Twisted (41 page)

Her round fat face was shiny with perspiration, and she eased herself up to cross to a box of tissues, plucking one out she dabbed at her top lip.

‘She called me a fat menopausal incompetent, who didn’t deserve to be have the position of matron, and said if I made a complaint she would report that I had been instrumental in a number of girls being prescribed the birth control pill without their parents’ knowledge.’

She was quite distressed, still patting at her perspiring face. ‘That was the last time I saw her, and quite obviously I did not report her rudeness.’

He stood up to leave. ‘How do you feel about it now?’

She gave a long sigh, her enormous breasts rising up and down. ‘That she was possibly a very troubled young woman, but you know I am not a psychiatrist, just a nurse, and I try to the best of my ability to look after the girls.’

‘Thank you for your time, Mrs Hall. Just one more thing – Serena Newman apparently came to see you recently?’

‘Yes that is correct, she had a bit of a temperature and stomach pains; she said that she had been sick at her home, but on arriving back at school felt worse. Due to the various viruses going around I kept her in the sick bay next door, and when she was still feeling poorly I called her parents and they came to collect her and take her home. Apparently she is still not feeling very well as she has not returned.’

She turned her back on him, blowing her nose with yet another tissue; he probably should have said something to comfort her, but he didn’t. Time was now catching up with him and he had to call in on the Fulfords.

At the station, the meeting room was packed with journalists plus a TV camera crew from the evening news on standby. DCI Jackson had finished giving them the latest information and the room erupted as every journalist wanted to get their questions answered; it was very obvious that this latest development would give them front-page headlines and this was exactly what Jackson wanted. He had pulled strings and called in favours to get the room jam-packed and it had worked. Press packs were handed out containing details and photographs and he had requested the journalists not to harass the parents, adding that all enquiries were to be handled by their press office. While some journalists jostled for attention, some legged it out fast in an attempt to gain early coverage.

Jackson agreed to give TV interviews outside the station so they were setting up their cameras. This was exactly what he had wanted but even he was taken aback by the overwhelming response. He just hoped it would also bring results. As he was preparing to be interviewed he was told that they had traced not only the Chinese prostitute Lily Leo, who was even now being driven to Fulham, but that the street musician had been tracked down in a Kingston shopping centre. The officers were bringing him in even though he had argued and become belligerent as he was earning good money from the shoppers.

Lily Leo was taken into an interview room and given a cup of tea, and had to wait some while before Jackson eventually came in to see her with a female detective. The very petite prostitute looked more like a college graduate. Her thick silky black hair was braided and she wore a woollen beret, a neat navy coat and small leather boots with fur trim. She wore no makeup apart from thick dark kohl around her eyes. As she was very nervous, the DCI made it clear that she was not under arrest, simply there to answer questions and assist in their investigation. She was shown the photograph from the CCTV footage of Amy in her school uniform, but she insisted in her slight Cockney accent that she had told Detective Wey everything she knew and could add nothing else.

They then showed her the entire set of PhotoFit pictures of how Amy might look with various wigs.

‘Look, I only ever saw her that once talking to a punter.’

‘So how do you know for certain she was trying to sell her body for sex?’

‘Some of the other girls seen her hanging around and warned her off because they all had patches they covered. She was an obvious amateur, but nevertheless a threat as she was so young, and the school uniform really got their tempers flaring.’

‘Do you know anything about her father Marcus?

‘Don’t know the name, but I heard a couple of girls been questioned about their underwear, and admitted to having sessions with her father. They had a nickname for him, “Backdoor Man”, and I don’t suppose you need me to explain what it means.’

Jackson recalled the ‘Watcher’ in the journal describing anal sex and the thought that it was young Amy watching through the peephole sickened and angered him.

‘Anything else about him, Lily?’

‘I heard a rumour he also used a couple of rent boys, but you know they come and go round there, especially if they pick up a rich bloke who will take care of them, and most are quite young, but I dunno if that’s true, just what I heard.’

‘Rent boys?’ Jackson sighed as no one had ever reported Marcus Fulford with rent boys; to the contrary he appeared to have had numerous women, judging from the array of underwear found in the flat. He decided not to question Lily any further on the subject. Instead he showed her the photograph from the vice squad, pointing to the car as he pushed the photo towards her.

‘What about the john in the Bentley – you ever seen him picking up the girls?’

‘Listen, there’s more Bentleys around that area than red buses in Park Lane, so I couldn’t tell you if I had seen him before or not, and on the photo you can’t even see his face.’

Jackson let her go; she had given nothing new and he was now impatient to interview the street musician Eddie Morris. He was about to head down the corridor when one of his team suggested he leave it a while longer as Eddie needed to sleep off whatever he’d been ingesting, snorting or shooting up in the Kingston Plaza.

Jackson took himself off to the canteen, saying they should give the bloody pest some strong black coffee.

Marcus had been trying to contact Simon Boatly for over an hour. But yet again the phone went to answer phone and he felt disinclined to leave a message even after the fourth attempt. He went to the back door to look in the bins for his cut-up clothes and, having found them, he decided to confront Lena, but thought he would just give Simon one more try first. This time the phone was picked up, and with relief he asked to speak to Simon.

‘He’s not here, he was taken into hospital this morning. Who shall I say is calling?’

‘It’s Marcus Fulford. Who am I speaking to?’

‘I’m Grant, I’m taking care of the house. We’ve had to get the vet out as his dog died this morning, and then poor Simon felt so bad I took him into A&E. That’s where I’ve been all day, as they’re keeping him in to do some tests.’

‘What’s the matter with him?’

‘I dunno, some stomach bug he’s come down with – vomiting, terrible diarrhoea and he was dehydrated so he’s been put on a glucose drip. Doc said it was a gastrointestinal disorder, probably something he’s eaten. I just thank God I’m a vegan, but he hasn’t actually been able to keep anything down.’

Marcus felt that it was all too much information, and Grant seemed to need to tell him all the details even though they had never met, so he was eager to cut off the call.

‘Just pass on my best wishes. I’ll maybe try to come out to Henley to see him.’

‘We won’t be here for long as we’re going to Barbados, but I’ll tell him you rang, and I know you were staying at the flat in Green Street. It’s unbelievable, he’s already got a property developer after it – they’ll gut it, I suppose, and I think he’s also selling up this old pile. All right for some, isn’t it? I was never left so much as a toothbrush, and—’

Marcus interrupted, certain this Grant would get into a lengthy diatribe about his family and he knew better than anyone just how wealthy Simon was. Perhaps he would consider lending him a lump sum if he was even more flush than usual.

‘Nice to talk to you, Grant. Maybe we’ll meet up soon.’

‘Yeah, okay. Bye now.’

Marcus slowly replaced the receiver. In the past he had almost hated Simon for his wealth, not that he hadn’t been generous, often to a fault, but there had always been on his part a certain amount of envy. Their relationship had really never been the same after he had married Lena. At the time Simon had sarcastically said he would give it a year and Marcus would come back to him. Marcus had felt that originally Lena had really liked Simon, but now she was not interested in having any further contact with him. He had obviously continued to meet with Simon secretly, but after Amy was born their close friendship lessened and they just met infrequently for the odd game of squash, or the occasional lunch. Marcus’s inability to gain employment had left him with a lot of free time, so while Lena successfully built up her business he had felt inadequate.

Marcus hated to admit it, but being asked to leave the flat had hurt him and now after the call he felt a twinge of jealousy about Grant, whoever he was, as like himself he would doubtless be benefitting from Simon’s wealth and generosity. The reality was hard for him to even admit, but Simon Boatly was and always had been a very strong fixture in his life. He decided that he would drive to Henley the following day and see him, and he would now sit Lena down and have a serious talk.

Marcus was midway up the stairs when the doorbell rang. He paused as Agnes came out of the drawing room. Waiting to see who it was, he looked over the banister as Agnes opened the front door.

‘It’s Detective Reid,’ she said, looking up at Marcus.

‘Yes I can see that, Agnes.’ As always there was that gut wrench in his stomach, wondering if there was any news.

‘I would like to talk to you and your wife, Mr Fulford.’

Marcus almost ran down the stairs in expectation but Reid said quickly that he was there to discuss Amy’s journal.

‘Oh. I see. Agnes, please ask Lena to come down and we’ll go into the sitting room.’

Reid took off his coat, folded it over the arm of the sofa and then sat down, opening his briefcase. Marcus took a seat opposite him on the matching sofa.

‘I have quite a lot to discuss with you, but I feel it is necessary that you both together hear what I have to say as it is quite disturbing.’

Lena hurried into the room.

‘Is it bad news, is that why you’re here?’ she demanded, coming to sit on the edge of the sofa next to Marcus.

Reid cleared his throat, as he explained that he had taken some expert advice with regard to their daughter’s journal and felt that it was imperative they should be told of the initial findings.

‘What do you mean by advice?’ Marcus asked.

‘I have spoken with a very reputable psychiatrist about Amy’s journal, and he is of the opinion that Amy is unwell.’

‘I gave you the journal with the promise you would not allow anyone to read it.’

‘Shut up and listen, Lena, please,’ Marcus interjected impatiently.

‘As you noticed yourself, Mrs Fulford, the writing alters numerous times, and I don’t know if you actually read the entire journal because much of it is rather illegible.’

‘I read enough to be concerned,’ Lena said, tight-lipped.

Marcus nodded and said that he had not actually read every page but had scanned some of it.

They were visibly becoming increasingly anxious, leaning towards him expectantly, making what he had to say even more difficult.

‘Okay, the psychiatrist had diagnosed that Amy is suffering from something called DID, which is more commonly known as Multiple Personality Disorder.’

They both leaned back against the sofa cushions in unison. Reid now had their undivided attention as he began to repeat all the information from Professor Cornwall as clearly and simply as possible.

DCI Jackson was led along the corridor to the interview room where waiting inside was Eddie Morris. He had sobered up after drinking three cups of black coffee, and he was now able to answer questions coherently, especially after they’d reassured him that he was not under arrest, but there to assist enquiries relating to Amy Fulford. Jackson looked through the window in the interview-room door, watching the musician adamantly claim he did not know and had never met anyone called Amy Fulford. He was truculent and still argumentative because he insisted they were keeping him from earning his living. Jackson made a good entrance carrying the file with the PhotoFit pictures of Amy. He slammed it down onto the bare table and then drew out a chair to sit facing the greasy-haired Eddie. The musician had spiked black-dyed hair and his face was pallid and unshaven, but he had dark luminous eyes and high cheekbones and his lips were unusually pink.

‘Okay, Eddie, this is what I need from you. We have a witness that saw this girl talking to you.’

He set down the photograph of Amy and tapped it. He continued with the date and time and the location at Hyde Park.

‘See what she’s wearing, a maroon sweater and—’

Eddie interrupted, pushing the photo away. ‘Nope, never saw her, and to be honest if I had I would remember as she’s a looker.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yeah, I’m sure.’

‘It’s very important, Eddie, because after the sighting of her in Fulham Road we’ve only had this witness to say she was sure she’d seen her talking to you in the Marble Arch underpass. So have another look, son, because if she was in that area then she might have returned to Mayfair and—’

‘No, I’m telling you the truth, for fuck’s sake, and I gave up that patch because of the Romanians hanging around – they bedded down there and it was not a safe place ’cos me money is in me guitar case and twice I got some nicked. They kicked the case over and then pretended to help pick up me money, pocketed most of it, so that’s why I’m doing the Plaza in Kingston, and by you keepin’ me here I’m losin’ out.’

‘Tell me about these Romanians.’

‘I just did – they erected their tents on the island in Park Lane, they got Tesco trollies loaded with bags and their gear, illegal immigrants. Instead of wasting my time you should check those bastards out.’

Jackson gathered up the photographs and files, stacking them like a pack of cards, and then he looked to the uniformed officer at the door.