,’ she smiled briefly. ‘But it was a while ago and I didn’t know that it was them. As you can imagine, I meet a lot of people, especially clients, and can’t remember their names or faces, so I don’t think you can fault me for not recalling those two people.’

  ‘So, what about Caroline Watkins?’

  ‘Caroline Watkins?’

  ‘Yes, she was the one who organised the group meeting the other night, when Maria Turnbull died after leaving your workplace.’

  ‘I only met her that night, detective.’

  ‘She was the solicitor who drew up your initial and subsequent tenancy agreements.’

  ‘Well, how am I supposed to know that!’

  Burton could tell that she was starting to get a little annoyed with his line of questioning, but continued.

  ‘You didn’t meet her when you signed your agreement?’

  ‘No, I did not. It was posted out to me and I returned it in the same way. Apart from Caroline Watkins, who you now tell me I met the other night, I have not personally met any of them. Even then, I had no idea that Ms Watkins had anything to do with my business affairs; I thought she was just someone who had booked a session with me, that’s all.’

  Burton felt disappointment. He’d hoped that her answers would help the investigation but, alas, it was not to be. Unless Ms Parkinson was lying, of course, but he really didn’t think that she was judging by the way she’d answered him.

  ‘Okay, thank you,’ he said, closing his book and fastening it shut with the elastic strap. ‘I’m sorry, but I had to ask the questions as part of the enquiry.’

  ‘I understand.’ She was back to purring mode once again. ‘Now, anything else you want to ask me, you know where I am.’

  As Burton rose to go, he was grateful that the dog remained in its basket beside the patio door. However, there was one final question he just had to ask her, and there was no better way of doing so than just bluntly coming out with it.

  ‘Just before I go,’ he began, ‘can you think of any reason why someone would want to frame you for murder?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ she looked shocked.

  ‘We didn’t mention it to you before, but we have evidence which seems to point us in your direction.’

  ‘What?’ Burton could see that Parkinson’s reaction was genuine. She had no idea that she was in the frame for anything. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘There are things that we’ve found which implicate you.’

  ‘What kind of things,’ she demanded.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t disclose that to you, but it’s clear that somebody wants us to be led back to you.’

  ‘Well, I can’t think why, detective, I really can’t. I’m not guilty of anything, let alone guilty of murdering anyone.’

  ‘What about those odd letters you told me you’d been receiving; did anyone threaten you in any way?’

  ‘Threaten me? No, well, not to that extent. I just put them down as people who were jealous of my talents and dismissed them as such.’

  ‘Perhaps someone holding a grudge then, who didn’t like a reading you gave them? You might want to think about going through them again,’ Burton suggested, ‘look at them with that in mind and let me know if anything stands out.’

  ‘Okay, I will,’ she said shakily, as she walked with him towards the front door.

  She remained standing in the doorway as he made his way down the path to the pavement. When he reached the car, he looked back at her; her face was white as a sheet. It was only then that she closed the door and went back into the house.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Burton felt he should have brought back something concrete for Fielding but, sadly, that had not been the case. Unless she had been putting on a very good act, he could find nothing wrong with the answers Marilyn Parkinson had given, and she’d seemed genuinely shocked by the revelation that someone might be framing her for murder. Even so, it was still strange how she, and everyone else for that matter, were interconnected. He wondered how Fielding had fared with Watkins. Surely the woman could not refute her DNA being all over the fancy dress clothing, so he hoped that she’d had more success. In some ways, it looked like clear evidence for an arrest but, as he knew all too well, things didn’t often turn out like they’re supposed to. Far from it. Then there was the matter of motive. Like Marilyn Parkinson, what reason could Watkins have had to kill; no motive was evident for either of them.

  Fielding was deep in conversation with Summers and the other three detective constables when he entered the room.

  Seeing him enter, Fielding called him over.

  ‘Any luck with our fortune teller?’ she asked, to which he simply shook his head.

  ‘She seemed all dressed up to impress–’

  ‘I told you!’

  He smiled. ‘Perhaps, but what she said made sense. She said that she’d never met them. Regarding her business property, she’d telephoned estate agents in the first instance; someone did show her around potential locations from Harry York’s particular one, but she said that it was a woman. Following that, all the tenancy contract work was done by post, and she didn’t realise that Watkins had been the solicitor working on it. In fact, she didn’t know that any of the victims were linked.’

  ‘And you believe her?’

  ‘I have no reason not to,’ he confessed, ‘despite her trying to initially distract me with her low-cut dress!’

  As the rest of the team laughed, Burton looked across at Fielding and mouthed ‘she didn’t succeed’, followed by a wink.

  ‘What about everybody else; what have you found out?’ he asked the other three team members.

  Simon Banks was the first to answer. ‘I’ve been spending quite some time on CCTV, and I suddenly thought about the taxi cab the women used the night of Maria Turnbull’s death. I wondered if the cab company had CCTV in their vehicles, as I know that some firms do. And this cab company did so I paid them a visit to view the footage from that night.’

  ‘And was there anything of use on it?’ Burton asked hopefully.

  ‘They gave me a copy, and there is something of interest on it, which I’d like to show everybody now if I may?’

  While
Banks set the playback up, Burton came around to stand behind Fielding. Everyone else huddled in to watch. As they looked on, the video started with the interior of the cab just before all four women climbed into it. A few seconds in, Maria and Barbara entered first and sat together on the back seat, followed by Selena and Caroline, who sat on single seats facing them. Everyone appeared to be quiet; there was obviously some kind of friction going on.

  ‘Is there any sound?’ Burton asked.

  ‘There is,’ Banks said, ‘but nobody appears to be speaking to one another.’

  At that point the camera angle changed.

  ‘Multiple cameras in the cab?’ Burton speculated that the firm must have experienced problems in the past to invest in them, why else to go such trouble to keep an eye on their passengers.

  Banks nodded. ‘And this is the interesting point coming up . . . watch Maria.’

  As they all sat looking at the first victim, she reached up touched the back of one hand against her forehead before leaning in towards the window and resting her head against it. Simon then fast-forwarded to the point when everyone else had got out of the cab and Barbara was left on her own with Maria. He had forwarded the playback a full fifteen minutes, and Maria hadn’t moved in all that time. They heard Barbara speaking to her, telling her that she was home, putting a hand on her shoulder and gently shaking her. It was then that Maria’s body tipped sideways and fell onto the seat, with her head ending up on Barbara’s lap. Banks froze the image there.

  ‘So, she felt ill shortly after entering the cab by the look of it,’ Phillipa Preston observed.

  ‘And as she didn’t move, she could have died any time from then,’ Jane Francis added.