Dead to Me

by Pamela Murray

‘Interesting,’ Fielding remarked.

  ‘Well, in a few seconds Fitzpatrick will know that the police are here,’ Burton laughed. Although both he and Fielding were plain-clothed, the fact that they were police officers must have been written across their foreheads.

  ‘I didn’t think we were that obvious,’ Fielding retorted.

  ‘We must be.’

  ‘I would have easily taken us for a couple looking to buy a new car.’

  Burton held the door open for her to enter then followed behind, whereupon they were immediately pounced upon by one of the eager bare-forearmed sales team.

  ‘Hello there and welcome to Fitzpatrick’s. How may I be of assistance?’ he asked them with a wide beaming grin. Before the detectives could answer, Mr Burly Black Suit quickly appeared behind him and interrupted his pre-emptive sales pitch.

  ‘It’s all right, Jake,’ he said to the young man, ‘I think they’re here to see Mr Fitzpatrick himself and not to purchase a new vehicle, am I right?’ The latter was addressed to Burton and Fielding.

  ‘Yes, that’s correct,’ Burton brought out his warrant card. Fielding did the same. ‘It’s only a courtesy call, and to ask him for a little advice.’

  Fitzpatrick’s bouncer looked taken aback. It seemed that he was expecting to be shown a search warrant and not a request for a chat. At that point, his phone rang and he answered it. He listened and didn’t say a word before replacing it in his pocket, after which he told them that the showroom’s owner would be more than happy to see them.

  Burton looked around, scanning the premises for cameras, as that would have been the only way Fitzpatrick would have known what they’d come for. Probably had audio too, he figured.

  They followed behind as the bouncer led the way, taking them through to the rear of the showroom and then up a flight of stair to the first floor. He stopped beside a door and knocked, waiting for a response. Only when he heard ‘Come in’ did he open the door and let them through.

  ‘Detectives Burton and Fielding,’ he announced, before exiting and closing the door behind him.

  The two police officers hadn’t crossed paths with Jimmy Fitzpatrick before but had heard many stories about him and his underworld connections. He’d never been caught for anything, but everybody knew that whatever he was into he was in it right up to his neck. Only the evidence was absent. But today, all they were after was finding out what, if anything, he knew about the Richardsons and their former less-than-legitimate overseas property company.

  Fitzpatrick stood up and came around from behind his desk to greet them. He was a short man, no taller than 5’6” or 5’7”, immaculately dressed. Fielding thought of the Hercules Poirot character from the Agatha Christie novels, such was the way he carried himself with his styling and manner. All that was lacking was a neatly-maintained moustache.

  ‘And how may I help the officers of the law?’ he asked, extending a hand to each in turn. Burton couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or sarcastic.

  ‘We’d just like to ask you a couple of questions, sir,’ Burton said.

  ‘Please sit.’

  Burton and Fielding sat on the two chairs in front of the man’s desk. There were several monitors on his desk, some of which evidently had captured their arrival and heard what they’d said.

  ‘I understand you are after a bit of advice?’ he laughed gently. ‘It’s not often the police come here asking for my advice.’

  The man had, it seemed, no qualms about hiding his true nature or his nefarious connections.

  ‘Yes,’ Fielding said. ‘We were wondering if you’d ever met a Mr and Mrs Richardson, Brian and Margaret, who owned a company called Faraway Dreams. This would have been over ten years ago.’

  Fitzpatrick sat back in his chair. ‘And why do you think I would know them?’ he asked.

  It was a fair question, to which neither of them wanted to say ‘because they’re criminals like you.’

  Burton improvised. ‘It’s just . . . how can I put this? It’s just that they did a bit of a runner to Spain a decade ago, and we know that you might know a number of people over there.’

  Fitzpatrick laughed heartily. ‘Very delicately put, detective. It was a risk on Burton’s part and he knew it, however, the businessman didn’t seem fazed by what he was suggesting. Fielding, though, was horrified. The last thing she wanted was to be stuck in an office with a known gangland associate without any form of backup.

  ‘I like you!’ Fitzpatrick added, ‘and your lady friend there. Well, let me think. Ten years is a long time, you know, but let me see what I can remember for you. Brian and Margaret Richardson . . . Faraway Dreams . . .’

  He seemed to drift off for a moment in an attempt to recall, during which time Burton and Fielding exchanged glances.

  ‘Okay, yes, I have heard of them,’ Fitzpatrick said at long last. ‘I remember that they packed up and left to go and live in Spain.’

  As Burton nodded, Fitzpatrick continued. ‘They had a lot of unhappy customers. I hear they swindled many people out of a lot of money.’

  ‘How much money, do you know?’ Fielding asked.

  ‘It must have been quite a lot for them to leave the country like that.’

  ‘And did you have any direct dealings with them?’ she continued.

  ‘You mean like selling them a new car?’ A half-smile crossed his lips.

  Fielding looked wryly at Burton. ‘No, and you know what I mean, sir.’

  ‘Mr Fitzpatrick,’ Burton took over, ‘we’re not here about you, in fact at this moment we’re not bothered about you in the slightest – no offence. All we want to do is to find out a little more about the Richardsons and their background.’

  Fitzpatrick pouted his lips. ‘You’ve hurt my feelings, detective,’ he said, feigning sadness.

  ‘Come on,’ Burton retorted, ‘we all know about your connections and, like I said, that’s irrelevant at this moment. The couple’s daughter’s just been murdered, and we want to know is could it somehow be related to her parents’ criminal activities.’

  He chastised himself as soon as he said it. He hadn’t wanted to reveal as much as that to the man, but it was too late now to take it back.

  ‘Okay,’ Fitzpatrick said, once again sitting back in his seat. ‘I knew the Richardsons indirectly. Heard about their business and why they left for sunnier climes. Rumour was that the daughter didn’t know a thing about it. Was away at university, I believe, when it all went down.’

  ‘So that couldn’t have got her killed, in your opinion?’

  ‘Well, I’m not a detective like you but, no, I don’t think so. Why would anyone want to kill her for her parents’ wrong-doing?’

  It was a fair question, and one the detectives agreed with. They too couldn’t see a connection, but they had to hear it from someone who appeared to know all about the country’s criminal undertakings.

  ‘While we’re here,’ Burton began, and Fitzpatrick seemed to flinch slightly as he wondered what might be coming next. ‘Your solicitor is Caroline Watkins, isn’t she?’

  ‘She is employed at the firm of solicitors who work on my behalf, that’s correct.’

  ‘What can you tell us about her?’

  Fitzpatrick laughed. ‘What’s Caroline gone and done now? She’s a feisty one, that one, and I wouldn’t be surprised in the least if she’s overstepped the mark this time!’

  ‘Is she known for overstepping the mark then?’ Fielding asked.

  ‘She will do what she needs to get the work done.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning just that. She fights hard for a client and will manage to dig up all kinds of juicy information on their behalf. She’s a fighter; maybe she should come and work for me!’

  ‘Do you think that she would go as far as murder?’ Burton had to ask.

  Fitzpatrick looked shocked. ‘Murder?’ He shook his head. ‘She’s a hard one alright, but murder, no I certainly would
n’t take her to be someone who would extend herself to doing that. The only murderous thing about her is her tongue; works by words not actions, that’s why she’s so successful.’

  ‘Okay then.’ Burton rose from his seat. ‘Thank you for your time, we really appreciate it.’

  ‘As do I. It’s nice not to have a search warrant waved in my face by the boys in blue. Or the girls in blue,’ he added, casting Fielding a smile.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  ‘He wasn’t as bad as I thought he’d be,’ Fielding declared once back in the car.

  ‘Looks can be deceiving,’ Burton reminded her.

  ‘I guess, but he was helpful enough considering we just walked in and asked to speak to him.’

  ‘Probably like he said, he was happy that we didn’t barge in and wave a search warrant in his face.’

  ‘I’ve heard of him, of course, the rumours and everything. Funny that we’ve never crossed paths with him before though.’

  ‘Not our patch, I guess. I think the Fraud Squad have a big file on him, and pay him visits now and again, which is probably why he thought we’d be marching in and produce a search warrant, but as far as I know he’s never been involved with murder.’

  ‘As far as we know,’ Fielding declared.

  ‘Yes, that’s true. But despite everything, he didn’t seem like much of a threat.’

  ‘That’s probably because we weren’t threatening him.’

  ‘Again, true.’

  ‘So, what about Caroline Watkins?’ Fielding mused. ‘She certainly seems to be the determined one.’

  ‘Especially if the company has people like Fitzpatrick on their books.’

  ‘But determined enough to kill, and if so, for what reason?’

  It was indeed a question to be asked, as the suspect spotlight now veered back and forth between her and John Turnbull. When they got back to the station the place was alive with excitement.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Burton asked Preston, but then spotted Summers talking to his friend from the Fraud Squad.

  ‘Hey, Mark,’ he called over.

  The man excused himself and came over, grinning from ear to ear as he shook Burton’s hand vigorously.

  ‘Good call, mate,’ he said. ‘You only gone and led us to a pair of criminals we’ve been trying to land for a decade!’

  ‘The Richardsons you mean?’

  ‘Yes, the Richardsons!’ he repeated excitedly. ‘We’ve got them banged up right now, but we’ve had to call a duty doctor in to take a look at them.’

  ‘Oh, why was that?’ Fielding asked, at which point Burton apologised and introduced her to his old friend.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Mark said to her. ‘Yes, they were both complaining of feeling queasy, which we thought to be a ploy, but then the doctor said that he needed to do a few more tests as he felt they weren’t putting it on.’

  Burton and Fielding exchanged glances.

  ‘Why, what’s wrong?’ the Fraud Squad detective asked on seeing their expressions.

  ‘Do me a favour, Mark,’ Burton urged, ‘get your doctor to do a test for poisoning, will you?’

  ‘Poison? Whatever for?’

  ‘Just call it a hunch.’

  ‘Okay, will do,’ Mark immediately reached in his pocket for his phone. They knew one another well enough to know that if a concern was raised it was a valid one.

  ‘And tell them to specifically look for digitalis,’ Burton added.

  While Mark was making the call, Fielding, like Burton, felt that they’d made a huge breakthrough.

  ‘This could be what we’ve been waiting for,’ she said.

  Simon Banks excitedly caught Burton’s and Fielding’s attention and called them over.

  ‘Yes, what is it?’ Burton asked.

  ‘Among other things, I’ve been searching for photographs of Marilyn Parkinson online which might show her with a partner and I came across this,’ he said, pointing at the image on the monitor from a local newspaper. ‘It was taken just over a year ago, and was at a reception held at the Town Hall.’

  As Burton and Fielding looked closer, they could clearly see Parkinson and John Turnbull in the background, looking a little closer than just casual acquaintances.

  ‘That’s great, Simon!’ Burton couldn’t contain his excitement. ‘This is just what we’ve been looking for. Print if off, will you? Well done!’

  At the same time, DC Phillipa Preston took a call from dispatch. The call came in from the hairdressing salon next door to Madame Ortiz’s business premises, and the person on the other end of the phone reported a disturbance in the astrologer’s place of work, bad enough, it seemed, to call the police.

  ‘Did they say what it was?’ Burton asked, grabbing his jacket as he spoke.

  ‘Only that there appeared to be raised voices and the sound of things being broken,’ Preston said.

  ‘Okay, thanks for that,’ he said to her, as he sprinted out with Fielding not too far behind him.

  ***

  By the time they got to Madame Ortiz’s business address, there was already a police car parked up outside with its lights still flashing.

  ‘I’ll go and have a word with the person who reported it,’ Fielding said, ‘to hear what they have to say.’

  As she went next door, Burton bounded up the stairs to where he could hear raised voices coming from what he knew to be the reception area. Both Marilyn Parkinson and Caroline Watkins were being restrained by two uniformed officers, while a third was making a call. Despite the restraint, each was trying to break away and get to the other. Burton noticed scratches on the women’s faces, and what looked like the start of a black eye on Parkinson. Both looked as if they’d been involved in one hell of a brawl.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Burton asked the constable who was on his phone.

  ‘I’m calling for back-up, sir,’ he said, ‘these two are not going to give up quietly.’

  ‘Can you get any sense out of them?’

  ‘Not a thing. By the time we got here they were well into a scrap. Took all my colleagues’ powers to even part the two of them. Oh, and we found a couple of syringes on the floor over by the door there, so not sure if this is a drugs thing or not. We left them where we found them, mainly because we knew it would be best to, and also because we had our hands full with the two women.’

  Two syringes? That seemed to imply that each one of them had tried to attack the other with one. But why, and, perhaps more importantly, where had they obtained them from? He took a poly bag out from his pocket and slipped on a pair of nitrile gloves. Walking over to the door which led into Madame Ortiz’s consulting room, he bent down and picked up both the syringes. Both were almost full so, assumingly, neither had carried out their intentions.

  ‘What do you think’s in them?’ the constable continued.

  ‘If it’s what I think it is, I believe it could well be the resolution of the case my team’s working on.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Marilyn Parkinson sat in interview room number one, right next to interview room number two where Caroline Watkins sat. Both were battered and bruised; both were tight-lipped about what had actually happened. Neither was speaking, and neither showed any emotion.

  ‘What is going on with those two?’ Fielding asked, standing in the corridor alongside her partner.

  ‘I thought they’d at least say something, anything really. Of all people, Caroline Watkins should know how this looks.’

  ‘I’m surprised she hasn’t asked for a member of her law firm to come in to try and get her released.’

  ‘I’m not sure what either of them are guilty of, apart from assault, that is.’ Burton ran a hand through his hair, a well-known habit when something was puzzling him. ‘The syringes look damaging, and I suspect we know what they contain, but until their contents are analysed we’ve got nothing.’

  ‘We can still hold them though, until we get that info
rmation through.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said defiantly, ‘and we will.’

  It was decided that Fielding, along with Summers, should conduct the interviews with Marilyn Parkinson and Caroline Watkins. Burton would watch the proceedings from the observation area between rooms one and two. After ringing the squad room and asking Summers to join them, the two detectives waited outside the rooms until he arrived. Summers was again delighted to be handed more responsibility. He’d certainly need it for his future role with Fielding.

  Waiting until Burton entered the adjoining room, Fielding then opened the door to room number one. Parkinson looked up from her seat. She looked scared and afraid, and seemed to be a little uncertain of what was happening. Fielding nodded to the female constable on duty inside the room, who now was to wait outside until called back in again. When the door closed behind her, Fielding and Summers took their seats, and Fielding opened the manila folder she was holding.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m not looking my usual self,’ Parkinson said with a slight smile as she attempted to tidy her dishevelled hair, still disorderly from Caroline Watkins’s attack.

  ‘Can you tell me exactly what happened at your business premises tonight, Ms Parkinson?’ Fielding kept it professional, completely dismissing the woman’s comments on her appearance going straight down to questioning her.

  Marilyn Parkinson immediately stopped trying to sort her hair. She could see the serious look in the detective’s face.

  ‘Well,’ she began. ‘that woman, who I remembered from that dreadful thing that happened with that poor woman, got in touch with me.’

  ‘Maria Turnbull,’ Fielding said to her.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Maria Turnbull. That’s the name of the young woman who died.’

  ‘Yes, yes of course,’ Parkinson continued. ‘I thought that she wanted to speak to me regarding her friend’s death.’

  ‘How did she get in touch with you?’

  ‘Via a message on my website.’

  ‘Why did you think that she wanted to speak to you about it?’ Summers asked. Fielding was glad that he was getting himself involved in the interview so soon. She thought back to her early days with Joe Burton as her partner; she would jump in and ask relevant question and recalled him praising her for it. Summers would make a good partner, as she already knew.