Twisted (49 page)

Deirdre cleared up the broken china and then went to see how Lena was doing. She had locked the office door and after repeatedly knocking Deirdre eventually got a response: Lena said that she wished to be left alone.

‘Listen to me, Lena, I have spoken to DI Reid and he is going to try to come over to be here for you, and he needs to know if you still want to do the television interview.’

‘I said I would do it, and if they want me to do it, I will do it, now please leave me alone.’

Deirdre returned to the kitchen and put the scissors away, then picked up the scraps of newspaper, rolling them into a ball and tossing them into the pedal bin. The kitchen was quickly back in order, although the phone rang constantly and her head started throbbing as she wondered if perhaps she should answer the calls, but decided against it. She knew if DI Reid wanted to make contact he would call her mobile. Hoping to take her mind off the situation, she decided to read one of the many books in the floor-to-ceiling bookcase in the drawing room.

Entering the vast elegantly furnished room, with its rows of silver-framed photographs on top of the piano and on all the small side tables, she went over to the bookcase. Her eye was caught by the rows of leather-bound photograph albums, and she rested her hand against one, letting her fingers trail across the bindings until she hooked her index finger into the curved leather of one that appeared older. Opening it, she realized it was Lena’s album from when she was young and single. She flicked over the plastic covers, noting the various photographs, some in black and white, and was impressed by the neatness and the small handwritten cards denoting the place and year. She turned numerous pages until she reached the last section and was surprised to see a smiling, stunningly pretty Lena in a black university gown, wearing a mortarboard and holding a degree scroll. The note beneath it was written in black felt tip print, very small and underlined: ‘Oxford University Graduation – First-Class Honours Degree in Biological Sciences’. Deirdre had had no notion that Lena was so well educated. Turning a few more pages there were pictures of her wearing a white lab coat and with that beautiful lazy smile on her face; written in felt tip at the bottom was: ‘MSc Course, Harvard, USA’. The last page showed a serious-faced Lena standing beside a tall elderly man with a shock of white hair; he wore a crumpled tweed suit and a cravat, and beneath the picture was a caption in a different larger print: ‘Home with Daddy’.

Intrigued by uncovering Lena’s past, Deirdre reached for another album, carefully replacing the one she had looked through. She wondered if this was where Agnes had stolen the photographs for the press, and thought how disgusting it was that the woman had been so invasive and sly. Another album held many photographs of Lena and Marcus’s wedding day, and again Lena looked stunningly beautiful, dressed in a couture white wedding gown. As Deirdre turned another plastic-covered page, loose photographs tumbled out and she had to get down on her hands and knees to pick them up. Many featured the same white-haired man but now his face was scribbled over, or blacked out with felt tip pen. She laid the album down flat on the floor and reinserted the loose photographs; one she thought had to be of Lena’s mother and it was obvious where she got her good looks. She turned it over and in looped ink writing on the back was the note ‘Mama before Cancer’. A second picture showed the virtually skeletal frame of the same woman, and on the back, written in the same childish writing, was ‘Mama dying’.

Deirdre closed the albums, and had started to get up when she noticed lined up on the last shelf of the bookcase a row of larger volumes. Some were atlases and one was dotted with small coloured stickers, but not until she eased it out did she realize it was a detailed
Encyclopaedia of Mushrooms
.

Deirdre carried the heavy book to the sofa and set it down on the coffee table. She turned to a page marked by a small coloured tab. There were large coloured photographs of a mushroom called ‘The Deadly Amanita’, another was of a strange small domed mushroom called ‘The Destroying Angel’ and one with a flat head was described as ‘The Death Cap’.

Deirdre jumped when her mobile rang, and she patted her pockets to retrieve it. It was a very agitated DI Reid, apologizing that he doubted if he could get to her as they had a really worrying situation.

Angus McFarland, Marcus’s solicitor, had been taken to the interview room, where he demanded to know why his client had been rearrested. Jackson told him about the maroon sweater, and curtly said Marcus could quite possibly have murdered Amy in the flat, left her body there while he created an alibi by visiting Justine, and then disposed of the body on the Sunday. It had been a heated discussion and when Marcus was then brought up from the cells, he looked flushed, complained of stomach pains, and said he’d been vomiting. McFarland suggested that the police doctor be called to administer some medication for his client.

Jackson thought Marcus was trying to pull a fast one, and, eager to get started, said he’d call a doctor after the interview. He was certain he could break Fulford into confessing to murder and was going to be hard on him. Reid started the DVD recorder and cautioned Marcus. Before Jackson could ask his first question McFarland interjected.

‘My client stands by his original alibi; he is innocent and has never lied about where he was on the day his daughter went missing. As for the maroon sweater, Mr Fulford accepts beyond doubt it is his daughter’s, and that she clearly went to the flat he rented on the Saturday afternoon, but he was not there. When he packed his bags to move he gathered up the contents of the laundry bag, and without looking through it, simply dumped it in his case. Now unless you can provide any hard evidence to the contrary, or can disprove his alibi, I suggest you release my client immediately.’

Jackson frowned. ‘I’ll release him when I’m good and ready and I want to hear the answers from Fulford’s mouth, not yours, Mr McFarland.’

Marcus had started sweating profusely, which to Jackson was a sign he had lied to McFarland. The next minute Marcus leaned forward, clutching his stomach, and retched uncontrollably, before he suddenly collapsed, hitting his head against the interview-room table. He started convulsing and then seemed to hallucinate, shouting and screaming for his daughter to come home. They tried to give him first aid, called an ambulance immediately and told the crew he might be suffering from mushroom poisoning.

Deirdre hurried to Lena’s bedroom as soon as she got off the phone from an increasingly frantic Reid. The en-suite bathroom door was closed and the shower turned on. She called out for Lena, who shouted back that she was washing her hair and to please give her some privacy.

‘Lena, your husband has been taken to Kingston Hospital.’

Slowly the shower door opened and Lena, with shampoo frothed across her hair, leaned out. ‘What?’

Deirdre repeated what she’d said, and although Lena seemed to register what she had been told, there was little reaction and she simply closed the shower door and continued washing her hair.

‘Do you want me to call the hospital to see how he is?’ Deirdre asked in frustration.

‘I’ll dry my hair, get dressed and see you downstairs.’

Deirdre couldn’t believe her attitude and decided that she would call Kingston Hospital herself. She explained to the nurse in intensive care who she was.

‘He is in a very serious condition and unconscious,’ the nurse said. ‘The doctors are still treating him, so until I speak to them there is not much more I can tell you.’

Deirdre asked to be called as soon as there was more news as she was taking care of Mrs Fulford.

Reid pulled up outside the Henley property and parked beside a patrol car. Two uniformed officers were already there and they explained that there was no answer to repeated knocks on the door, and that the back door was locked. Reid, fearing for Grant’s safety, was about to break open the back door when he saw and heard a Porsche roar up the driveway. A young man got out with a panicked expression on his face, asking nervously what was happening and holding up a bag full of shopping, saying he’d been to the supermarket. Establishing that this was Mr Grant Delany, Reid suggested they went inside and Grant led them into the sitting room.

‘Marcus Fulford is seriously ill and in intensive care. We don’t know for certain yet, but it’s possible he has some kind of serious food poisoning,’ Reid explained, not wanting to unduly alarm Grant, who looked worried.

‘You’re joking; we did get a bit plastered last night, but we were celebrating because he’s been left three million quid by Simon.’ Globules of spittle formed at the sides of his mouth and he was talking very fast.

‘Can you just listen carefully please? Have you had any stomach pains, headaches, maybe feel as if you have flu-like symptoms?’

‘No, I’m fine, but you are starting to freak me out. I am a vegan so whatever I eat I prepare for myself.’

‘Can you recall exactly what Mr Fulford ate?’

‘He had a steak the night before last, but you lot turned up and arrested him before we ate properly yesterday. Earlier on we drove to London, met with Simon’s solicitors to discuss his will and Marcus had a beef burger and I had a veggie one on the way back here.’

‘And he wasn’t ill at all after the beef burger?’

‘No, and we started drinking when we got back. I mean he was ecstatic – three million quid. I got twenty-five grand, but then I’d only known Simon for a matter of months.’

Grant seemed unable to stop talking and Reid in irritation stood up, walking around the room, picking up one bottle after another.

‘What did you both drink?’

‘Dom Perignon champagne and red wine I got from the cellar. Well I sort of drank most of the bubbly as I don’t really like red wine, but Marcus opened a couple of bottles before he went on to the brandy,’ Grant said and pointed to the dusty bottle.

Reid saw that it was a vintage Napoleon in an elegant carved bottle, with just a small residue left in the bottom.

‘That’s a very expensive brandy – hundreds of quid – I brought it back from Simon’s place in Green Street.’

‘Was it open?’

‘Yeah, and about a quarter full. Simon loved his brandy, not that he told me to bring it back from his flat, I just did because I know he favoured the aged stuff and we didn’t have any in the cellar.’

‘Did Simon consume any of this?’

‘Not really – he wasn’t well so wasn’t drinking.’

‘What do you mean, not really?’

‘Well, I put a little splash in when I made him a hot toddy.’

Reid suspected that Amy must have put the poison in the brandy hoping her father would drink it at the flat, but as fate would have it the bottle ended up back at Boatly’s and both he and Marcus unwittingly drank from it.

‘Did you have any of the brandy?’

‘No way, can’t stand the stuff.’

‘Do you know how much of it Marcus had?’

Grant thought for a moment and said that as far as he recalled he maybe had one or two large ones before he got arrested. Reid asked to see the room Marcus was using and followed Grant up the wide staircase and into the master bedroom. There were piles of clothing in different sizes on the floor and bed.

‘You both sleep in here?’

His face flushed. ‘Er, yeah, but only the one night.’

On the floor were a jumble of discarded old-fashioned leather jewel boxes embossed with a monogrammed faded gold crown. Grant saw the way Reid looked at the cases and started to pick them up.

‘Simon’s lawyers mentioned the jewellery they would be collecting, but most of these were empty. That big one must have one time had a tiara or something inside – you can see the indentation on the old velvet.’

‘Where’s the jewellery from the boxes that weren’t empty then?’

‘Oh, uh, I’ve got it hidden away for the solicitors. I didn’t want a break-in and for it to be stolen.’

‘Very thoughtful of you,’ Reid said sarcastically. ‘This box you think a tiara was in . . .’

‘Well I’m not sure – it’s just the indentations made me think that.’

‘If it had been removed ages ago I’d have thought the indentations would be less pronounced.’

‘I swear I haven’t got it and Marcus was with me when we opened the boxes.’

‘Well let’s hope he comes round and can confirm that’s correct.’

Reid was certain Grant was lying and, along with Marcus, had probably helped himself to the contents of the empty boxes, but he had more pressing things to deal with. He instructed Grant to check the freezer for any opened bags or plastic cartons of food, not to eat from them and to put them to one side. Reid also told him to put aside any other bottles of opened drink he found and he would arrange for their collection later. Lastly he said he was taking the bottle of Napoleon brandy for forensics. Grant picked up on what Reid had just said.

‘Wait a minute, you think he was deliberately poisoned and it was in the brandy bottle. Oh my God, I gave it to Simon in the toddy and it must have killed him . . . oh my God.’

‘You didn’t know, and it wasn’t enough to kill him, Grant. The pathologist said he died of AIDS-related pneumonia.’

But Grant was in tears and could barely take in what Reid was saying when the detective asked him for a set of keys to the flat so he could search it for any other contaminated fluids.

Deirdre was in the kitchen when she received a call from Miss Jordan, who agreed that after her last appointment in the afternoon she would come to see Lena. Suddenly she heard Lena’s voice from behind. Deirdre was taken aback to see that the woman’s hair was brushed to perfection and gleaming, she was perfectly made up and wearing the clothes she had chosen for the interview. As Lena crossed the kitchen her perfect legs, slim ankles and stiletto shoes made her look as if she was modelling on a catwalk.

‘Have you heard from the producer or whoever is arranging the interview?’ she demanded.

‘No, but I did call the hospital and Mr Fulford is not well and on the intensive care ward, so maybe you should go and see him.’

‘He walked out on me when I really needed him to be here. I think it would be more beneficial if I do this television interview. I have prepared what I am going to say, because my priority is and always has been trying to find Amy. How do I look, by the way?’