Twisted (56 page)

Reid sat back, his jaw open, as the voice Lena had adopted was guttural and coarse. Jackson was equally disturbed, but he refused to even acknowledge that he was suddenly hearing another one of the personalities emerge.

‘Who am I talking to, Lena?’

‘The boss, you motherfucker, I am the boss and I will not have her upset, or asked any more questions about her bastard father, you hear me? He is long dead. You had better not ask any more questions about the way he came into her room and screwed her up the arse.’

‘Is this for real?’ Jackson whispered and Reid declined to answer. Even though he was aware that Lena had been abused, seeing the effect on her made his whole body tense with repulsion, but what came next was even more shocking.

Cornwall had moved on to her teenage years and another character emerged, flirtatious and sexual. She giggled, explaining in a lisping voice that she had managed to lock her father out of her bedroom and he had been weeping and crying to be allowed in, and she would make him kiss her feet and lick them clean.

‘I trod in dog shit so he would have to lick it off.’ She shrieked with laughter.

Cornwall laughed with her, gently encouraging her to tell him who he was now talking to, and she said that it was nobody. She suddenly sat upright and shouted that she should be careful or she would tell them about her mother.

‘Don’t you dare ask her about her mother!’ It was the ‘Boss’ character again.

Lena flopped back, exhausted, as Cornwall signalled for a glass of water. He remained silent, sipping it as she began to curl her legs up and wrap her arms around her knees. He sensed, as he had anticipated, that Lena was beginning to tire and they had not even touched on the poisoning or any details about her daughter.

‘Oh God, please, Daddy, don’t make me do it, please . . .’

‘What is he making you do, Lena?’

It was hard to determine which character she had become; she seemed exhausted and had started crying again. Cornwall persisted, repeating his question, and she began to make a strange motion with her hands as if washing them, and her face turned from tears into a grimace of distaste.

‘Smell, she smells, horrible smell, she smells out the whole house.’

She persisted in the wringing motion, and her face grimaced as if she were smelling something hideous.

‘Who is it that is making this smell, Lena?’

‘Mother, it’s mother, the cancer, I have to wash her cancer out, and feed her. I hate to do it, but he refused to let anyone else take care of her because they might find out.’

The odd wringing motion took over again; she seemed to be trying to clean her hands, and her face was twisted with disgust, and then there was a low moaning and she began crying even more loudly than before. She turned over with her face buried in the pillow as she sobbed; her hands were clenched into fists as she pummelled the mattress.

‘Sorry, Mummy, sorry, Mummy, sorry, Mummy.’

Cornwall leaned closer and his voice was hardly audible as he asked why she was sorry as she had been a good girl taking care of her mother. He told her there was nothing to be sorry about as her mother had been very ill.

Lena slowly turned over and once again it was the coarse voice that came out. ‘I stuffed it into her mouth, you dumb bastard, I STUFFED IT INTO HER MOUTH.’

Cornwall leaned away from her, as her breathing became erratic and her chest heaved as she gasped for air. The nurses moved closer, concerned at the state of panic she was in.

‘Take deep breaths, in and out, breathe in, and breathe out, that’s a good girl, I am right beside you, nothing you are telling me disgusts me or makes me not care for you.’

She sighed and slowly her breathing returned to normal. He took hold of her hand and checked her pulse, then gently rinsed out a cloth and began to wipe her face.

‘I am so tired,’ she said quietly.

‘I know, and we will stop now and you can have some nice soup and then a long sleep. You have done very well, you are a good girl.’

Cornwall told the nurses to leave them and brought Lena round from her hypnotic state. She clearly didn’t remember or have a clue what had just happened in the room and told Cornwall that she felt as if she had been out on a lovely walk along a beach on a warm summer’s day. Cornwall said that she had, because that was where he had taken her subconscious mind as therapy for her problems. Lena thanked him and Cornwall said he’d get a nurse to help her to her room, but she was insistent that she make her own way there.

Jackson was on his feet, angrily gesturing towards the window. ‘He can’t fucking stop now – he hasn’t even asked her about her daughter. Jesus Christ, this is not acceptable.’

The door opened, Cornwall entered and came over to Jackson, pushing at his chest. ‘She cannot continue; as I said this will require more sessions, and as you just witnessed the emotional stresses she’s been through have exhausted her.’

Jackson stepped back, jerking his head from side to side.

‘In the meantime, Professor Cornwall, what do you expect us to do? We suspect her of murder, multiple ones at that. Dear God, we just heard her admit to stuffing her dying mother’s mouth with Christ only knows what!’

Cornwall somehow managed to maintain his dignity and control as he said that for him it had been a very positive session, and one that gave him and anyone with any sense of propriety an indication of Lena Fulford’s condition. Clearly her sexual abuse for such a lengthy period, from an eightyear-old to a teenager, had triggered the need to protect herself by forcing her mind to split into multiple identities. Added to the abuse by her father, she had also, he was certain, been encouraged to end her mother’s life. The emergence of the strident identity was covering her deep guilt at what she had done.

Jackson became less aggressive, even slightly apologetic, as he said that he understood, but it still left him with unanswered questions.

‘I can’t bring charges against her for killing her mother – what I have to get clarification on is the reason we are here. I need to know if that poor woman did as we suspect poison innocent people. No matter how sorry I feel for her, we still have not been able to discover if she also murdered her own daughter.’

Cornwall rubbed his eyes and sighed, he was so tired.

‘I will require more sessions, and will obviously allow you to be present, but I cannot at this stage say when I feel she will be able, or in my estimation well enough, to continue. I will require detailed lists of questions you wish to be answered, but as I have just said I cannot give you any confirmation that they will be answered in the near future.’

Jackson, still on edge, asked if he felt Lena could be questioned with a solicitor present. Cornwall gave a resigned sigh and abruptly reminded Jackson she was now his patient and he would not allow her to be subjected to any police interrogation until he was satisfied she was mentally capable of answering as herself.

‘Detective Jackson, just what do you expect me to do? Release her into police custody when she is clearly unfit and requires treatment?’

Jackson shuffled his feet, and looked to Reid.

‘Have it your way, but I will need answers. If you say she will be unfit to answer the allegations against her I will need not just your confirmation but a second medical opinion.’

Cornwall gave a brief nod and walked out, at which Jackson picked up his coat and suggested to Reid they go for a drink. Reid didn’t want to spend any more time in the DCI’s company, but it was impossible to refuse, and they left together.

Sitting in the Nelson’s Arms, which was the nearest countryside pub, with a pint of Guinness each, they found it difficult to even talk to each other. Eventually Jackson muttered that he had never in his entire career had to deal with such a screwed-up investigation. Slurping his drink, he observed it might be easier all round if they just left the case closed, as it had been before Reid’s meddling.

‘But we can’t do that, can we, Vic? We are just going to have to sit with our thumbs up our arse until that pompous shrink gives us the heads-up that she’s not away with the fairies and calling up an army of Christ knows what in her head. It’s beyond belief, and another thing we need to get clarified is who the hell is going to pay for all these sessions he’s intending doing? I mean we are going to have to sort all that out and get some coherent answers for the Commander, never mind the Commissioner, and God forbid she doesn’t walk out of the unit and top a few more buggers off.’

Reid still gave no answer, knowing that Jackson wouldn’t listen anyway, as he appeared more interested in stuffing his mouth with the meat pie he’d ordered. He spat out bits of crust as he continued. ‘It’s going to be a real lesson in diplomacy getting ourselves out of this mess, never mind explaining the overspend on the budget. The way out for a quiet life is to have her deemed unfit to plead, we bury the whole fucking mess and she can rot in the nuthouse where she belongs.’

Reid downed his pint and carefully placed the glass onto the beer mat on the counter. As he had paid for the first round, and the meat pie, he felt he could now leave, but Jackson dug into his arm.

‘Same again, Vic?’

‘No thanks, I’ll get off home. Tomorrow I’ll make out a list of questions that Cornwall can use.’

‘You think we’ll get answers?’

Reid sighed. ‘I’m not like you, sir; what I just witnessed will give me nightmares as I have never experienced anything like it.’ He shook his head. ‘At the same time, no matter how much I pity Lena Fulford, I also feel that her victims deserve justice, and I can’t walk away from knowing what happened to her daughter. If we do get closure and discover that she poisoned Simon Boatly, Harry Dunn, and her husband, that’s three murders, and it’s possible Marcus Fulford was innocent.’

‘They’re fucking dead,’ Jackson snapped.

‘I cannot and will not agree to this case being put to bed. For me, burying it is nothing more than a cop-out.’

Jackson grabbed hold of his coat sleeve and pulled him closer.

‘Maybe it’s not just a suggestion, Vic, but an order. I am up for retirement in six months and I am not going to let this screw my pension, because I am warning you, if this whole shambolic investigation becomes public it’ll be your career blown along with mine. People died because you didn’t read the recipes in the back of the journal at the get-go.’

‘Well, I’ll just have to learn to live with that, won’t I?’ Reid said and eased his arm away. He brushed his coat sleeve down and walked out, leaving Jackson seething and staring into the dregs of his pint.

Back at home Reid sat up most of the night going over the entire investigation. When had Lena Fulford made the decision to poison her so-called enemies? How had she done it, and had she conspired with her husband to kill their daughter? Where was Amy’s body? Buried or dismembered? He underlined this query as being the most important. By the time he was ready to go to bed, all he could think about was what he had seen at Cornwall’s hypnotherapy session with Lena and what Jackson had said about their careers being over.

He slowly ripped up the lists of questions and felt totally and utterly drained, and so tired his head ached. In the morning he would have to complete his report of the search at Lena Fulford’s house. He was ashamed because although he had made a decision that he would make himself available to watch the forthcoming sessions between Professor Cornwall and Lena, in the interim he could do nothing further. It was as if the investigation was as good as over.

Chapter 41

L
ena Fulford had four further sessions, in which her alter personalities were gradually brought to the surface by Cornwall. Only with their protection had she been able to exist as a child and a teenager. For years she was forced to remain under the dominant controlling influence of her sexually abusive father. She had only been released from her torment when he had begun drinking to excess. This was the first time she had started to take control of herself, aided by her ‘army’ of personalities, and she admitted that she had often used some of her mother’s medication, which was left in the house, to doctor her father’s bottles of alcohol. By making him dependent on drink, she had found a small sense of freedom. At university she met Marcus and she had explained in detail how kind and thoughtful he was, never aggressive, but always understanding of her nervousness in having sexual inter course.

Marcus had proved to her that she could be loved without demands and threats and she realized that for the first time in her life she was happy. Her temporary separation from him when she went to Harvard was a severely depressing time and the fact her father accompanied her to America terrified her as she feared that he was seizing the opportunity to once again abuse her. When she returned to the UK and eventually married Marcus it was if she had finally been set free from her father.

Professor Cornwall was slowly reducing the amount of medication, so that they were able to actually have a therapeutic interaction. Lena had remained constantly sweet-natured and friendly with the staff and Cornwall found her delightful, intelligent, and keen to answer truthfully, as if wanting his encouragement to continue to help her understand herself.

She talked of her jealousy of her husband’s relationship with Simon Boatly, and her attempts to dissuade Marcus from seeing him. She recalled meeting him on one particular occasion at his Mayfair flat, but said it was not productive and she behaved foolishly, which she regretted. She became uneasy when describing the birth of Amy, as it triggered feelings of despair, and she added that she had been diagnosed with ‘baby blues’, but nothing seemed to lift her depression.

Cornwall was interested to find out how she had reacted to her father being around when Amy was born. Lena said it sent her on a downward spiral, during which she had become aggressive and abusive. The ‘Boss’ character would emerge to swear, curse and scream and it was this alter who had made her prepare the dosage of hallucinogenic mushrooms to put in her father’s drink when he had visited.

She was calmer as she described the relief when he had died, because it meant Amy was safe from him. She was also safe from him ever telling anyone about their relationship and the fact she had smothered her mother with a washcloth in her mouth.