Dead to Me

by Pamela Murray

  ‘That’s dreadful; I’m so sorry to hear that you had to go through that,’ Fielding said to her. She couldn’t imagine how hard that must have been for them both.

  ‘John took it very badly,’ Mrs Turnbull continued, but then her voice just trailed off.

  ‘Look, we don’t want to keep you any longer than necessary, but how long will John be at the airport as we’d like to have a word with him too?’

  ‘Oh, he’s not coming back here. He said that he’d put Maria’s parents up at his place. He’s got the space, you see, and is able to accommodate them far better than we ever could.’

  ‘I’m surprised he’s able to get out of the house in order to do it, considering.’

  ‘Our doctor gave him some very good tablets,’ she smiled. ‘Given him the will to live again, I think.’

  ‘Yes, they can help a great deal.’ Fielding remembered the death of her own father all those years ago, and how the family’s doctor kept her mother afloat. ‘Thank you for your time, Mrs Turnbull, we appreciate it,’ she continued, rising from her seat. Summers followed her lead.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  As John Turnbull hadn’t arrived back from the airport by the time they got to his house, Fielding and Summers waited in the car.

  ‘I’m surprised he’s able to function,’ Summers said as they kept watch on the street. ‘I know I wouldn’t be.’

  ‘No, me neither.’

  ‘I know Joe mentioned going to see Dr Adamson; do you think he might be able to pinpoint the death a little better?’

  ‘I’d like to think so, but from what he told us before it doesn’t seem very likely. If he can’t, then we’re going to be hard pushed for any proof of when the poison was actually administered. And without that, we’re stuck.’

  ‘I wonder how he’s getting on with the press conference?’ Summers pondered.

  Fielding grimaced. ‘I hate those things.’

  ‘Not a pleasant thing, is it?’

  ‘Rather him than me, but I suppose I’m going to have to get used to it in the future, both of us in fact.’

  ‘I’m trying to train myself to see it as playing a part on the stage. I think it might help me to get through it a little better,’ Summers confessed.

  Fielding was surprised as he seemed to be taking it all in his stride the other day. ‘So, your brave face was just an act then?’

  ‘Of course,’ he laughed. ‘I was just as terrified as you were!’

  ‘Well, you hid it very well,’ she complimented him.

  ‘Methinks that I should have been an actor on the stage then!’

  ‘Perchance you should have been!’

  Just at that moment a car rounded the corner and came to a stop outside the house. The detectives could see John Turnbull sitting in the driver’s seat, with two passengers in the rear – presumably his late wife’s parents. Turnbull stared at them through the windscreen before turning off the ignition key and opening the door. Rather than come over to their car straight away, he opened the back doors one by one to allow his passengers to exit. Once out, all three of them looked towards the officers’ car as Fielding and Summers made a move to get out. Maria’s parents exchanged words with John; but after popping the boot and handing them their suitcases and the key to the house, he indicated that they go inside without him. Only when he thought they were far enough away did he walk towards the two detectives who were now standing on the pavement.

  ‘I wasn’t aware that you were coming to see me; did you go to my parents’ house first?’

  ‘Yes, we did, as we assumed that you’d still be there,’ Fielding said.

  ‘No.’ John Turnbull seemed a bit jittery.

  ‘Sorry, where are my manners,’ he continued, ‘please come inside, we can talk in there. I’m sure Maria’s parents will want to hear what you have to say too.’

  Fielding didn’t like to tell him that he was a suspect, even less so Maria’s mother and father.

  ‘Perhaps we could talk on your driveway and not out here on the street?’ she suggested, looking around her. It was quiet at the moment, but she could see a couple walking their dog coming towards them.

  John Turnbull’s frown said more than words ever could. He looked confused.

  ‘Now what is it you want to ask me?’ he asked once they were out of anyone’s earshot.

  ‘Did you kill your wife, Mr Turnbull?’

  Not only was Turnbull taken aback, Summers looked at her in astonishment.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I asked you if you–’

  ‘I heard you,’ he cut in, ‘but I can’t quite believe what I’ve just heard you ask me. I’ve just lost my wife, her parents have just come over here to lay their daughter to rest, we’re all in mourning and you’re asking me a question like that? This is inexcusable, detective. Inexcusable.’

  ‘It’s a question we have to ask, sir,’ she replied. Glancing sideways at Summers, she could swear that his mouth was hanging open. Looking away, she concentrated on Turnbull again.

  ‘I loved my wife. How could you even ask me a question like that?’

  ‘Like I said, sir–’

  Turnbull wouldn’t let her finish. ‘I’m going to get in touch with your superior. What’s their name?’

  Not wanting to involve DCI Ambleton in this, she gave him Joe Burton’s name.

  ‘I’ll be getting in touch with him,’ he said angrily, and stormed up to the front door of the house, leaving them standing on the path. By this time the couple of dog walkers had reached the gate and stopped when they heard the raised voices. They stared at both the detectives before moving quickly on, not wishing to get involved in whatever it was that was happening.

  ‘Do you think it worked?’ Summers asked.

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ she said, turning and heading back to the car. ‘Nice acting by the way, you had me convinced you were shocked! Now I’d better get in touch with Joe before Mr Turnbull does.’

  ***

  ‘So, you should expect a phone call from him,’ Fielding said to Burton after relating her conversation with John Turnbull.

  ‘Something to look forward to then,’ he said ironically. ‘Do you think your idea worked?’

  ‘It gave him something to think about, that’s for sure.’

  ‘We’ll just have to wait and see,’ he concluded.

  ‘How did the press conference go?’ she asked, changing the subject.

  ‘It went okay; easier than expected. The press were, well, the press, but it’s over with. After that I paid a visit to Dr Adamson. He said he’ll have another look at the time of death. He’s not promising anything, but he’s going to ask one of his medical colleagues who specialises in the life of poisons in the human body to have a look at the evidence and get his take on it.’

  Fielding nodded, hopeful that it might come to something. It was the one thing they were lacking, something concrete about the time digitalis had been administered to Maria Turnbull. Without it they were clutching at straws in the hope that somebody might slip up and give themselves away, which is why she posed the blunt, accusatory question at the husband: to get some kind of reaction.

  ‘Summers was great, by the way,’ she said. ‘I told you that he was heading for the stage at one point, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes, you did. It came in handy then.’

  ‘You know, I’ve been thinking,’ Fielding continued, ‘do you think it could just all be about the money?’

  ‘Well, Maria’s parents must have accumulated enough money over the years from their work for them to retire early, so perhaps if she died her husband John somehow inherited her wealth? If that’s the case, we should look into their background, find out what they did before they headed off to Spain.’

  Fielding still looked pensive. ‘But John has a very good job, hasn’t he? I expect architecture pays good money, especially with the projects he’s been involved with, so he’ll have plenty
money of his own from his lucrative employment.’

  ‘True. Plus, we have to consider that, if money is the reason for Maria’s death, how is it even related to the deaths of Harry York and Norman Bishop?’

  They both fell silent, thinking about what the connection could possibly be.

  ‘You know,’ Burton spoke first, ‘we could be missing something.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like there’s more than one thing going on here.’

  Fielding looked puzzled.

  ‘The deaths of Harry York and Norman Bishop may be part of it, yet not.’

  Another confused expression from Fielding.

  ‘Think about it,’ he enthused, ‘all four deaths are related, they have to be, but what if, in the cases of York and Bishop, it was a case of them either seeing or knowing something that they shouldn’t have, something separate?’

  ‘That’s a very good point,’ she agreed. ‘But what? What could they both possibly have known that led to them getting killed?’

  ‘I think we have to go back to the psychologist’s line of thinking again, to the main reasons why killers kill: revenge, monetary gain, or to silence someone who is going to reveal a secret, for example, fraud or adultery.’

  ‘It’s Occam’s razor again,’ Fielding said, reintroducing one of her favourite terms.

  ‘Trust you!’ Burton laughed, acknowledging her fondness for the theory. ‘But I agree. If we’re now looking at John Turnbull as the main suspect, we’ll have to find a reason why he would kill his wife, along with York and Bishop. And if we do find that the reason is financial, then we’ll have to find the evidence to support it.’

  ‘Plus, why would there be a need to implicate Madame Ortiz?’

  CHAPTER FORTY

  The team were briefed to go through all the evidence again, and to look at it from the perspective of John Turnbull as the main suspect.

  ‘I need someone to dig into the history of Maria Turnbull’s parents, what they did for a living, where they’re living in Spain now, that kind of thing.’

  ‘I can get on that,’ Summers volunteered, and was given the go-ahead.

  Over the course of the next few hours everyone concentrated on the new directive, and by the end of it they had accumulated some revealing information. But out of all of them it was what Jack Summers had found that sparked the most interest.

  Prior to their relocation abroad some ten years earlier, it appeared that Maria Turnbull’s parents, the Richardsons, had been joint directors of an overseas property investment company called Faraway Dreams. According to reports, the business had become subject to an official investigation and was forced to close. Seemingly, many of the company’s investors had lost their life savings in bad investments, but according to the official police report it was a little more complex than that.

  The file which Summers had acquired seemed to suggest that the Richardsons had acted fraudulently, but before any proceedings had taken place, they’d fled the country and moved to Spain to avoid prosecution when the whole business went down the pan. By the time the Fraud Squad had found them and tried to extradite them, Maria’s parents had applied for and gained Spanish citizenship, so they couldn’t just go in and arrest them. However, it had been noted in the files that should they return to the UK, they would still be held accountable.

  Burton and Fielding wondered if Maria had known about the family business, and by the same token, had she told her husband? But what, if anything, did that have to do with Maria’s death and the other ones? Those were the questions that needed to be answered.

  ‘We’ll have to alert the appropriate team that the Richardsons are back in this country, won’t we?’ Summers asked Fielding.

  She looked towards Burton, but already knew what both of them were thinking.

  ‘Yes, we will, under the circumstances,’ she said, and Burton nodded his head in agreement.

  ‘Quite a catch for the Fraud Squad, I’d say,’ Burton commented. He had a couple of friends on the team and suggested that he contact them straight away.

  ‘We may not have caught a killer yet, but we’ve managed to find a couple of historic crooks,’ Summers declared, overjoyed by what he’d found.

  ‘Good work, Jack,’ Fielding praised him.

  ‘Maybe there was a financial motive for both Harry York’s and Norman Bishop’s death,’ Summers offered. ‘Perhaps they both found out about Maria’s parents and decided to do a bit of blackmailing?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Burton mulled, but didn’t sound too convinced.

  But Fielding thought that to be viable. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘and Maria somehow mentioned it to Harry York.’

  ‘That’s assuming she knew about her parents’ affairs,’ Burton interjected.

  ‘How could she not?’

  ‘Well, I’m sure that parents can and do keep secrets from their children,’ Burton came back. ‘They could have told her that they were retiring early and she’d be none the wiser, then headed off to the sun to escape prosecution.’

  ‘So, if she didn’t know about her parents, she couldn’t have let it slip to Harry York then, could she?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  Fielding felt they were going round in circles. The only positive thing to come out of this was the fact that they’d discovered the current whereabouts of the Richardsons, who were still wanted for fraud even after ten years. Not the actual case they were working on, but still linked on another level.

  ‘At least we’ve solved another case,’ Burton said, placing a hand on Fielding’s shoulder after seeing the desperation in her eyes. She knew he was right, although it was the present case that troubled her. She needed to know who had killed their four victims, and although it was now looking as if John Turnbull was their main suspect, there was little in the way of evidence or motive to support that.

  In fact, the same could be said of either of the other two suspects. Despite some evidence pointing to them, like the astrological signs on the body or the DNA on the Robin Hood costume, there was nothing concrete to suggest that Marilyn Parkinson or Caroline Watkins had anything to do with the deaths. So, where did that leave them? They had rooted out a criminal husband-and-wife team, an unexpected bonus, but what they really needed was Dr Adamson and his poisons expert to come back to them with something tangible. Something they could use to determine who the killer was based upon a timeline.

  It was then that Fielding’s alternative idea popped up in her head again. ‘You don’t think that Maria could have poisoned herself, do you?’

  ‘Whatever made you think that?’ Burton was surprised.

  ‘I know I briefly touched on that possibility before, and we didn’t really go into that, but what if she did? Although, that wouldn’t account for the other three murders now, would it?’

  ‘But why would she do that?’ Summers asked, as equally taken aback as Burton. ‘She appeared to have had a perfect life with an excellent job and a new husband.’

  ‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ Fielding said, ‘We all know that to be true. Maybe she found out about her parents; or maybe something else happened at home, like her husband abusing her and that was the only way out for her?’

  Still not convinced, Burton exhaled a long, weary breath and looked around at the other members of the team. ‘What has everybody else found?’

  Jane Francis spoke up first. ‘I was concentrating on Caroline Watkins. As expected, she’s completely clean; however, some of her legal decisions might be considered questionable, bearing in mind who some of the firm’s clients appear to be.’

  Burton was curious. ‘Like who?’

  ‘Well, Jimmy Fitzpatrick for one.’

  Summers let out a long whistle. Jimmy Fitzpatrick was a known businessman in the city, rumoured to have links with some of London’s big crime families, although that ‘fact’ had never been proven and probably wouldn’t be with solicitors like Watkins to defend him.

&nb
sp; ‘Well, that’s interesting,’ Burton declared. ‘I wonder if Jimmy Fitzpatrick knew Maria Turnbull’s parents?’

  ‘I don’t think all criminals actually know one another personally,’ Fielding reposted.

  ‘No, but it would be interesting to know, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘And how can we go about finding that out?’ Summers asked.

  ‘We go and ask him.’

  ***

  Jimmy Fitzgerald’s place of business was a high-end car dealership on the A6 just south of the city. Fielding thought back to a previous case and another ‘car dealer’ she’d had dealings with, one Gabriel Reyes, a smooth-talking South American who’d taken a shine to her. It seemed that a car business appeared to be a good cover for any less-than-legit operation. Fitzgerald was well-known to the police as he’d been watched on a number of occasions when his link to London had been discovered, but the man had never left himself exposed or put a foot wrong. If it hadn’t been for the known connection, nobody would have been any the wiser.

  They hadn’t called ahead to have the element of surprise, although if Fitzpatrick was as careful as they expected him to be, their arrival wouldn’t even raise an eyebrow. So, when they parked up near the front entrance, the only sign of something else going on was the sight of a man in a black suit and tie wandering around inside the glass-fronted showroom. He looked completely out of place amidst the salesmen, who were all jacketless and had their sleeves rolled up to their elbows, and would have been more at home outside a nightclub preventing any undesirables from entering than here. He reminded Fielding of Gabriel Reyes’s burly, yet immaculately dressed sidekick, Victor Bikovic.

  The man in black caught sight of them as they alighted the car and immediately pulled a phone from his pocket. If he’d intended to be discreet, he’d fallen way short of the mark; it was obvious that he was phoning his boss to give him the heads-up.