Twisted (12 page)

‘As I said before, I don’t know if her wristwatch was left here from her last visit,’ Marcus said, rubbing at his hair. ‘Yes, she usually wore one but I just can’t remember when I last saw it. Lena’ll know.’

Reid decided it was time he got back to the station. He asked Marcus not to remove any items or search the bedroom again as he wanted one of his team to check through the clothes. Privately he made a note to get the underwear checked by forensics and if there were any traces of semen get a DNA profile raised.

Driving back to Richmond, he was confused by the totally opposite states of the missing girl’s bedrooms. The Amy as described by her mother and her staff was such a meticulous and caring girl, but the bedroom she occupied at her father’s showed a very different side. It was filthy. Reid couldn’t help wondering if the dirty underwear indicated she wasn’t as naïve as everyone would have him believe.

After Marcus had gone, Lena had continued reading the journal, trying to quell her rising fears. The book contained more than just recipes; the first half was filled with personal thoughts about their family and the people in Amy’s life. There was nothing that could help them discover her whereabouts but plenty of disturbing and shocking entries about Amy’s disdain for everyone. Lena had used small Post-it stickers to indicate what she felt were relevant pages, and she was also using a highlighter pen on some sections. She was still deeply stunned by some of her daughter’s copious notes, and confused by the revelations about not only herself but also everyone Amy came into contact with. She had just begun to read a section headed and underlined ‘Daddy’ when the telephone rang. It made her jump and she quickly answered it to avoid its jarring noise.

‘Hey, it’s me. DI Reid just finished here and I thought I’d check in. Any news?’ Marcus’s voice sounded weary.

‘No, I’m still reading the journal. There’s more to it than I thought but I haven’t found anything that might give us a clue to where she is or who she could be with. It’s quite upsetting though . . . I don’t think she loves us, Marcus. Some of the things in here are just cruel. It’s like I don’t even know her.’

‘Don’t think that. Of course she loves us; all teenagers write horrible things in their journals – it doesn’t mean anything.’

‘I pray you’re right,’ Lena said, the tears welling up again. She hung up the phone and opened the drawer in her bedside cabinet and plucked a tissue from the box inside. Beneath the box were a few birthday cards that she had kept, a Valentine’s card and a list Amy had written of what she wanted for Christmas. Puzzled, she took out the list, studying the handwriting, and then she opened the birthday card from Amy to her a couple of years ago: ‘To my darling beautiful Mother, from her daughter who would hope to be as beautiful when the same age.’ It was a cartoon card with a funny monkey inside that stuck out its tongue . . . but it was the handwriting that interested Lena, because it was spidery, looped and uneven. When she compared the handwriting from the cards and gift list against the overtly neat tightly written pages of the journal she saw it was totally different.

Lena placed the list against one of the pages of the journal. It was impossible to believe that the same person had written both. She flicked through page after page of the journal until she came to the entry she had been about to continue reading . . . ‘Daddy’.

Chapter 7

L
ena had not moved from her bedroom. The unfinished journal lay discarded beside her as she sank back in a state of utter despair and confusion. She could hardly believe the pages and pages of what she had to accept were Amy’s hidden thoughts about how she really felt about virtually everyone she knew. First and foremost was the vicious depiction of herself and Marcus. This had shocked her to such an extent she had felt sick to her stomach. It appeared that, unbeknown to Marcus, Amy had not only made nasty character studies of his women friends, but also described his sexual exploits in disgusting pornographic detail, such detail that Lena began to think that she must have witnessed her father having sex. Could he have allowed this to occur? Another scenario that sickened her was the possibility he had encouraged her to watch him. This made her wonder if Marcus was abusing Amy sexually and if this was correct, she would have to face him with it and also, obviously, report it to DI Reid.

She forced herself to think carefully about what she should do with this information. As angry as she felt towards Marcus, she really could not believe that he would abuse his own daughter. The references to herself had been cruel, at times vicious in their description of how she behaved, dressed and put her obsession with her business above everything else. Apparently she was a cold unloving determined woman who cared for no one but herself, and looked upon her daughter as a clinging appendage that had neither her looks nor personality. Amy had listed how she was forced to behave around this obsessive woman so as not to create any emotional conflict, and it had manifested itself in never showing any personality traits that would contradict her mother’s careful image of the perfect offspring.

Lena moved to sit in front of her dressing-table mirror and moisturized her whole body, soothing and rubbing, and then used another facial moisturizer for her neck. She sat staring at her reflection before beginning to carefully apply her usual makeup. Eventually she chose from her massive walk-in wardrobe a cashmere sweater, grey flannel trousers, and grey boots, and from her underwear drawers took out panties and bra. She put on her underwear, pulled on the sweater, dabbed her favourite rose musk perfume to her inner wrists and neck, and yet again stood staring at her reflection. She was the same weight and size she had been at twenty, and she admired herself, even while carefully replacing every tube and bottle she had used in its exact same spot on her glass-topped dressing table. The rage came unexpectedly, consuming her as she swiped with right hand through everything in front of her, but she refused to cry. Gritting her teeth she kicked over the velvet-covered stool that matched the drapes and bedspread. She wanted to exhaust the anguish she felt, and she continued hurling objects around the bedroom until she was panting with the exertion. Only when her breathing had returned to normal did she return to her walk-in wardrobe and chose a grey cashmere fitted coat, dragging it on as she walked out.

Usually if Lena was wearing her grey outfit she would have chosen a grey soft leather clutch bag, but she was in such a tense state of mind, she snatched up the handbag she had carried earlier from the kitchen. Quickly she searched for her set of car keys and headed out towards the garage. Even though she had not deliberately thought about where she was going, as if on automatic pilot she was going to have it out with Marcus.

It was after eight when Reid finished his report at the station, but he was in no hurry to leave as he was waiting for DS James and DC Wey to return from enquiries at the school. He would instigate a press release the following morning and ask for more staff to assist in the investigation. They would require CCTV footage from the different routes Amy might have taken from Fulham to her father’s Mayfair address. The bus company would also be questioned in case any drivers had seen Amy. As of that evening she had been missing for three full days and nights and Reid was now considering the possibility she had been abducted. He ran a computer search for any recent abductions, rapes or murders in the Fulham and Mayfair areas, but there was nothing unsolved or linked to his case.

DC Wey and DS James returned at nine fifteen. They had brought in takeaway hamburgers and French fries, and joined Reid in his office. Wey placed Amy’s overnight bag on Reid’s desk and told him that Serena had taken it back to the school on Sunday, anticipating that Amy would be there. While Wey continued, and gave a rundown on the visit to the Newmans, Reid put on some protective latex gloves and started checking through the overnight bag. The fact the bag was left at Serena’s suggested that Amy had intended returning to stay with her friend. It was also confirmation that discovering what had occurred after Amy left the Newmans’ property was now urgent. They could not be sure if she did in actual fact go to her father’s flat, but either way the clock was ticking.

The bag contained her school uniform, tights, black slip-on loafers and clean underwear. There was also a nightdress in white cotton, folded neatly, along with a plastic bag containing toothpaste, battery toothbrush and a hairbrush. There was no makeup, perfume or trinkets, but underneath the clothes they found a paperback of Sheridan’s play,
The Rivals
. Serena had told the officers she and Amy were intending doing some homework as they were going to audition for one of the roles in the school’s production. She said that Amy was her usual self and not upset about anything, and asked her to accompany her to her father’s flat, but she had refused because she wanted to wash her hair. They asked if this had upset Amy in any way and Serena had said that it didn’t worry her, as Amy would be back in time for them to go to the cinema together.

Flicking through his notebook, Wey said he had asked why Serena had not been concerned when Amy had not turned up at her home or met them at the cinema. She had called her friend on her mobile, but it was left on voicemail; she admitted that she had been irritated when Amy sent her a text ‘bailing on her’, as she had done it once before. Apparently it had been some time ago, when Amy had gone to stay with her father and promised to meet up with her for a Chinese. That time she had not even called and when they returned to school Amy had said she had been taken to see a movie with her father and suggested that it had not been a firmed-up date but just a casual possibility they would meet up.

James Lane finished his hamburger, and wiped his face with a paper napkin, and then his greasy fingers. ‘Serena was a cute little thing, and didn’t seem that fazed by the fact her friend is missing, but she said that as far as she knows Amy has no boyfriend, or has never mentioned one, although they are not that close as Amy always has either a weekend with her father or mother and they both arrange activities.’

Wey nodded, and reached for the ketchup, before continuing. They had asked a number of pupils about who was closest to Amy but they had almost all agreed that she was a bit of a loner. She was also academically a very bright pupil and interviewing her teachers had given them no indication that Amy was in any way a troubled teenager. She was studious, and artistic and a good athlete, and not one of them had said a bad word against her. They were obviously concerned and asked if there was anything they could do to assist tracing Amy.

‘Any male teachers?’ Reid asked, eating a chip, which by now was cold.

Wey opened his notebook again and named a fencing master and a music teacher. One was crippled and elderly and the other had extreme halitosis, and so both detectives doubted that their girl would find either attractive. They had found the art teacher a very sexy lady, a Miss Polka, and she had been helpful, even showing them some of Amy’s artwork, which was excellent.

Reid was getting tired; he yawned and stood up to stretch his legs.

‘I’m arranging a press conference with the Fulfords for tomorrow morning and will need your help. No doubt the conference will lead to slews of calls and more enquiries.’

‘Any luck with Amy’s mobile phone or iPad?’ DS Lane asked.

‘Not as yet, and there’s been no activity on either since she went missing. Barbara got a list of all the calls she made over the few days before her disappearance but it has not turned up anything unusual or productive.’

‘If we can find her phone or iPad it would be a big step forward,’ Wey remarked.

‘I know, so Barbara’s asked the phone company to monitor them in case they go live,’ Reid sighed.

He could see that both detectives were aware of the fact they could be dealing with more than just a missing young girl and the grim possibility she might even have been abducted. Reid started to pace back and forth, trying to get up some adrenalin, and ticked off on his fingers his gut feelings from the day’s interviews.

‘The mother is neurotic, but obviously concerned, so that may have been a natural reaction; she’s successful, very wealthy, from what I could ascertain, but we need a full disclosure of her business, and the possibility is always that someone she employs might be connected. She runs a very tight ship with a housekeeper and driver that hardly have any contact with her daughter, but she is a model teenager by all accounts, her bedroom immaculate, ditto the whole house.’

Wey yawned as he flicked open his notebook, jotting down what he felt was relevant. Reid continued pacing around the office.

‘There’s gardeners as well, so we need to check them out, and also run a check on her driver as he has a criminal record, and start to question her neighbours.’

‘What about the father?’ DS Lane asked

‘Okay, he needs looking into; I don’t trust him. He rents this flat, the whole place is a bit seedy and the perfect teenager’s bedroom is a shit-hole, and I want forensics in to see if there’s any blood or other types of DNA – reason is, there’s underwear tossed around, sexy and lacy, and it looks stained. Very different to her mum’s place, so it could bring a result. He’s a good-looking guy, but bit of a loser, so focus on him.’

‘Semen stains?’ DS Lane asked.

‘Possibly, but that’s why I’m calling in forensics to go over Amy’s room at the flat.’

‘You think he’s been screwing his own daughter?’ Wey asked, not shocked, just interested in Reid’s take on him.

‘Who knows, but Amy’s excuse was something about needing her wristwatch. I couldn’t see one there and he couldn’t recall when he last saw it. I dunno . . . and we need to check his neighbours, see if anyone saw our girl on the Saturday afternoon. Also check on Mrs Fulford’s neighbours.’

Lane and Wey looked at each other, both realizing that if Amy returned to her father’s, but never left, there was another even more frightening scenario to consider.

Lane spoke first. ‘So do you think she’s still alive?’