Twisted (32 page)

‘You were never there when Amy spent the weekend with her father?’

‘Not that I recall; I’ve been skipping all over the place and the rent and stuff is handled by my lawyers. I think he’s a bit behind actually, but it doesn’t really worry me. I have this place for when I’m back in the country.’

Reid spoke quietly as he explained that he was concerned about the amount of pornography discovered in the Green Street flat. Boatly shrugged.

‘Well it could be my old magazines and videos? As I said, I was a bit of a lad. My parents died in a plane crash when I was fifteen and my aunt was my guardian. She was my father’s sister and not like some old doddery spinster but at one time had been a great beauty, married a couple of times, and was rather naughty, very theatrical. I doubt she had ever cooked a meal in her life, but she could drink, she had hollow legs as the expression goes. The reality was the flat originally belonged to my grandmother, who left it to Aunt Katherine with the stipulation that it passed to me eventually. Poor Katherine ploughed through her own inheritance and I think she even gambled away any money left by her husbands. I would say that she was not the most reliable person to act as a guardian – in fact some of her conquests were not that much older than myself; she’d never use the expression “toy boys”, but she had quite a sexual appetite for virile young men. I was still at boarding school so only came under her unwatchful eyes during the holidays.’

Reid was becoming impatient, and not quite sure why Boatly had gone into such detail regarding his aunt. He was about to ask more questions about the pornography when Boatly swung his legs down from the sofa and laughed.

‘I admit I was going through all the teenage sexual fantasies, but what happened was not intentional,’ he said and laughed again before continuing. ‘I was hammering in a nail to hang up a framed picture of some bimbo or other and it went straight through the plaster wall. It’s not obviously something I like to admit but it became my peephole into Aunt Katherine’s bedroom. I’d wank myself stupid watching her with legs akimbo being screwed by some waiter or other young man she’d picked up. Sadly her prowess with them didn’t last as she became such an alcoholic that the trustees felt her to be unsuitable as my guardian. They wanted to get some other distant relative to monitor me, but I’d just turned eighteen and had access to my inheritance, so I refused to accept anyone else and she was carted off to some hospice where she eventually died.’

‘Did Marcus Fulford stay with you at your flat in Green Street on a regular basis?’

‘Yes, very often, but that was before he married Lena. The place was only used infrequently as I went to Oxford and then would live here during my vacations.’

‘Did Amy stay here?’

Boatly frowned, and said she had on a couple of occasions as she used to ride at the local stables.

‘Who was the girl riding the horse when I arrived?’

‘Oh, she’s my neighbour’s daughter; they use one of the outbuildings to stable her horse, and she’s quite a little madam. They also look after Wally – well, he’s more their pet than mine, but when I’m here he stays with me.’

There was a pause as Reid made a couple of notes before closing his notebook. Boatly, thinking the interview was over, stood up, but Reid asked if he could recall the dates when Amy stayed.

‘Christ, I don’t know off-hand, but it would have been a good few years ago. Perhaps Marcus could give you a better time frame. She was always very quiet and well behaved and a very accomplished rider – and I think did some equestrian shows.’

Reid detected that Boatly was becoming irritated; his right foot tapped the floor and he stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets.

‘Look, Detective Reid, I am obviously intelligent enough to know where your questions are leading. My neighbours’ daughter is eleven, and very annoying, I have no interaction with her. Amy was my best friend’s daughter, and I have not and never had any interest in pubescent females. As you know, I was abroad when Amy went missing, and I have been open and honest about my relationship with her and her mother, but Marcus was my only reason for knowing them. We have been friends for many years, dating back to our Oxford days, though Marcus was at the polytechnic. He was from a middle-class family without much money, and I had my inheritance, but it never created any friction between us. He eventually married Lena, but I still care for him and enjoy meeting up with him occasionally, on a one-to-one basis. I don’t like his wife and she has made it obvious that she does not like me and I think she was always envious of our friendship. I thought his daughter was lovely, but the undercurrent of your implications that there could have been anything more between us is abhorrent and distressing to me. I feel great compassion for what Marcus and Lena must be going through and hope their daughter will be found; at the same time I am aware of how long she’s been missing and I realize the outcome may be tragic. As a friend I will endeavour to be supportive because I know how much Marcus loves Amy and what a good father he is.’

Driving back to London, Reid mulled over the interview. Although he had no evidence to suggest the handsome and suntanned Simon Boatly was involved in Amy’s disappearance, he could not allay his suspicions. He wondered if the nail-causing-the-peephole story was a lie fabricated in collusion with Marcus to cover up something more sinister. However, the look of gratification on Boatly’s face as he spoke about it suggested there was some substance behind the admission. Although he knew Boatly was not even in the country when Amy disappeared, he could have been involved in some previous sexual abuse of Amy, maybe even with Marcus present.

Boatly had returned to bed, certain he was coming down with some flu bug as he kept on sneezing and his head ached. He was dabbing more Olbas Oil onto his handkerchief when the bedside phone rang. It was Marcus, asking if everything went all right with the meeting.

‘Yes, everything that needed to be was said, I think; there was no need to even mention it. He might want to know when you came to stay with Amy because I couldn’t remember; it was when she was horse-mad, but it sort of makes me pissed off.’

‘So you never brought it up?’

‘I just said so, didn’t I, and I’m sorry if I sound a bit tetchy but I feel horrific, like I’m coming down with flu or something. The fucking woman who’s supposed to clean the place seems to have done no dusting at all so I might have some allergy, unless it’s the bloody dog hairs.’

‘Listen, thanks, I really appreciate it, and I’m sorry about the rent not being paid.’

‘Oh for God’s sake, forget it, you’ve enough to worry about.’

‘Thank you. Obviously the divorce is sort of on a back burner at the moment, but as soon as that’s finalized I’ll repay you and you know how grateful I am about you funding Jacob Lyons.’

‘Let’s meet up for dinner. I’ll call you when I’m next in town.’

‘Right, look forward to seeing you. Bye for now.’

Boatly hung up and sniffed the handkerchief, lying back on the pillow as Grant walked in with a hot lemon and ginger drink. He was as suntanned as Boatly, with long hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing torn jeans and an expensive shirt in heavy linen.

‘I heard him leaving, thought it best not to be visible. Do you want me to make you some lunch?’

‘No, I feel terrible. Can you get me some aspirin and I’ll try and have a sandwich or something later.’

Grant put down the mug and went to a drawer in the dressing table, rooted around and took out a bottle of aspirin. ‘Here you go, Simon. I’ll be cleaning up downstairs, and then doing a grocery shop, so if there’s anything you feel like eating I’ll bring it back.’

‘Thank you; maybe some pasta – nothing too heavy – or spinach soup, get a load in, as I am sure I’m coming down with something, and we need bread and cheese.’

‘Yeah, yeah, I’ve made out a list. Drink up and take the aspirin and I won’t be too long.’

Boatly held out his hand. ‘What would I do without you, darling one?’

Grant laughed and picked up Boatly’s wallet. ‘Can I drive the Porsche?’

‘Yes, but for God’s sake be careful, you’ve only just passed your driving test.’

Grant opened the wallet and removed two fifty-pound notes, wafting them towards Boatly who was taking his aspirin and sipping at the hot drink. ‘See you in a while. Maybe get some more wine as you had a skinful last night.’

‘Whatever,’ Boatly said, sighing and closing his eyes.

He thought to himself that he was not going to stay much longer in England and wouldn’t mind selling up the house and the flat and never returning. The sound of his Porsche being revved up as if at Goodwood racetrack irritated him. He got up and crossed to the window as Grant drove out far too fast. The wretched girl from his neighbours was riding across the lawn, Wally bounding after her. He tried to open the window to reprimand her – not that the lawn was in pristine condition, it was the fact she had been told to keep off his property. But the window was stuck firm and he slapped the frame with the flat of his hand. He was even more annoyed as he saw Wally taking a crap and scratching at the grass, sending turf flying. ‘Fucking dog,’ he muttered as the horse jumped over a small row of bushes and the girl whooped and hollered. It was then that he recalled how he had been standing at the same window – how many years ago? Maybe two or three? Amy slapping her thigh with her riding crop and wearing her riding hat, hacking jacket, white shirt and a cravat, jodhpurs and black polished boots.

‘Daddy, Daddy, are you coming to watch me jump, Daddy!’

Boatly had turned to Marcus, who was naked and sprawled across his bed. They had both got very drunk the previous evening, and he had to nudge him awake.

‘Amy’s waiting for you,’ he had said.

Marcus roused himself and had an obvious hangover. ‘Bugger! What time is it?’

It was eight o’clock, and Marcus had been too drunk to return to his own bedroom the night before. He grabbed a dressing gown and stumbled to the window, but even back then it was stuck firm. He hurried from the room and somehow managed to pull on his trousers and a sweater. Boatly followed him downstairs and laughed as he watched from the doorway as Marcus hopped barefoot over the gravel towards Amy.

He remembered she was very angry, shouting and swiping at him with her riding crop. ‘You said you would be at the stables to ride with me and I’ve been waiting ages. I have to have a practice before the fete this afternoon.’

Marcus had apologized and said he’d overslept. He promised he would join her and ride out to the fields to watch her jumping. He ran back over to the house, shouting as he went.

‘Simon, SIMON, can I borrow a pair of your boots?’

Boatly smiled as his mind returned to the present and he went and lay back down on his bed. He remembered thinking that Amy was a right little madam; if she’d swished her riding crop a little closer she’d have slashed her father’s face. Marcus had burst into the bedroom, asking again if he could use a pair of Simon’s riding boots. Boatly had gestured to his wardrobe and said there was a pair in there or a pair of old ones by the back kitchen door. Marcus had sat on the bed, pulling on the black leather boots; they were too large and he had to tuck his trousers inside them.

‘Christ, this could be embarrassing. I hate bloody horses. What’s the one I rode out on once with you?’

‘It’s an old police horse – they use him for children with special needs. He’s called Puddle; he might not get up the energy for a trot but he won’t throw you off.’

‘Fuck off, I am going to look a right arsehole.’ Marcus stamped his feet in the boots.

It was strange to remember it all so clearly after such a long time. Whether or not it was due to Detective Reid asking when Amy had stayed, or seeing the annoying girl on her horse, he wasn’t sure. He remembered when they both returned from the ride and the outcome had made him laugh until he ached. Marcus, covered in mud, described Puddle’s slow ponderous walk and how it had left him far behind Amy. Suddenly confronted by a thick thistle bush, Puddle was spooked and took off at a gallop. Amy described the way she had first been impressed as her dad sped past her – she didn’t think Daddy could gallop so well – but then seeing him hurtling through the air headfirst into the ditch had made her hysterical.

Boatly remembered they were all sitting at the kitchen table, with a bowl of hot water and Dettol; Amy dipping in a wad of cotton wool to clean a nasty scrape on the side of Marcus’s face. Her cheeks were flushed, her blonde silky hair falling around her shoulders, and she had loosened the cravat of her shirt. Tall and boyishly slender, she tenderly washed out the graze. Boatly recalled how envious he had felt, her adoration and sweetness touching him, because he knew he would never experience that kind of affection from a child of his own. He also remembered just how beautiful she had become when he had seen her on the beach in Antigua, the tiny bikini showing off her perfect pubescent figure. The way she had lowered her sunglasses to look at him, it had felt provocative; even the way she had sipped her fruit-filled glass with a straw had not been like a young teenager. But similar to the way Lena had behaved towards him when they had first met.

When Lena had refused to allow her daughter to go water-skiing, Amy had given him a knowing glance and a shrug of her shoulders. He left after lunch to join his friends on the waiting speedboat, and when he turned back, she had been waving and smiling. ‘Bye-bye, Simon,’ she had called out. That was the last time he had seen her, and now it really saddened him that she was missing, but there was also a niggling unease that perhaps Marcus might have had something to do with it. He hoped that he had not, but at the same time it had registered with him that their affection towards each other was very intimate.

Simon suspected Marcus must have persuaded Amy not to tell Lena about staying at the Old Manor as she did not approve of their friendship and would have refused to allow Amy to stay there. They had slept together in the guest bedroom, and Marcus had come through to his room when Amy was asleep. Boatly now found himself wondering if there was something beyond the doting father image that Marcus portrayed. His mind was made up in an instant: he would sell the flat and distance himself from Marcus, as he didn’t want any possibility of becoming embroiled in the police investigation.