Twisted (45 page)

‘Listen, Mum, you know more about that girl and her family than anyone else; if they want to pay you then do an interview.’

Agnes was very unsure, but the truth was, she had started to rather enjoy the notoriety.

‘What are they doing in the house?’ Natalie asked.

Agnes knew that Lena was hardly touching any food, and cried a lot, while Marcus was very protective of her, but was finding it all very difficult to deal with.

‘Are they back together?’

‘I think so; they don’t always sleep together though, and I heard him say something terrible the other morning.’

Natalie was eager to continue the conversation but Agnes said she had to go as someone was coming into the kitchen.

‘Wait, what did he say, for heaven’s sake?’

Agnes lowered her voice. ‘That it would have been better if they had found her dead.’

‘Oh my God, that’s dreadful. Fancy saying something like that.’

‘Got to go.’ Agnes shut off her mobile as Marcus appeared at the kitchen door.

‘Who are you talking to, Agnes?’ he asked.

‘My daughter, she’s very concerned with all this stuff in the papers.’

‘Aren’t we all? I am at my wits’ end, and being cloistered up here is driving me nuts.’

‘Would you like some pancakes?’

He shook his head and walked off. Agnes went into the TV room; Lena was with the Victim Support worker, Deirdre Standing, a pleasant woman who had agreed to stay a couple of nights and had moved into a smaller bedroom.

‘Morning, Deirdre, I’m just putting coffee on, would you like something to eat?’

‘Just coffee thank you, Agnes. Lena, would you like something to eat?’

Lena was playing patience and didn’t look up from the cards.

‘I’m not hungry.’

The next day a very nervous and sweating DI Reid was given Simon Boatly’s post mortem results by DCI Jackson. He had been suffering from AIDS-related bronchial pneumonia and had died as a result of it. Initial tests had not as yet found any poisons from mushrooms, but further toxicology work was still in progress. The report said that it was possible the poison might have aggravated his condition, but passed through his system before he died. Reid had never felt so relieved in his life over the death of another human being.

Reid was at the Fulford house by twelve, where Marcus was waiting with Lena in the sitting room. Keen to put their minds at rest, he came straight to the reason he was there.

‘Your friend Simon Boatly died of an AIDS-related infection.’

‘AIDS,’ Lena said and gave an odd soft laugh.

Reid continued. ‘To date no one we had been concerned about has shown any signs of illness linked to mushroom-poisoning nor have we found anything untoward in their food supplies.’

Lena said that although Amy was still missing this came as a huge relief. Marcus however seemed to take the news differently – he asked Reid to repeat it, saying that he was certain it could not have been AIDS, and then asked if he knew whether Grant was also infected.

‘I think, Mr Fulford, that a forensic pathologist knows an AIDS-related death when he examines a body. As for Grant, well I’ve never met or spoken with him.’

Marcus abruptly left the room, and Lena stared after him.

‘He is finding this very difficult to deal with,’ she said quietly.

‘Well, Mr Boatly was a close friend.’

‘I don’t mean about that, it’s the press camped outside virtually twenty-four seven. It’s a total invasion of our privacy and we can’t move out of the house. The press and
Crime Night
appeals failed to bring any new or useful information to light, yet they continue to pressure us.’

‘They don’t give up easily. It’s possible if you agreed to do a TV interview, say in the house here, that you would not then be subjected to such media pressure. I can also help you vet the questions before the show.’

She nodded, and sat down again. ‘The ironic thing is, my husband has really looked after me, and we have been closer since this all happened than we have in years, so, some good has come of it.’

‘No divorce then?’

She smiled again and without replying to his question said she would ask Agnes to bring him a coffee while she talked to Marcus about the TV interview.

Marcus was changing his clothes when she walked into the guest room and repeated her conversation with DI Reid.

‘Oh really, they want to tout us out like B-list celebrities, do they? We’ve already been interviewed; this is like watching us crumble and there is nothing more I can add to what I’ve already said. That professor has made a big name for himself out of it, spouting bullshit, and all this multiple personality stuff is a load of crap.’

She plucked at the bedspread and watched as he shrugged into the new jacket she had bought him. He then got a pair of new suede shoes from the wardrobe and sat on the bed to put them on.

‘What are you doing?’

‘What does it look like?’

‘Are you going out?’

‘I am going to see Grant at Simon’s place. I need to know if he’s arranging a funeral and what he might need from me.’

‘Why would he need anything from you?’

‘Because I know he is on his own and doesn’t know many people.’

Lena folded her arms, trying to keep her patience.

‘You mean you want to find out if there is anything in the will for you?’

‘I never even thought about that.’

She went and stood in front of him. ‘He kicked you out of his flat, Marcus, and put it on the market. Some friend, and now we know he died of AIDS.’

‘Don’t pretend like you didn’t know, he never hid it, and you trying to insinuate that he might have screwed Amy sickened me.’

That infuriated her still further. ‘Sickened you? He sickened me! The big rich friend with all his model girlfriends, yachts and sports cars. It was all an act, he was a queer, a homosexual who always hated me.’

‘He didn’t hate you, Lena, it was all in your mind. You were just jealous of our friendship.’

‘Really? And just how far did that friendship go?’

The slap almost knocked her off her feet; she toppled sideways and then regained her balance to punch him in his chest. He gripped her by her wrists, pushing her away from him, so angry that he would have slapped her again if she hadn’t ducked to kick him.

‘Well maybe you should have yourself tested,’ she hissed.

He just shook his head; this was the side of Lena that he’d always hated.

‘You should hope Simon has left me financially well off, considering the shambolic state of your business affairs.’

He knew from the expression on her face and her clenched fists that she was gearing up for an almighty row, but he no longer had the appetite for a fight. Instead he walked calmly out of the bedroom.

‘I am sorry but I refuse to be further subjected to any more media interviews,’ Marcus said as he joined DI Reid in the sitting room. ‘Right now, I am leaving to go to Henley to discuss my friend’s funeral.’

‘Well that is your prerogative, Mr Fulford; it was just a suggestion.’

‘We have gone along with all the police advice and requests so far, Detective, and the result, as you can see outside, is a media circus, and I refuse to have any further part in it.’

Marcus, wearing dark glasses, drove his Mini to the gates and the uniform officer let him out, whereupon the press photographers clamoured to get pictures of him as he drove off.

Reid watched all this through the hallway window as Deirdre from Victim Support, who had been sitting waiting in the TV room, came to stand beside him. She was a sturdy pleasant-faced woman in her mid- to late-thirties and had a very professional demeanour.

‘How are things here?’ he asked her.

‘Very tense. I am having more to do with her than the husband, he just wanders around smoking and drinking, but she is trying her best to remain calm and positive. Any idea how long you’ll need me to be here?’ she asked.

‘Well it’s entirely up to you. I can’t force you to stay, but their daughter is still missing, they’re being harassed by the media, and our investigation is stalling.’

‘Yes, I appreciate that, but I don’t usually move in to a family home and I have my own two daughters to look after. I also have other victims of crime that I need to visit,’ she informed him in a serious but pleasant manner.

‘Can somebody else look after them for you?’

‘Not really, but I can liaise with them by phone for a day or two, I suppose. Being the parent of a missing child has many parallels with the experiences of families bereaved by homicide. The emotional trauma, stress and the unknown is like living in limbo for the parents.’

‘How long have you been with Victim Support?’ he wondered, impressed by what she had to say.

‘Seven years now.’

‘It must be very hard for you as all you ever deal with is grief and misery. What made you want to do this line of work?’

Deirdre looked at him levelly. ‘I volunteered after they helped me overcome being the victim of a violent attack. I got followed off a bus one night by a stranger who dragged me down an alleyway and violently assaulted me. I woke up in hospital the next morning, and no one could have prepared me for the impact it would initially have on my life.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, it was rude of me,’ Reid apologized, suspecting that Deirdre had probably been raped as well as beaten.

She gave him a reassuring smile. ‘Not at all, talking about it is still a form of release. When it happened I not only had physical injuries but also emotional ones and they were the hardest to deal with,’ she said frankly. ‘I went through the full range of revulsion, fear, and anger, not to mention a sense of helplessness. I was also terrified about reporting what had happened the police.’

‘But you did report it?’ Reid said, concerned that her attacker might still be roaming the streets unpunished.

‘Yes, and the young lady detective who dealt with me was excellent and got Victim Support to visit me. It was a great sense of relief to be able to talk about my feelings with someone that was not a police officer, a family member or a friend. Jane from Victim Support was someone who would just listen to me and reassure me that what I was feeling was normal.’

Reid nodded understandingly and with respect for her. ‘And that experience encouraged you to join them?’

‘Yes, I wanted to give something back and now I’m the person that listens and allows people to talk through their feelings and emotions.’

‘I have to say, Deirdre, that is a very moving and powerful story. I chose to change my career because I was bored, but your inner strength and what you have achieved is remarkable. I take my hat off to you.’

‘Thank you, DI Reid, that’s very kind of you.’

Reid checked his watch. ‘Sorry, I’ll have to get going. You’ve been really helpful and I do appreciate what you’ve done.’ As he started to walk away he stopped, turned and spoke softly.

‘Did they get, well I mean, did they arrest . . . ?’

‘Yes they did. It was three years later on DNA, but working for Victim Support and my colleagues helped me through having to relive the ordeal in court.’

‘He pleaded not guilty?’ Reid asked with amazement.

‘Yes, tried to say I was a prostitute and went down the alley willingly and slipped, causing my injuries.’

Walking to his car, Reid couldn’t get over how open Deirdre had been with him, and found himself deeply moved by her story. As he drove out, ignoring the journalists shouting their inevitable requests for information, he reflected that in some ways his fears and concerns about his handling of the investigation paled into insignificance compared to what had happened to her.

Deirdre went upstairs and tapped on Lena’s office door, but got a sharp reply of ‘Leave me alone please.’ She continued along the landing towards the bedrooms. The guest suite was a mess of Marcus’s discarded clothes, his dirty sneakers left beside the bed and tissue paper from a shoe box strewn on the floor; no doubt the vigilant Agnes had not as yet done her speed-clean in there.

Deirdre moved on down the carpeted landing to the closed door at the end, feeling a little guilty about sneaking around as she eased it open. Amy’s bedroom was not as large as either the guest suite or her mother’s room, but it was nevertheless a fair size with a small double bed. The bedspread covering the duvet was in a pretty white cotton with small daisies and matching frilled pillows. The wooden slatted blinds were partially closed but the room remained very light and airy, with high ceilings and carved cornices, and Deirdre thought how her daughters would love to have a room like it. The row of fitted wardrobes ran the entire length of the room, and gently pushing one sliding door open, she was astonished at the array of beautiful designer clothes. They appeared to be colour coordinated, and beneath them were racks of pristine shoes and boots, all with shoes horns and boot presses. There was also an open-shelved unit with cashmere sweaters in various colours.

Deirdre eased the wardrobe doors closed, and then turned to look at the dressing table. A blue pottery jar, a hand mirror and a bottle of perfume were placed neatly on its surface.

She noticed by the further bedside cabinet a small well-filled bookcase. It contained textbooks and exercise books, rows of sharpened pencils and pens. She bent down to look along the spines. They were all leather-bound classics – Shakespeare, Dickens, Ibsen, Strindberg and poetry volumes by Byron and Shelley. Nothing gave any real indication that this was the room of a fifteen-year-old girl. She sat on the bed and took four school exercise books out to look through them. She was struck by the neat handwriting, and further fascinated by the very advanced level of the content across all subjects. One book contained essays on various historical leaders and notes describing their political context. There were also some long essays about the slave traders, and these had excellent drawings, and down the margins were small red ticks and notes for further research.

She replaced the books, and stood looking around the room; to her mind there was not a single sign that Amy Fulford was suffering from any form of mental illness. Bending down, she peered inside one of the bedside cabinets and found yet more neatly arranged items from Aspirin to sweeteners, and two diet books, a stack of vitamin tablets, boxes of tissues and various moisturizers. She moved to the opposite bedside cabinet and in the small drawer she found a Bible and a volume of Sylvia Plath poems. She was careful to straighten the bedcover and ensure she left the room as she had found it. She looked around once more and noticed the room was devoid of any posters, pristine and tidy. Lastly she entered the en-suite bathroom and found the glass-fronted cabinet contained an array of very expensive shampoos and conditioners. There were banks of white towels and face cloths, and hanging on the back of the door was a white towelling dressing gown. She even felt inside the pockets to see if there was anything tucked inside, but they were empty.