Twisted (13 page)

Reid reached for the last congealing chip. ‘We have to consider the very real possibility she is not.’

Chapter 8

L
ena kept her hand on the door buzzer, but it seemed an age before Marcus answered and when he did, he sounded quite hoarse. As he buzzed her in and she closed the door behind her he came hurtling down the stairs from his flat.

‘Is she home? Have they found her?’ he asked desperately.

‘No, no, she’s not come home; I’m here because we need to talk.’

He sighed and then gestured for her to follow him up the wide marble staircase. The stair carpet had been a plush crimson, but was now rather threadbare and some of the brass stair rods were missing. The hallway had at one time been very grand, with marble mosaic flooring, but two flats had been created from the ground-floor rooms. Marcus occupied the second-floor flat and it was quite a way up. The polished wooden doors of the flats were all the same, with brass numberplates and knockers. He walked ahead of her, barefoot, wearing boxer shorts and a cotton dressing gown that looked as if it needed ironing.

‘I was asleep,’ he muttered as she elbowed his front door closed, trying to avoid the stack of circulars shoved to one side on the moth-eaten fitted carpet. The high ceiling and cornices gave the impression the flat was large, and probably at one time it would all have been one or two bedrooms, but it was now divided into a small kitchen and breakfast diner, utility room, bathroom, sitting room and two bedrooms. It felt shabby and yet there were some good paintings. As Lena followed him into the sitting room she saw it was reasonably well furnished, with leather armchairs and a low carved coffee table. There were more oil paintings on the walls and on an oak carved dresser were numerous photographs of the owner, Simon Boatly, in sporting attire, plus stacks of dirty coffee cups and mugs.

‘Do you know what time it is?’ Marcus asked, slumping down onto a worn leather armchair.

‘I don’t know and I don’t care – don’t you have a vacuum cleaner?’

‘It’s broken, and don’t tell me you’ve come round to moan about housekeeping.’

She removed her coat and folding it neatly placed it over the arm of the other armchair. Sitting opposite him, she took in the good-quality silk Persian rug between them, observing as she always did the room and contents. Knowing her of old, Marcus shook his head.

‘Everything in here belongs to Simon. I am as you know just renting it – before that it was his aunt’s place and I doubt anything has been done since she died; I don’t know how long he’s staying away but it could be a year or so – anything else you need to know?’

‘There’s a lot I want to know, Marcus,’ she said coldly.

‘I am sure you do, but you look as if you are going out for a business meeting. I’d have thought considering the situation you would be at home to see if Amy called – has she?’

‘I would have contacted you if she had, and I’m on my mobile.’

He gave a wide-handed gesture, puzzled as to why she was at his flat and picking up from the way she clenched her mouth so tightly that she was very tense.

‘I have read Amy’s journal and I’ve got to say it threw me sideways,’ she said, trying not to sound angry, wanting to be as calm as possible but now unsure how she should elaborate on why she was there.

‘What have you found out?’

‘She details your sexual antics with various girlfriends or whores, I’m not sure who they are, but she is very derogatory in her descriptions, but more than that—’

He interrupted her, leaning forward. ‘What? I don’t believe this.’

‘You were obviously having sex with women when Amy was in the flat.’

‘Well, maybe, but Amy would have been in her bedroom, so I can’t see how she would know what I was doing, and it was not as if it was a regular occurrence when she was here – just what are you suggesting?’

‘I am not suggesting anything; I am merely telling you what she has written and in such explicit detail it reads like she was in the same room.’

‘Are you joking? What the fuck do you take me for?’

‘What I take you for is immaterial, what I am telling you is that from her journal it reads as if she were witness to or even worse partaking in your grubby little orgies.’

He stood up, enraged. ‘That is bloody disgusting – orgies? For chrissakes, having a few sexual encounters is not anything I am ashamed of, but if you are implying that I would have allowed Amy to be involved then that is sick, and a total lie; I never would have been so crass as to allow that.’

Lena hated to even admit it, but she was enjoying seeing him embarrassed and desperately trying to extricate himself from her accusations.

‘But did you have sex while Amy was here at the flat?’

‘Yes, maybe I did a couple of times, but it was weekends, for God’s sake, and it’s not as if she’s a little kid, and I don’t think she even met any one of them for more than a coffee.’

‘But you admit to having women here and having sex with them while you were supposed to be looking after Amy.’

‘I just said that I did,’ he snapped angrily.

‘Well according to her journal she must have been watching you. I am not about to go into the disgusting details of your preferences or these tarts you bring here, but your daughter describes very explicitly their bodies, and yours, plus what sexual positions you used and your use of sex toys.’

Marcus leaned back in the chair and glared at her. ‘You are enjoying this, you’re fucking gloating about it, but I am telling you that at no time was Amy ever present, and I resent you implying they were tarts; they were all . . .’ He sighed, realizing that whatever he said made it sound worse, and he truthfully was certain that it could only have happened a few times when Amy was staying.

‘Did you abuse her?’ Lena said quietly.

‘What?’

‘I asked if you abused Amy sexually because she certainly makes it sound as if she was privy not only to your prowess screwing up the arse but—’

The slap was so hard it knocked her sideways. He stood over her, clenching his fists, afraid he would slap her again. He then backed away from her, ashamed. ‘I’m sorry, so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, and Jesus Christ you know I have never laid a hand on you, but I swear on my life I never even touched my daughter. It sickens me just thinking that you even asked me.’

She shook her head and rubbed her cheek as he crossed to a drinks cabinet and poured himself a brandy.

‘If the police read her journal, Marcus, they will get the same impression.’

When he turned he was shaking. ‘I want to read it. Let me see it.’

Lena shrugged and stood up. ‘I haven’t got it with me and while I’m here I want to see her bedroom.’

He downed the brandy in one gulp and gasped. ‘That detective who came here said not to touch anything in Amy’s room as he wants someone to check through everything.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know – probably forensics or something like that.’

‘Well, just let me have a look, then I am going home.’

Although Lena had been to the flat before to pick up or drop Amy off, she had always refused and in fact never actually wanted to come inside, and had only entered as far as the hallway with Amy’s suitcase. It had also been upsetting and traumatic as it was very early in their separation and she had not really wanted Amy to spend any time with Marcus, let alone an entire weekend. However, she had been persuaded it was good for Amy to be on amicable terms with both of them so she had relented.

Marcus stood waiting for her at the sitting-room door, and then gestured towards the small corridor leading off. Amy’s bedroom was next door to his, with windows facing out onto Green Street. His bedroom door was ajar, and passing it Lena could see a king-size unmade bed with a bright orange duvet half across it and half dragging over the floor. It had the same fitted carpet as all the rest of the flat, and when Marcus opened the door to Amy’s bedroom she could see it was similarly in need of hoovering. She stepped into the room and gasped, and turning to Marcus asked if it was in the same state as when Amy was last there.

‘Yeah, I mean I looked around for anything that might give me a clue as to where she could have taken off – friends, contacts – but it was in this state, it always is, she’s very untidy.’

‘Untidy,’ Lena said, shocked. The room to her mind was a tip of dirty clothes, unmade scruffy bed and stained pillowslips; everything appeared to have been thrown around.

‘They want to get some forensic guys in to test stuff, her clothes,’ Marcus said and pointed to a pair of panties left by the bedside. ‘I think they want to check if there’s any DNA – you know, to see if she is sexually active. Considering what you’ve just accused me of, I am not going to even let you go further into the room as I don’t want that disgusting bullshit aimed at me.’

‘Do you think she is?’ Lena asked, still looking around the room.

‘No, but if she is she never mentioned any boyfriend to me. I know she has a thing about a movie actor and some boy band, but it’s just teenage stuff – those posters have been up for about a year.’ He gestured to the posters Blu-Tacked to the wall facing Amy’s bed.

‘What are those drawings?’ she said, pointing to ones pinned beside her bed.

‘Stuff she does in art class, I dunno – I know she likes her art teacher a lot, a Miss Polka who I met once when I collected Amy from school.’

‘It smells in here,’ Lena said, wrinkling her nose.

‘Well it’s been shut up, and she wasn’t the cleanest—’ He froze and then closed his eyes. He had just spoken of Amy in the past tense and it hit him like a punch. He turned away, heading back down the corridor.

‘Washing machine is not all that good and she hates to iron anything and we just take the sheets to the laundry once a month.’

Lena remained in the doorway of her daughter’s bedroom, biting back a sarcastic echo of ‘once a month’ as they clearly hadn’t been changed in a long time. The smell that permeated Amy’s room was of stale sweat and an over-sweet cheap perfume. She was finding it difficult to move away from the room, it was so hard for her to see Amy staying in it, using it, sleeping in it, as if she was looking at another teenager’s bedroom; it didn’t bare any resemblance to Amy’s beautiful clean stylish room at home.

‘I am just going to look into her wardrobe,’ she said, but Marcus had disappeared into the sitting room. She stepped over the items on the floor, and eased her way to the open wardrobe doors. She was careful, gently easing hangers apart and looking at the hanging garments, none of which she recognized, and it was the same for the boots and shoes. These were not high-quality designer labels, but cheap garish Top Shop, Zara and Primark items, many with stained armpits. She stepped back from the pungent smell of the clothes and turned towards the door, stopping to look at the posters before she walked out.

Marcus was sitting with another glass of brandy, and as she came to collect her coat he gave her a sad boyish smile. She had always loved it when he smiled at her in that way – he had such a handsome face and such expressive eyes.

‘Please tell me you don’t believe for a moment I would abuse Amy?’

She picked up her coat. Folding it over her arm, she bent down to collect her handbag.

‘For God’s sake, Lena, I couldn’t stand it if you thought that. I love her, and to have you thinking for a second I would abuse my little girl sickens me.’

Lena took a deep breath. ‘I think tomorrow you need to come over to the house and read the journal for yourself. I’m going home now. I need to be there in case she calls.’

‘What do you think has happened to her?’ he asked plaintively, his voice quivering.

‘I don’t know; I am scared to really think about it. I want to remain positive because I want her to come home.’

Lena hesitated, and watching him near to tears she felt she should make amends for the accusation she had made, but as always her control barrier was firmly in place.

‘Amy is not very nice about me in her journal, she describes me in such horrid detail. She says I am cold and unforgiving, sarcastically referring to me as “Little Madam Perfect” and a lot more that I don’t want to repeat right now. Whatever she really feels about me, I want to try and understand or make her understand that I have always had only her best interests at heart. I want to take time out to be with her, forget the business for a while to make up for . . .’ She couldn’t finish as in her mind she could see clearly the neat tight handwriting on one of the pages from Amy’s journal: ‘Bitch is always busy.’

Leaving Marcus already onto his third brandy, Lena said goodnight and left. By the time he heard the main entry door below slam behind her he had shambled into his bedroom. He got back into bed, drained the rest of the brandy and lay back thinking of what Lena had accused him of. He felt deeply ashamed and confused as to why she would have even hinted at there being anything sexual in his relationship with Amy. Had she been jealous of his girlfriends? She had never shown it, in fact to the contrary. He knew his wife was in many ways very naïve, but he couldn’t understand why she had implied that the love he had for Amy was anything other than paternal.

Lena’s drive back to Richmond at such a late hour meant the journey was free of traffic. Letting herself in and placing the key chain on the door, she headed into the kitchen and after making a cup of camomile tea she went up to her bedroom. The house was silent, not that it had ever throbbed with sounds – neither she or Amy used the stereo system on a regular basis; only their televisions were used frequently and she could not recall the last time they had sat together in the TV room to watch DVDs. They had sometimes taken a tray and eaten together but after Amy went to boarding school these evenings stopped.

Passing her office, Lena knew she wouldn’t be able to go to sleep for a while if at all, and so she went in and switched on her computer, which she rarely if ever used for anything but work and research. She opened her emails; there were so many she had to prioritize what was important to enable the business to run without her presence before replying. She gave detailed instructions about deliveries and collections that she felt needed to be dealt with, and then spent a considerable amount of time checking new orders and assignments to go to the various outlets before she began listing everyone that worked for her and their contact numbers to give to the police.