Deadly Obsession Read online

  ‘I honestly have no clue. Never seen anything like it in over twenty years on the job,’ Jones said.

  Phillips straightened and turned to face him. ‘Get Evans and the rest of SOCO down here immediately, and let’s cordon off the room. I don’t want anyone in here from now on, including us.’

  Jones nodded and reached into his jacket pocket for his phone.

  ‘In the meantime, I need to talk to the manager.’

  A few minutes later, Phillips rapped her knuckles on the door emblazoned with the words General Manager.

  ‘One moment,’ said the voice from the other side.

  A mix of low voices came from within the room before the door was pulled open. ‘Can I help you?’ said the woman abruptly. She was smartly dressed in a trouser suit, with curly brown hair and glasses.

  Phillips presented her police ID. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Phillips from the Major Crimes Unit. I’m looking for Dianna Kirby.’

  The woman’s face softened and she offered a warm smile. ‘That’s me. Please come in.’ She gestured into the small office space.

  Phillips stepped inside. She was greeted by two more tear-stained faces, staring back at her from a couple of office chairs.

  ‘These are the carers that found Mr Yates,’ said Kirby, by way of introduction. ‘Nadia and Cassidy.’ She dragged over a plastic chair from the wall and offered it to Phillips. She took the seat as Kirby returned to hers on the other side of the desk.

  ‘I need to ask you all some questions. Is that ok?’ said Phillips.

  ‘Of course,’ said Kirby, which triggered the two carers to nod their heads in unison.

  Phillips took out her notepad and pen. ‘Who was the first person to find Mr Yates?’

  ‘That was me,’ said Nadia. Her accent was thick Eastern European. She was a petite blonde, pretty in an unconventional way.

  ‘What time was that?’

  ‘It was the first medication run, so around seven this morning.’

  ‘And how did he look at the time?’ asked Phillips.

  Nadia’s elfin face twisted. ‘Like the devil had stolen his soul,’ she said dramatically, as tears streaked down her cheeks.

  Phillips made a note. ‘Was his body contorted, as it is now?’

  Nadia nodded, and thrust a well-used tissue up to her nose.

  ‘And when did you see him for the first time?’ said Phillips, looking directly at Cassidy, who seemed to dwarf Nadia next to her. ‘Big-boned,’ Phillips’s unforgiving mother would have called her.

  ‘A few seconds later,’ said Cassidy, her accent nasal and unmistakably Manchester. ‘I heard Nadia scream and ran in to his room. It was awful.’

  Phillips nodded. ‘What happened next?’

  ‘I came down here to speak to Mrs Kirby,’ said Cassidy.

  ‘And I called 999,’ added the manager.

  Phillips turned her attention towards Kirby now. ‘Paramedics or police?’

  ‘Paramedics initially, but when they got here, they took one look at the body and said I should call the police.’

  ‘I see. Can you tell me who was the last person to visit Mr Yates last night?’ asked Phillips.

  Kirby’s eyes flickered in Cassidy’s direction.

  ‘It was me,’ said Cassidy. ‘We’re short-staffed, so I did a double shift. Lates last night, then earlies this morning.’

  ‘So what time did you last see him alive?’

  ‘Just before I finished, which would be around 10 o’clock.’

  ‘And how did he seem to you?’

  Cassidy shrugged. ‘Normal, I suppose. Quiet and half asleep, like he always is… Sorry, I mean was.’

  Phillips returned her gaze to Kirby now. ‘Who looks after the residents overnight?’

  ‘At the moment, we have one carer on that shift.’

  Phillips’s brow furrowed. ‘Just one? For how many residents?’

  Kirby’s neck flushed and she swallowed hard. ‘Fifteen residents currently. I’d like more but it’s so hard to get the staff.’

  ‘And who was working last night?’ said Phillips.

  Kirby opened her laptop and began typing. ‘It would have been an agency worker. I like to keep my best girls for day times.’ She found what she was looking for. ‘So last night it was Eddie Randall from the Safe and Well Care Co. He was on until 6.30 this morning.’

  ‘Do you have an address for him?’ asked Phillips.

  Kirby shook her head. ‘No, but I can give you the number for the agency.’ She scribbled it down on a Post-it Note and handed it to Phillips.

  ‘Did Mr Yates have many visitors?’

  Cassidy cut in now. ‘No, not at all. It was quite sad, really. No family, no friends, just us and his doctor.’

  Phillips’s attention was piqued. ‘Which doctor would that be?’

  ‘Dr Goodwin from the Manchester Central Surgery just down the road,’ said Cassidy. ‘She comes to see him at least once a week.’

  Phillips made a note of the name. ‘So, no other visitors?’

  Cassidy shook her head. ‘No, none. It’s such a shame, considering Mr Yates helped so many kids when he was a teacher.'

  Phillips looked up from her notepad. ‘He was a teacher?’

  ‘Yes. He told me he’d done thirty years when he was forced to retire with ill health,’ said Cassidy.

  ‘Do you know what school he taught at?’

  ‘I can’t remember the name, but it sounded funny and it was out near where he used to live in Didsbury.’

  ‘St Aloysius?’ asked Phillips.

  ‘That’s the one,’ grinned Cassidy. ‘He tried to teach me to spell it once, but it was too hard! Do you know it?’

  ‘You could say that. How old was Mr Yates?’

  Kirby typed into her laptop once more and answered a moment later. ‘He was sixty.’

  ‘Isn’t that a little young for a care home?’ said Phillips.

  ‘Ordinarily, yes,’ replied Kirby, ‘but as Cassidy already mentioned, Mr Yates had no family. When his health deteriorated and he could no longer live by himself, social services brought him to us.’

  Phillips nodded. ‘Could I get a list of everyone who was working this week?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll print the rota off for you now,’ said Kirby.

  ‘Thank you.’ Phillips returned her notepad to the inside pocket of her coat.

  The small printer in the corner of the room sprang to life. A moment later, Kirby collected the printout. She handed it to Phillips, who stood.

  ‘Well, you’ve all been very helpful. Either myself, or one of the members of my team, may need to talk to you again, but for now I think I have what I need.’

  ‘Whatever we can do to help, don’t hesitate to ask,’ Kirby said, and offered her outstretched hand.

  Phillips shook it firmly and took her leave. As she opened the door, she turned back to the room. ‘Oh. I should probably warn you. The scene of crimes officers will be here very soon, and they’ll need your full cooperation. Plus each of your fingerprints.’

  Kirby’s mouth fell open, and both Nadia’s and Cassidy’s eyes widened.

  Phillips offered a reassuring smile. ‘Purely for elimination purposes,’ she said, then left.

  4

  As Phillips moved back along the corridor, she spotted Jones stood outside Yates’s room, watching on as Senior CSI Andy Evans and his SOCO team began setting up their equipment in the corridor. Evans was already wearing his white protective suit, blue shoe coverings and purple latex gloves when Phillips joined them.

  ‘Jane. Fancy seeing you, here,’ joked Evans as she approached.

  ‘Andy, you didn’t waste any time getting here,’ she replied, before getting straight to business. ‘So, what killed him?’

  Evans scoffed. ‘Give us a chance, will you? I’ve just walked in. I’m in forensics, not bloody clairvoyance.’

  Phillips thrust her hands in her coat pocket. ‘Sorry. I’m just keen to find out. Have you ever come across a body like t
his, before?’

  ‘Not exactly the same with regards to the arched position, but I have seen them with the hands and arms drawn into their chests like that.’

  ‘And what happened in those cases?’

  ‘Poisoned,’ said Evans, pulling his protective hood over his head.

  Jones raised his eyebrows. ‘Do you think that’s what might have happened here, then?’

  ‘That’s a job for the pathologist, but it could well be a possibility. Equally, maybe he had a stroke, or a fit or something else…’

  ‘How long will you be here for?’ asked Phillips.

  ‘Hard to say until we get in and review the room properly.’

  Phillips nodded. ‘Ok. Well, call me if you find anything, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Evans, then headed into Yates’s room.

  ‘We need to pay a visit to Yates’s doctor,’ Phillips said to Jones, then turned on her heels and marched back to the car park at speed.

  As they ventured out into the cold morning air, Jones caught up. ‘Are you ok, Guv?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’

  ‘Really? You don’t seem fine.’

  Phillips offered a faint smile. ‘You don’t miss much, do you, Jonesy?’

  ‘That’s what makes me such a great copper.’ He grinned. ‘Plus, I’ve worked with you for so long now, I can usually tell when something’s bothering you.’

  ‘Get in the car, and I’ll tell you.’ Phillips released the central locking before jumping into the driver’s seat, then turned on the engine to get the heater running again.

  ‘So, what’s up?’ asked Jones.

  ‘I know him.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Yates. I know Yates.’

  Jones recoiled. ‘As in the old fella in there?’.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He was my sixth form teacher at St Aloysius College when I first came back from Hong Kong.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Well, as much as I can be at this stage. I mean, I can’t say I recognised his face when I first saw him, but then it was all contorted out of shape. Plus, I haven’t laid eyes on him for almost thirty years. But one of the carers said he was a teacher at St Aloysius in Didsbury, where he lived. The manager also confirmed he was sixty, which would make him the right age.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Jones. ‘How well did you know him?’

  ‘We were close. Well, as close as anyone can be to a teacher. He was a great guy who really took me under his wing when I needed it. I was a typical teenager, you know, all messed up and confused about what I wanted to do with my life, and he helped me through. In fact, if it wasn’t for him, I would never have joined the police.’

  ‘How so?’ asked Jones.

  ‘Well. At the time I was choosing my A-levels, my mother was adamant I should be doing sciences so I could go onto medical school, like my brother.’

  ‘And you wanted to be a copper like your dad had been, in Hong Kong?’ said Jones.

  ‘Exactly. Mr Yates told me it was my life – not my mother’s – and I should do what I wanted with it. Not allow myself to be bullied by her and her own shortcomings. So that’s what I did, and that’s why I’m a murder detective today.”

  ‘Much to your mother’s total and utter dismay, of course?’

  Phillips chortled. ‘Have I told you this story before?’

  Jones chuckled. ‘Once or twice.’

  Phillips shook her head and exhaled loudly. ‘Jesus. What a way to end up, Jonesy. No family, no kids, no visitors. Dying alone in a care home, surrounded by lost souls.’

  Jones’s tone was gentle now. ‘That won’t happen to you. You know that, don’t you, Guv?’

  Her 2IC really did know her inside out. ‘Won’t it? Yates dedicated his whole life to his work at the expense of a family. Sounds pretty familiar to me.’

  ‘I know it hasn’t happened for you yet, but you’ll find the right person, boss. I’m sure of that.’

  Phillips was keen to change the subject. ‘Right, well that’s quite enough Oprah chat for one day. Let’s go and see Yates’s doctor,’ she said as she engaged reverse and the car began to move backwards.

  Manchester Central Surgery was just a short drive from the care home. A few minutes later, Phillips and Jones walked through the automatic doors into the building.

  After introducing themselves to the young receptionist behind the desk, they followed her instructions and took a seat in the packed waiting room. A few minutes later, an officious-looking woman wearing a cream blouse and black trousers approached the reception desk, where she spoke for a moment before turning and striding towards them. A large NHS lanyard hung around her neck. ‘DCI Phillips?’ she asked, her face stern.

  ‘Yes, and this is DS Jones.’ They both stood and flashed their IDs simultaneously.

  ‘I’m Dr Goodwin. How can I be of help?’

  Phillips cast her eyes around the busy space. ‘Is there somewhere more private we could speak?’

  Goodwin raised an eyebrow for a moment before nodding. ‘Follow me.’

  A few minutes later, they each took seats at a large conference table in a cold, musty-smelling meeting room. Jones pulled out his pad to make notes.

  ‘Sorry. It’s bloody freezing in here, but we never use it,’ said Goodwin. ‘Now, how can I be of help?’

  Phillips took the initiative. ‘Am I right in thinking that this practice is responsible for the residents of Cedar Pines Care Home?’

  ‘That’s correct. Why do you want to know?’

  Phillips ignored the question. ‘And was Michael Yates under your care specifically?’

  ‘Yes, I look after Michael. What do you mean by “was under my care”? He still is.’

  Phillips looked her straight in the eye to monitor her reaction. ‘I’m afraid he’s dead.’

  Goodwin appeared incredulous. ‘He’s what?’

  ‘He’s dead.’

  ‘Since when?’

  ‘His body was found in the care home this morning,’ said Phillips.

  ‘Why wasn’t I told? He’s my patient. I should’ve been notified immediately.’

  ‘At this stage, we’re treating his death as suspicious.’

  ‘Suspicious? Why on earth is it suspicious?’

  Phillips deliberately avoided the question and pressed on with her own. ‘When did you last see Mr Yates, Doctor?’

  ‘Tuesday night. I called in to check on how he was responding to his new medication.’

  ‘How was he during your visit?’

  ‘His usual self: sleepy and a little confused, but very much alive. I can assure you of that.’

  ‘And where were you last night, Dr Goodwin?’ asked Phillips.

  Goodwin fixed Phillips with an icy glare. ‘On stage, presenting at the Manchester Medical Association quarterly meeting. My partner in the practice, Dr Singh, and I were there together, talking about health care within the inner city. You can check with him yourself if you don’t believe me. That said, you’ll need to come back tomorrow, as he doesn’t work Thursdays.’

  Phillips flashed a smile. ‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Doctor.’

  ‘So how did Michael die?’ asked Goodwin.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s too early to say.’

  ‘Well, when will you know?’

  ‘Again, it’s too early to say at the moment.’ Phillips detected a faint snarl on Goodwin’s lips.

  ‘Well, unless there’s anything else, I’d like to get back to my patients, if you don’t mind?’ said Goodwin.

  Phillips glanced at Jones and nodded. ‘Of course. Judging by your waiting room, you must be very busy.’

  ‘We are.’ Goodwin stood and gestured to the door. ‘I’ll show you back to reception.’

  A few minutes later, outside and out of earshot, Phillips and Jones stopped to debrief.

  ‘Well. I’m not sure I’d want the Ice Queen to be my only visitor if I was in a care home on my own,�
�� said Jones playfully.

  ‘You’re not kidding. She had one helluva bedside manner, didn’t she?’

  ‘And a cast-iron alibi too, Guv.’

  ‘Maybe. But it doesn’t hurt to get Entwistle and Bov to check it out, though, does it?’ Phillips pulled her phone from her pocket. ‘Hold this, will you?’ she handed the Cedar Pines staff rota to Jones, then took a picture on her phone. Next, she dialled Entwistle.

  As ever, he answered promptly. ‘Guv?’

  ‘Are you with Bovalino?’

  ‘Yes, he’s sat opposite me.’

  ‘Great,’ said Phillips. ‘Get your digital spades out. It’s time to do some digging.’

  5

  Gabe stepped into his father’s foisty old kitchen and placed his workbag on the battered wooden table in the middle of the room. ‘Dad, it’s me,’ he shouted.

  No response came as he cast his eyes over the cluttered worktops, each filled with discarded takeaway containers, dirty dishes and ancient, yellowing newspapers. ‘Dirty old bugger,’ he mumbled under his breath, then picked up his bag and made his way into the bedroom.

  As he stepped inside, he was greeted by his father’s sullen face. Albert – or Bert to those who knew him – lay in his bed, facing the door. The small television on the chest of drawers to Gabe’s left was turned on.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ asked Bert, wheezing. His voice was gravelly and rasping after a lifetime of smoking forty-a-day.

  ‘Working. Like I told you,’ said Gabe. He moved to the side of the bed and hitched his buttocks onto the high mattress, then placed his bag on his knees.

  ‘I need you here. You can’t keep leaving me on my own. I’ll die in this bloody room if you do.’

  ‘Stop being so dramatic. I was here yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that.’

  ‘I’m a sodding prisoner in my own home!’

  ‘How many times do we have to go over this? The reason you’re stuck in here is because you’re not strong enough to get out of bed at the moment. The chemo makes you weak.’