Twisted (58 page)

‘You remind me of my daddy.’

Cornwall injected the sedative then checked her pulse; he asked if she could hear him, but she simply stared at the wall. There was no response, she was retreating, and it was evident as she slowly closed her eyes, totally silent, falling into a druginduced stupor.

Reid watched as the nurses opened the door and wheeled in a gurney, gently placing her onto it, and after a while wheeled her out of the room. Cornwall remained seated. Lena’s last words had affected Reid deeply and he got up to switch off the monitor.

As he did so the professor appeared through the viewing-room doorway, then came in and poured himself a cup of coffee.

‘I fear that any further sessions about poisonous mushrooms, Amy, or anything to do with the investigation could be counter-productive,’ he sighed, sipping from the cup in exhaustion. ‘My honest opinion is I doubt she had anything to do with her daughter’s disappearance and she will never be deemed fit to stand trial.’

‘Do you think she was poisoning Amy?’

‘Well you heard what she said about giving Amy enough to make her sick. I suspect she used exactly the same MO as on Serena with truffles or similar. If it had been going on for a while then there appears to be no intention to kill Amy, and it’s highly unlikely with her knowledge of poisonous mushrooms she’d get the dosage wrong.’

Reid realized that it was indeed highly unlikely that Lena had killed Amy. To his mind it was also highly unlikely that Marcus had done so either, and it seemed more and more evident that Amy had simply run away from the maelstrom of madness surrounding her school and family life.

‘So what happens now?’ he asked Cornwall.

‘Mrs Fulford will be treated by the resident psychiatrists from now on; they will not question her about her past as the aim will now be to teach her to control her demons. I don’t think she will ever rid herself of Dissociative Identity Disorder, and she is borderline schizophrenic; her history of self-harming and suicide attempts will mean she will require round-the-clock monitoring, and it will need to be here in a secure surrounding.’

‘She said at the end that you reminded her of her father.’

Cornwall pursed his lips and turned away. ‘I heard it, and you have witnessed what abuse can do, and no matter what Lena has become, no matter what she has done, her father destroyed her, and I believe it will be impossible for her to survive without her army of protectors.’

Reid was left with little alternative but to drive back to the station and write up an extensive report for DCI Jackson. There was no kind of satisfaction in it; in the end the outcome was virtually as Jackson had wanted. As far as anyone knew, Marcus Fulford had murdered his daughter and disposed of her body. The case would remain on file, with the hope that one day Amy Fulford’s remains would be discovered.

Try as he might, over the days and weeks that followed, Reid could not rid himself of what he had witnessed between Professor Cornwall and Lena Fulford. It was almost a relief when he was put on indefinite sick leave after being diagnosed with emotional stress by the police psychiatrist. Although Jackson had taken him to one side and said he’d keep quiet about Reid missing the poison recipes at the back of the journal, he still felt an overwhelming guilt that he was in some ways to blame for the deaths of Simon Boatly, Harry Dunn and Marcus Fulford.

He had recurring nightmares, and even social interactions with friends became difficult to handle. After two weeks he had contacted Professor Cornwall to ask if there had been any new development in Lena Fulford’s condition, only to be told that she had regressed into a virtual catatonic state and remained segregated from the other patients. Considering her crimes, the professor felt it in some ways eased her existence. Reid kept his feelings to himself, and resolved to try and put the whole Fulford case behind him, but often Lena’s voice would come back to haunt him. Remembering how she had lifted her arm towards Cornwall, ‘You remind me of my daddy’, and the passages in the journal headed ‘Daddy’.

Two months of rest made him feel more like his old self. He bought a bicycle and would spend hours cycling to parts of the country he’d never visited before and staying in small B&Bs. He did not relish the idea of returning to work and DCI Jackson had thwarted any hope of him ever working on a murder squad again. He also feared that he would never now be promoted beyond his current rank and might even be put back to uniform duties. Even if the latter wasn’t the case, he was not particularly happy about the prospect of more Missing Persons cases. He started to look round for possible career moves, even contemplating going back to an estate agency. He surfed the web for ideas and every now and again he bought
The Times
to check out possible alternative employment advertisements . . .

It was noticing a small advertisement while skimming for the situations vacant pages that jolted him. It appeared that Simon Boatly’s solicitors were still attempting to trace heirs to his estate. He read that anyone with information regarding the family of Simon William Henry Boatly should make contact as it could be to their benefit. Intrigued, he put in a call, only to be told they could not divulge any particulars over the phone, but if he wished for more information he could make an appointment. Against his better judgement he arranged to meet them, and without any need to hide his motives, told them immediately that he was there simply out of interest as he had worked on the investigation into Mr Boatly’s death.

They informed him that there was a considerable amount of money left to Boatly’s heirs and that a sum of three million pounds had initially been bequeathed to Marcus Fulford. Reid said he was aware of that fact, but was surprised to be told that Simon Boatly had stipulated Marcus only got the money if he was divorced from Mrs Fulford before he died, thus that part of the will was null and void and not even Mrs Fulford was entitled to the money, though she had rung and asked if she was. Reid was shocked at this revelation and asked if anyone else had made enquiries about the will. The lawyer said they were still trying to track down other distant relatives and friends who had been left large sums of money but without much luck, though they had recently had an enquiry that might prove positive and were waiting for further instructions.

‘May I ask who made the enquiry?’

‘It was a very brief call and they didn’t actually give a name.’

‘Did they say where they lived?’

‘Mexico.’

‘When was this?’

‘Two weeks ago.’

Reid chewed at his lips. ‘So whoever it was, you think that person is related to Simon Boatly?’

‘Not necessarily; this was an enquiry regarding the monies left to Mr Fulford – perhaps I should have informed you that we are also taking care of his estate. When he came to enquire about Mr Boatly’s will he asked that we handle his affairs as he was a very close friend for many years.’

Reid could feel a knot tighten in his stomach; his head was reeling as he asked if the caller was male or female.

‘She was female. I said that for us to release any monies someone would have to prove they are the selfsame person as the one named in the will, and produce evidence, such as a birth certificate or passport.’

‘What was her accent like?’

‘English, well spoken, but don’t ask me where from as I’m useless with accents.’

‘But the call was definitely from Mexico?’

‘Mexico City to be exact. I was curious and dialled the number back and it was a business line to a jewellery store. I speak a little Spanish and they said they had no information as to the caller. I think they were more dubious about who I was and why I was calling. Anyway, I didn’t pursue the matter.’

Reid returned to his flat with the jewellery store phone number, and lost no time in ringing Agent Morgan at the National Crime Agency.

‘Can you do me another big favour, Andy?’

‘Tell me what it is first, Vic.’

‘I’m still attempting to trace Josephine Polka and wondered if you could ask your contact in the FBI to check out if she landed or is known to be in Mexico City.’

‘I’ll do what I can.’

‘I’m getting close, Andy, I know I am. I’ve got a Mexico City phone number and wondered if you could get an address for it.’

‘No problem. Email me everything you need and the number and I’ll get straight on to it.’

Reid couldn’t sleep; it could be a wild goose chase but something kept urging him to trace Josephine Polka and he was certain she could provide him with the answers. If he was wrong, so be it, but his intuition was telling him he had finally stumbled on finding out the truth behind Amy Fulford’s disappearance.

Chapter 42

S
an Carlos is a subdivision of the port city and municipality of Guaymas, in the northern desert state of Sonora, Mexico. A six-hour drive from the United States, and with a population of only seven thousand people, it is noted for the exceptional clarity and warmth of the ocean water in its shallow bays along the Sea of Cortez.

The vast Sonoran Desert outside San Carlos was the location used to film the 1970s movie
Catch-22
. The parts of the set that had survived were clearly visible, but what was most striking was the incredible expanse of sand. It was rumoured that the director would only film between three and six in the evening, to ensure he always had the exact same light conditions. Some people, but not many, have made the two-mile journey into the Sonoran Desert to sit, watch and experience the brilliance of the sun’s glow on the mile upon mile of empty sand. The views of the sun in this desolate area were almost beyond description, the orange glow as it rose in the morning as if balanced on the horizon, then come sunset it slowly retreated beyond the horizon in azure-blue colours that created the illusion of an ocean across the soft undulating sand.

Jo Polka had first visited the Sonoran Desert years ago when she was deeply in love with her then-partner. She had watched her take hundreds of photographs, including many of her lying in the soft sand, with only the line of the vast sky to interrupt the golden desert. She had dreamed about returning, conjuring it up in her mind many times, and had even painted it from memory when she was in England. After her lover found another woman to pose and sleep with, and rejected her, she was heartbroken. Jo had never wanted to return to Sonora, or at least not until six months ago when she finally desired to see for herself the reasons why her lover had found such artistic inspiration in the desolate spot. It is true that time heals, and for her at last it had. She never believed it would be possible to form a loving and deeply committed relationship with anyone other than the woman who had in the end betrayed her. That was no longer in her thoughts, because she had found love. It was complicated when she stopped to think about her reasons for wanting to return. It was not out of hurt, but more out of a need to experience for herself the same incredible power of the Sonora sands.

They had been together in the tiny Mexican village for six months, but choosing to remain in seclusion from the outside world they used no computers, no mobile phones and no television. They read and talked and painted and only occasionally did Jo use the ancient Land Rover to drive into the nearest town to buy any supplies they needed. The rented a stonewalled, whitewashed cottage that had long since been left empty by the previous owners and was now their home. It had become their sanctuary, their healing place, with a plentiful stock of oil paints and canvases. No electricity, just oil lamps, candles and an open-fire cooking range with a simple grid, and an old barbecue outside which was where most of the cooking was done. Fresh food was a rare treat, so they existed mostly on simple meals of rice dishes and tortillas. They financed themselves at first from Jo’s savings, but when those ran out, it became necessary to travel to Mexico City. They never travelled together, it was always Jo catching the run-down bus and spending twenty-four hours away as she carefully chose which jeweller’s would be the most trustworthy. She never used the same people, calculating that the more the items were broken up the less likely they ran the risk of suspicion. She knew she was being offered low prices, but foremost in her mind was always the need to protect their safety. However, the tiara posed a real problem. They discussed it endlessly; intact, it was perfect, even though the individual stones could have fetched a good price on their own. Finally they agreed it was too beautiful to dismantle. On this occasion Jo thought it necessary to go to a more upmarket antique jeweller’s, one which, judging from its window displays, dealt with finer and more costly items.

Showing the tiara to the dapper Mexican, who spoke some English, Jo explained slowly that it had been a family heirloom, and the value had to be in the region of two hundred thousand dollars. She was taken aback that he never queried her asking price. He said the stones were of exceptional beauty and were rose diamonds, the centrepiece being an astonishing four carat which had been set in platinum with gold inlay. He asked that she leave the tiara with him so he could get his friend to look at it for a second opinion and valuation.

Jo was no fool and refused to leave it in his possession, but said she’d wait until his partner arrived. She was taken into the back room of the elegant shop, and given coffee while they waited for a José Hernandez to arrive. The back of the shop had a small yard and barred iron gates, which she stared at in the heat of the day until Hernandez drew up in a new BMW convertible. He was wearing a white suit and pale blue shirt with a flamboyant necktie; he also had a heavy gold and diamond ring on his little finger. He spoke perfect English and when his partner explained why Jo was there he was extremely eager to see the tiara. He immediately said it dated from the 1920s and then took his time with an eyeglass, inspecting every single stone. Jo found it intensely nerve-wracking, and she was sweating and beginning to think she had made a big mistake in not doing as they had done with all the other pieces and splitting the stones to sell one by one.