As the manager handed them a list of all those on duty, they thanked him and asked if everyone could wait outside the lounge until they were each called in in turn.
First in was Lilian Carson, the carer who had found the body.
‘Yes, I did think it was rather odd,’ the forty-something-year-old woman said, playing nervously with the ID badge on her lanyard when asked about the way in which Mr Jackson had been found. ‘He’s usually quite the nifty dresser.’
‘And you were his usual carer?’ Fielding asked her.
‘Yes, one of them,’ she replied. ‘Me and Janis Bowles, who’s waiting outside to see you with the others. We do our shifts together. We always work in twos, you see, for lifting and such like.’
‘What about visitors?’ Fielding continued. ‘Did he have any regulars?’
‘Well,’ began the carer, ‘there was only the one regular one that I knew of, his nephew. Came in every few weekends. Said he worked away somewhere during the week… not sure where, though.’
‘So the manager would have his address?’ Burton chipped in, taking a break from his note-taking.
‘I would imagine so, if he’s listed on the records as next of kin.’
As everyone present in the home that night came in to give their statements, they didn’t learn any more from them than they had done from their first interviewee, Mrs Carson. When asked about the nephew and the next of kin details, manager Nigel Pearson had produced a printed sheet with the information they needed. Quickly scanning it, the detectives saw that the nephew was one Alex Carruthers, whose address was in the city centre.
‘Posh part of town,’ Burton said to Fielding.
‘The carer who found Mr Jackson said that he worked away. Do you have any details about where he can be contacted during the week?’ Fielding asked the manager.
‘I don’t have anything on record about that, but there is a contact telephone number for him,’ Pearson confirmed, pointing to it on the piece of paper. Burton added that to his notes, along with the address.
‘I said it was a posh part of town,’ Burton remarked, glancing up and down Mason Street when they’d parked up. ‘A mate of mine lives in The Village and they are pretty upmarket properties, I can tell you.’
‘I bet they’re all ultra-modern New York loft-style,’ Fielding said flippantly, thinking her sister would have a field day around here, if she hadn’t already left her mark on them. Goodness knows how far her portfolio actually extended these days.
‘As a matter of fact, they are!’ he laughed. ‘Not your style then?’
‘Let’s just say I have a few issues with interior designers and leave it at that.’
‘Ah,’ he laughed again in a knowingly way, ‘sisterly love!’
As it was a weeknight, it was perhaps to be expected that there would be no response from Alex Carruthers’s apartment but they still tried his buzzer several times anyway, just as a precaution. As his phone had gone to voicemail, they really needed to find out exactly where he worked as he was all they had to go on at this moment. Even though it was late, maybe one of his neighbours might know the answer, so they tried pressing a few other buzzers and waited for a response, getting an answer on the third attempt.
‘Hello?’ a woman’s voice asked, sounding far away and barely audible. They hoped they hadn’t woken her up.
‘Good evening,’ Burton took the lead. ‘We’re from Manchester City Police and we’re trying to find the whereabouts of a Mr Alex Carruthers. Would you have any information regarding that, ma’am?’
‘Alex? Yes, he’s my next-door neighbour, but he’s usually working away during the week.’
‘We’re just trying to find out where he may be contacted.’ Fielding joined in the conversation, adding, ‘May we come in and have a word with you, please?’
‘Yes… yes, of course,’ the woman said. ‘I’ll buzz you in. I’m on the second floor, third door on the left.’
When the door buzzed and clicked open, they pushed it to enter and made their way across the spacious entrance foyer to the lift opposite, which was currently on the third floor according to the lit numbers above it. Seeing a flight of stairs just off to the left, Fielding asked, ‘Lift or stairs?’ To which Burton gave her a withering look. ‘Lift it is then.’ As she was reaching for the button to call the lift back down to the ground floor, Burton stopped her by saying, ‘Just a minute,’ and headed off to the row of mailboxes he’d spied on the wall off to the right. If he’d thought about it, he would have spotted Carruthers’s one instantly, as the box for apartment number twenty-two had all manner of leaflets and letters sticking out of the flap, which was not unexpected for someone who worked away during the week.
‘Nobody to pick his mail up when he’s away it seems. He should fill in one of those “no junk mail” requests to the Royal Mail,’ Burton said when he rejoined his colleague, leaving the bulging mail where it was. However, if the neighbour was unable to provide them with any information regarding his whereabouts during the week, he would try to slip one of the letters out from the box as it could be a letter from his work, or from somewhere else that could be useful in tracking him down.
Fielding proceeded to press the lift button.
The door to flat number twenty-four was already ajar when they arrived there, and a girl looking younger than her voice sounded on the intercom was waiting for them in a dressing gown firmly folded over herself. ‘Come on in,’ she said, opening the door wider for them to enter.
‘I’m sorry, did we wake you up?’ Fielding asked, noticing the way she was dressed and hoping that the answer was no.
‘That’s okay. I was planning to go soon but got caught up watching one of those stupid reality shows on television!’ She laughed ever so gently. ‘You said that you wanted to know about Alex; how can I help you?’
‘How well do you know him?’ Burton said, looking around the apartment. It was very similar to the one his friend had nearby but this one had more homely touches to it, like bright photos on the walls and colourful throws and cushions scattered around the L-shaped leather sofa, which seemed to dominate but not overpower the living space. Looks nice, he thought. Tidy. Tasteful.
‘I don’t, not really, only in passing, I suppose,’ said the girl.
Burton’s notebook came out again. ‘Can I just get your name for our records?’
‘Oh, yes, of course. It’s Monica Williams.’
‘So when did you last see him here?’ he continued, jotting her name down.
‘A couple of weeks ago, on the Saturday. I had a few people around from work in the evening, asked some neighbours, and he dropped in for a drink with his friend.’
‘Can you give us a description of him?’ Fielding asked.
‘Well, I think I can do a bit better than that,’ she said, getting up from the sofa and going to get her phone off the sideboard where it lay. Burton found it refreshing to find someone who didn’t have their mobile phone held permanently in their hand like most young people did these days. ‘I took some photos on the night and I’m sure he was in one of them.’ Quickly flicking through her photo file, she eventually stopped and showed them the one she had singled out. ‘There he is,’ she said, ‘second from the right.’ The shot showed a group of party-goers in this apartment, glasses raised in a salute, a party popper captured mid-flight in the background, and everyone smiling at the camera. Alex Carruthers looked to be in his mid to late thirties, with dark hair and eyes, and a very winning smile.
She laughed, remembering. ‘His friend was really camera-shy as I recall, but as you can see, he was quite the extrovert. Seemed a nice guy; very good-looking.’
Burton asked permission to take a photo of it with the camera on his phone, which he did when she agreed to it.
‘Can I ask you where you work?’ Even though it wasn’t really necessary to their line of enquiry, Burton was curious. It had become a bit of a thing of his, trying to imagine what type of work people they encountered on cases
were in. Looking around at her apartment, he had thought maybe she was a designer of some sort, as she seemed to have an eye for stylish furnishings.
He was surprised to hear her say that she was a photographer. ‘I have my own business, mainly portraits and wedding photography, you know, that kind of stuff, but I also exhibit my work in the Castlefield Gallery on Hewitt Street. I have an exhibition coming up in the next few weeks if you’d like to come, both of you. You can be my guests on opening night.’
He didn’t think he would have time to make it, but he said that that would be nice.
Is Burton flirting? Fielding thought, as it certainly seemed like it to her. Or even, was Ms Monica Williams flirting with him? She must bring it up with him when they left! Flirting, or whatever it was, over and done with, they both thanked Ms Williams for her time and the photograph and took their leave.
‘No, of course not!’ Burton had retorted when Fielding put the question to him as they were travelling down in the lift. ‘Why? Are you jealous?’
‘No, of course not!’ She gave him the same response that he gave her and they both laughed. It had been a long night, but they both agreed that, before returning back to the station to do the paperwork they needed to do before re-signing off for the night, they should go back to the home to get the staff to officially identify Mr Jackson’s nephew now that they had a photo of him. If they couldn’t locate him, at least they could circulate his picture via the press or TV to try to find him that way, and a definite ID would set the wheels in motion for that to happen.
There was no constable standing on duty this time, no members of the public trying to get a glimpse of something gruesome, no flashing blue lights on the driveway, and the reception area was not full of staff members confused by, and looking anxious about, the previous strong police presence.
The detectives rang the front doorbell and waited for someone to come and let them in, presuming that there would be office staff in on a twenty-four-hour basis, as well as the carers. After a few moments, they saw the manager through the clear glass panes of the door, making his way towards them. He smiled on seeing them, but looked a little confused as to why they could possibly be back so soon.
‘Sorry to bother you again, Mr Pearson,’ Burton said as they were being shown in, ‘but we’d like you to make an official identification of Mr Jackson’s nephew… just for our records.’ And with that, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and showed him the photo taken from Monica Williams’s phone.
‘Who am I looking at?’ Pearson asked after scrutinising the picture for a few moments. ‘I’m confused.’
Burton and Fielding glanced at one another. ‘That’s Alex Carruthers right there, isn’t it?’ Burton asked, pointing a finger at the man Monica Williams had identified as him.
‘Why no, detectives, that’s not Mr Jackson’s nephew. I’ve never seen this man before in my life.’
3
Sitting across the desk from the detective chief inspector the next morning, after only grabbing a few hours’ sleep between them, the overly tired DI Burton and DS Fielding updated her about what had happened after they had seen her at the home the previous evening.
‘Well that changes things a bit,’ DCI Ambleton said, studying the photo they’d printed out for her of the actual Alex Carruthers. ‘Then who the hell is the guy who’s been going to the home?’
Even though they knew it wasn’t a question specifically directed at them, Burton answered regardless. ‘Well, Carruthers has to be thought of as a suspect now, doesn’t he? We don’t know for certain yet, but the medical examiner last night felt pretty sure that Mr Jackson’s death wasn’t a natural one.’
‘Okay then,’ Ambleton continued, still staring at the photograph in front of her. ‘The only way forward is to get his picture sent out to the national TV stations and newspapers. If he works away during the week, it looks as if he’s much further afield than our local jurisdiction. Gather the team together and update them with what’s happening, and make sure the photo gets out to the media for the evening publications and news broadcasts.’
‘Okay, gather round,’ Burton said, voice raised as he entered the CID squad room with a renewed vigour despite the exhaustion. A sea of eyes looked up in unison from computer screens and the admin staff stopped what they were doing; everyone now fixing their gaze on him and Fielding, who followed in close behind him. ‘Where’s Simon?’ he asked, looking around but not seeing his DC in the office.
‘He’s just down in records, sir,’ DC Jane Francis said, addressing him more formally than usual as the moment seemed to necessitate it. ‘He’s just putting everything back down there from the last case.’
‘Can you go and get him, please?’ he asked with a sense of urgency in his voice, which made her spring into action immediately.
‘Sure,’ she said, looking around at the others in the room before heading off to fetch her colleague from one floor down.
‘What’s up, boss?’ DC Sam Wayman asked him, voicing all their thoughts.
‘Let you know when Simon gets back.’ And with that everyone fell silent.
DI Burton’s team consisted of his detective sergeant, Sally Fielding, and five detective constables – three male, two female. Burton considered that to be a good balance as there were times when same-gender officers were preferred to attend the relatives of the victims rather than a mixed pairing. It was mostly a youngish team. Burton had known and served with them for a few years now and had found them to be the most trustworthy and reliable bunch of colleagues he had ever had the pleasure of working with. Fielding was his most trusted sidekick. Like Batman and Robin, Laurel and Hardy, Morecambe and Wise, even Hall and Oates… you couldn’t have one without the other, and that was Joe Burton and Sally Fielding.
He pulled down the projector screen until it completely covered the evidence board and stood waiting for DC Banks’s return from records, resuming when his team was complete.
‘As you know, we’ve had a few hard weeks, and I’m very grateful to you for giving up your free time and holidays that you’ve had booked in during this.’ He looked around the room at all of them, then paused. They sensed a ‘but’ coming. ‘But,’ he continued, ‘DS Fielding and I were called out to a care home in Middleton last night, just as we were heading off shift, to attend to a dead body.’
‘That’s hardly unexpected though, sir, is it? They must have deaths in there all the time?’ DC Phillipa Preston spoke up.
‘Maybe not,’ Burton continued, ‘but the attending doctor and medical examiner who were already on the scene didn’t think so. They seemed to consider there was some kind of foul play.’
‘In what way?’ DC Jane Francis asked.
‘Unknown as yet, but we’re hoping to get confirmation of that today from the city morgue office. Plus,’ he continued, ‘there were other circumstances which made it look questionable. Sergeant, could you put the OHP on, please?’
Fielding had been standing beside the overhead projector while Burton was talking, and now on his instruction, started it up. Burton stood to one side as the photo of Alex Carruthers popped up on the screen.
‘We’re anxious to find out the whereabouts of this man,’ Burton continued. ‘Alex Carruthers is known to be the nephew of Nathaniel Jackson, the man who died in the care home, and also his next of kin according to their records. This photograph was given to us by his neighbour. He apparently works away during the week, coming home at weekends, so we need to get this circulated to the media as soon as possible. Wayman, I need you to get to work on this one. It needs to go national as we’ve no idea where in the country the nephew works…’
Banks interrupted, ‘What if he works abroad, sir?’
Burton had already thought of that, but said, ‘We’ll try national first and hope that we can get a result from that.’ He turned back to the young DC. ‘As I was saying, Wayman, get on to the national press and TV channels. I want his face all over the newspapers and television by this even
ing.’
‘Yes, boss,’ he said, adding, ‘that’s going to be a big job, though, to contact every one of them before this evening.’
Burton considered it. Realising the sheer size of the project and the length of time that it would take, he assigned another officer to join Wayman. ‘All right. Summers, can you give him a hand, please.’ He thought for a moment and went on, ‘DC Banks and Francis, I need you to go to the home and interview all of the residents, see what they have to say about Mr Jackson. Ask if they saw or heard anything out of the ordinary. You might not get much, but try nevertheless. Oh, and try to get an accurate description from the staff of the man who’s been coming in saying he’s the nephew. Take one of the sketch artists with you.’
‘And,’ Fielding added, ‘ask if anyone knows why he was dressed in what looks like a clown outfit.’ With that, the photo projected from the OHP changed from that of Alex Carruthers to one of the deceased in his odd garments.
‘Hallowe’en… Bonfire Night? Was there a fancy dress party in the home?’ Francis offered, possibly seeing a link to the time of year it was.
‘Don’t think a man fast approaching his eighties would be doing much dressing up somehow.’ Burton nipped that idea in the bud, although it had crossed both his and Fielding’s mind when they first saw the way in which he was dressed. ‘However,’ he added, fully answering Francis’s question, not wanting it to look as if he’d quickly dismissed her theory, ‘we did check with the staff, and no, there was no fancy dress party or anything remotely like that taking place. It’s more likely that he was dressed in this way by whoever killed him, although at this point in time, I have absolutely no idea what that reason could possibly be.’
4
DCs Banks and Francis gathered together what they needed to conduct the interviews at the care home – laptop, voice recorder, a couple of notebooks, one for each of them, oh, and pens – a police officer still needed to be the proud owner of a pen in this day and age – and began to make their way out.
Murderland Page 3
