Dead to Me

by Pamela Murray

  ‘I just thought that she needed somebody to talk to, you know, somebody separate from her friends. I find that sometimes it can be easier to have a heart-to-heart with somebody you hardly know, somebody who’s completely impartial.’

  ‘Didn’t you think that a little strange?’

  ‘Well, I did, a little bit, but she seemed so upset when she messaged me that I felt I had to meet up with her to try if I could be of some help.’

  ‘So, she was the one who suggested coming to you?’ Fielding asked this time.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘She told me when she’d arrive, so I went over there early and waited. She was prompt, and I let her in and invited her upstairs. We were chatting, and then she just went into her bag and brought out a syringe, and that was when I got worried. I managed to run into my back room, the one where I do my readings, and grab my phone from the table. I called 999, but she forced her way in and tried her best to try and stick the needle into me. I’d dropped the phone by then but the line was still open and they could hear what was going on, which I guess is why the police came so quickly.’

  ‘And that’s how you both got your cuts and bruises?’

  ‘Yes!’ Parkinson seemed indignant that she’d been asked such a question. ‘The woman was trying to stick goodness knows what into me; I wasn’t going to hang around and let her do that, would you?’

  ‘And how many syringes did you see her with?’

  ‘Why, just the one, of course.’

  ‘Are you absolutely certain?’ Fielding pushed.

  ‘Yes. She was only holding one. Are you suggesting that she had more than one with her?’

  Fielding didn’t respond, but instead brought a photo out of the file and slid it across the desk.

  ‘Do you know who this person is?’ she asked, showing her the shot of someone exiting Norman Bishop’s room on CCTV at the Premier Hotel in Blackburn.

  Parkinson looked puzzled. ‘No. Why, who is it?’

  Fielding noted her reaction; she didn’t see any shock on her face.

  Without saying anything, Fielding closed the file in front of her and thanked her for her time. As she and Summers rose, Marilyn Parkinson asked them what was going to happen next.

  ‘Just sit tight and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can.’

  ‘Can I press charges against her?’

  ‘We’ll see. Just give us time to question her.’ And with that the two detectives exited the room, allowing the constable to enter and resume her position watching over the suspect.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  As they left the room, Joe Burton was already waiting for them in the corridor. He exhaled a long breath.

  ‘Do we believe her?’ he asked.

  ‘I just don’t know,’ came the response.

  ‘What I don’t get is why she agreed to invite a complete stranger to come around to speak to her,’ he continued.

  ‘Not exactly a complete stranger, I guess, as she had visited her as a client.’

  ‘But, even so.’

  ‘I agree,’ Fielding said. ‘But, as she said, she just thought that she needed to talk to somebody who was there the night her friend Maria died.’

  ‘That sounds a bit strange to me, doesn’t it you?’

  Fielding nodded. ‘A bit. I didn’t see a guilty reaction when I showed her the photo though, did you?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. Well, maybe we should just keep an open mind with her. Let’s see what Watkins has to say for herself, shall we?’

  As Burton resumed his position in the viewing area, this time overseeing interview room number two, Fielding and Summers went in to see the solicitor.

  Caroline Watkins sat back in her chair when they entered, looking defensive with her arms crossed over her chest. She looked at them sternly in an ‘if looks could kill’ kind of way. Unlike Marilyn Parkinson, who had looked scared and afraid, Watkins appeared completely in control and unmoved. Despite the subliminal message, Fielding was unfazed. She’d seen it so many times before that she was immune to things like this.

  ‘Now Ms Watkins,’ Fielding began as she and Summers took a seat, ‘I’d like you to tell me about what happened between yourself and Ms Parkinson that led to you both being here.’

  Watkins looked her straight in the eye and took a long breath. ‘And I’d like to tell you that I want to speak to my solicitor.’

  It wasn’t the answer Fielding had expected. If Caroline Watkins had wanted a solicitor, why hadn’t she asked for one as soon as she arrived in the station?

  From his vantage point in the adjoining room, Burton’s frustration reached boiling point, and he slammed his fists down hard on the table beside the two-way mirror. Fielding and Summers both heard it, as did Watkins, who smirked. The two detectives rose to leave. There was nothing else they could do, they’d have to wait until her legal representative arrived. They didn’t doubt that the person she would call in to represent her would be a member of her own law firm.

  ‘We could all hear you through the glass,’ Fielding said to Burton when they were in the corridor. But he didn’t apologise.

  ‘I don’t know if I don’t care for the woman because she’s a solicitor, or because she has this supercilious air about her. Either way . . .’ his voice trailed off. Fielding knew that Burton had two pet hates: the press, and solicitors. Any one of the two could push his buttons to the point where he would get into a state and slam his fists down in despair or, when anything solid was absent, swear prolifically. As on this occasion he could be heard, she was glad the former was his choice of relief. Joe Burton didn’t often swear as a rule, but when he did, he certainly didn’t hold back.

  ‘Let her call her solicitor then and see just what she has to say,’ he resumed after a while. ‘I’m surprised Marilyn Parkinson hasn’t asked for one as well.’

  ‘Or she hasn’t because she doesn’t think that she needs one,’ Summers said.

  ‘She definitely didn’t seem to think that she did,’ Fielding agreed.

  Right then a call came through to Burton’s mobile. ‘Okay, that’s good news. Thanks for your help.’

  As Fielding looked at him questioningly, Burton told her that the call was from Mark at the Fraud Squad. The poison found in the Richardsons had be analysed as digitalis.

  ‘Right then,’ he announced, feeling a tad more cheerful than a few moments earlier, ‘let’s go and pick John Turnbull up. Jack, can you come with us just in case he decides to resist arrest? But can you first go up and see one of the others and get them to arrange Watkins’s call to her solicitor then wait for them to arrive.’

  ***

  When the three detectives arrived at John Turnbull’s residence, they immediately saw that his car was not on the driveway.

  ‘Oh no,’ Burton declared. Surely the man hadn’t done a runner already?

  ‘See if you can get around the back,’ he said to Jack, as they scrambled out of the vehicle, ‘and we’ll check the front.’

  After sprinting up the driveway and pressing the doorbell several times, it became clear that Turnbull was not at home.

  ‘Anything back there?’ Burton asked as Summers reappeared through the gate to the rear of the house.

  He shook his head. ‘The place looks empty. Unless he’s hiding on the premises somewhere.’

  ‘No. I think we should take it that he’s gone, especially if his car’s not here,’ Burton remarked.

  ‘We could try his parents’ home,’ Fielding suggested, which was agreed upon.

  ‘John? No, he isn’t here,’ Mrs Turnbull said when they arrived at her house. ‘Why? Whatever is wrong?’

  ‘Have you any idea where he might have gone?’ Burton was becoming agitated again. They had to move quickly. John Turnbull must know by now that the Richardsons had been picked up by the police, and if he wasn’t at home, it stood to reason that he was trying to make some kind of a geta
way.

  ‘What is it? Mr Turnbull senior called from a room inside the house before appearing in the hallway and making his way towards them. It was the first time they’d seen him out of his chair.

  ‘It’s the police,’ his wife said. ‘They want to know where John is.’

  ‘Well, he went to pick up Maria’s parents from the airport, didn’t he?’ Mr Turnbull said.

  ‘He did that and they’re here, but now we’re trying to find him.’

  ‘He’ll be at home then,’ the father continued.

  ‘No, we’ve just been there and he’s gone.’

  ‘Maybe he’s showing them around then?’ Mrs Turnbull suggested.

  Burton hadn’t intended to tell them that the Richardsons were now in hospital under police supervision but felt it necessary to say something. ‘I’m afraid there’s been a bit of an accident.’

  Mrs Turnbull’s hands went straight up to her mouth and her face drained of all its colour. ‘Are they okay? Is our John all right?’

  ‘The Richardsons are hospitalised, but it’s John we’re trying to find,’ Fielding stepped in to try and calm the woman down.

  ‘Has he discharged himself or something?’ the father asked. John’s mother was still standing aghast. ‘Maybe he’s in shock and wandered off?’

  ‘So, you’ve no idea where he would be if he wasn’t at home?’ Burton continued, his face now showing the anguish he was trying so hard to hide.

  ‘Is he in some kind of trouble?’ Mrs Turnbull had overcome her initial shock to ask the one question the detectives hoped that neither she nor her husband would.

  ‘We just need to speak to him, that’s all.’ Burton felt like screaming. He wanted to scream out that yes, their son could be in trouble; that their son was the prime suspect for murdering his wife and poisoning his in-laws. But he didn’t. He kept his calm, as best as he could, waiting for some kind of clue from John Turnbull’s parents as to where their son could have gone.

  ‘Well, he did ask for his passport the other day. We kept it here for him, see. We just thought that maybe after the funeral he was thinking about going over to Spain to spend some time with Maria’s folks,’ the father said. ‘It would probably do him the world of good.’

  Burton felt this to be the breakthrough they were looking for. Quickly thanking Mr and Mrs Turnbull for their assistance, he and the other two detectives turned tail and headed back to the car, leaving the parents stunned wondering about the welfare of their son.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  ‘Who did you get to wait for Caroline Watkins’s solicitor?’ he asked Summers who was sitting in the back seat.

  ‘Jane,’ came the reply.

  ‘So are Simon and Phillipa free right now?’

  ‘Yes, they are.’

  Burton didn’t waste time getting on the phone to the remaining team members. Dialling Fielding’s extension in the office, it was picked up by Simon Banks, who was immediately brought up to speed and instructed to get on to Manchester Airport in the hope that John Turnbull may not have already fled the country.

  ‘What if he’s driven to another airport?’ Banks asked.

  ‘I’m hoping that he hasn’t. But if Manchester can’t locate him, we’ll have to consider contacting the next nearest ones. Can you do that as soon as possible please, Simon?’

  ‘Okay, I’m on it.’

  Burton drove back like a man possessed. Despite his tangible anxiety, Fielding knew for a fact that this was exactly the sort of thing he’d miss when he was promoted. A more desk-based job just didn’t suit him or his nature, but a promotion was a good thing and always aspired for by any police officer. She felt pleased for him in that respect, but sorry that he’d miss the hands-on graft he enjoyed so much. Things exactly like this.

  By the time they reached the office, Banks and Phillipa Preston had everything well in control. A call had just come in from the transport police at the airport, and John Turnbull had been reported to have checked in to a flight to the Costa Del Sol. His parents had been correct in their assumption that their son might wish to visit his late wife’s parents’ house, it just wasn’t in the way that they’d imagined it.

  ‘They’re going in now to pick him up,’ Banks announced to a delighted Burton.

  ‘Great. Has Caroline Watkins’s solicitor arrived yet?’

  ‘Jane rang up before you came in to say that he’s on his way but hasn’t arrived yet.’

  ‘Right, that’s fine. I have a plan for when John Turnbull is brought in.’

  ***

  ‘That’s the front desk,’ Banks answered the call he’d been waiting for. ‘Turnbull’s just come in, and they’re holding him down there until you go and get him.’

  ‘That’s great, Simon. Thank you for your help.’

  Burton picked up the file they had on Turnbull. ‘Right. Are we all set with the plan?’

  Fielding and Summers both nodded.

  ‘Okay then, here we go.’

  John Turnbull was far from happy when he saw Burton and the other two detectives approaching.

  ‘What is going on, Burton?’ he demanded, which immediately got Burton’s back up.

  ‘That’s Detective Inspector Burton,’ he said.

  ‘Detective Inspector then. Why have I been hauled in here like some common criminal?’

  Burton bit his lip. He wasn’t going reveal his thoughts just now. What he needed was the man to slip up once he was in the interview room.

  ‘We just have a few more questions for you before you leave the country.’

  ‘Could it not have waited until I got back? I was just going over to get Maria’s parents some things they’d forgotten to bring with them for the funeral.’

  ‘No, I’m afraid it could not.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be expecting a refund for my missed flight.’

  Burton chose to ignore that remark, trying to keep it low key. He didn’t want to spook the man with regards to the real intention for bringing him in. ‘If you’d like to come along with us; we’ll take you to somewhere a little more private where we can have a chat.’

  Turnbull rose and followed him.

  As pre-arranged, when they approached the interview rooms Summers tapped on each door, then waited outside room number three in order to watch Turnbull’s reaction when he passed rooms one and two. As hoped, Turnbull did indeed glance into the rooms while passing. Walking behind him, Burton and Fielding noticed a slight hesitance as he passed room number one which housed Marilyn Parkinson. But it was when he passed room number two, the room in which Caroline Watkins was sitting, that they noticed something more definitive. He momentarily stopped, and his shoulders stiffened before continuing.

  As Turnbull approached room three, Summers indicated with a wave of his hand that he should enter. Doing as he was bid, Turnbull walked in and took a seat on the far side of the table. Burton and Fielding followed him in and sat down opposite. Summers had also been asked to attend, and stood near the door after he’d closed it. The two detectives had barely sat down before Turnbull announced that he wasn’t prepared to say anything without first having a word with his solicitor. Burton couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but the sight of the two women must have really spooked the man. He really should have just walked out without saying anything, but couldn’t resist saying as he headed out of the door that ‘both women had told them everything.’ He then left Turnbull to mull that over.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  John Turnbull used his call to a solicitor to ring Caroline Watkins’s law firm, and was told that somebody was already on their way to see her. They said they would tell the solicitor to also have a word with him afterwards.

  In the meantime, Burton spoke to both Preston and Francis to get their take on the women’s reactions to seeing Turnbull being brought in. They reported that they’d both reacted with surprise, more so with Marilyn Parkinson, and the DCs had both suspected there to be a more intimate
familiarity. Parkinson had then gone on to also request the services of a solicitor.

  ‘So that’s all three of them lawyering up then!’ Burton was dismayed, but hopefully something good would eventually come out of it. ‘Let’s hope that their legal representatives persuade their clients to tell the truth about everything.’

  ‘That would be good,’ Fielding commented, less hopeful than Burton.

  The solicitor sent from Caroline Watkins’s law firm was a young man. Far too young, in Burton’s opinion. In fact, he looked like an office junior, but he knew that looks could be deceiving. After spending some time with Watkins then with Turnbull, the solicitor announced that neither of his clients was willing to say anything. If Burton wished to charge them with something, he suggested that he do so. Otherwise, he requested that they be released immediately. Burton felt that he had enough to detain Turnbull for a while longer, especially as his in-laws had just been hospitalised with digitalis poisoning. That, at least, stopped him from slipping into despair again. But then, as he watched the man walk away, help came to him from an unlikely source.

  The door to interview room one opened, and Marilyn Parkinson’s solicitor walked through. He came to a stop when he saw Burton.

  ‘I have advised my client against it,’ he began, closing his briefcase, ‘but she says that she will speak to you now and tell you everything she knows.’

  Burton’s spirits rose. When one door closes another one opens, quite literally. Fielding and Summers had by this time returned upstairs, but he rang for them to come down again.

  ‘We’ve had a breakthrough,’ he said.

  Marilyn Parkinson had been crying. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and an overly-used tissue was balled-up in one hand. She sat up straight in her seat and dabbed at her face when the three detectives entered. Summers once again assumed his observational position behind the others.