Twisted (37 page)

‘Hey, sorry if I scared you but I didn’t think anyone was here. I’m Grant, friend of Simon’s, and he asked me to collect a few things, but if it’s not convenient I can come back.’

She introduced herself and he smiled. ‘I was just leaving and taking Marcus’s suitcase back to the house for him,’ she said.

‘You want me to carry it down for you?’

‘Yes thank you, the first one was quite heavy.’

He picked up the suitcase.

‘How is Simon?’ she asked pleasantly as they headed out onto the landing and started down the stairs.

‘Well he’s not that well actually, got some virus, and he’s in bed; he’s been sick since we returned to England, and he’s on antibiotics but they don’t seem to be helping, plus we’ve had trouble with his dog Wally – he’s a huge wolfhound cross and he just collapsed and the vet thinks he’s not going to last.’

They went out of the front door and she opened the passenger door for him to put the suitcase in the Mini. She noticed he wore a thick denim jacket and jeans and a white polo-neck sweater, and that he was very handsome and suntanned. The suitcase loaded, he put his hand out to shake hers.

‘Nice to meet you.’

‘Do you often come to the flat?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘This is my first time and Simon couldn’t make it so I offered. There’s some photographs he wants and a couple of paintings.’

‘Well, please give him my regards. I suppose you know about my daughter Amy?’

He looked embarrassed. ‘Simon sort of mentioned it, and I didn’t like to say anything. We both hope she’ll be found safe and well; it must be a great worry.’ He was obviously self-conscious, and couldn’t stop gazing into her eyes.

‘It is, but Marcus is moving back in to be with me.’

‘I am sorry if it’s not a good time for Simon to sell the flat, but he makes up his mind about things and I think he’s going to put the Henley property on the market as well.’

‘Really? Well it’s been nice talking to you, Graham.’ She stepped away from him.

‘Grant, my name is Grant.’

‘Oh I am sorry, well don’t let me detain you any longer.’

He walked back towards the house, and then stopped; turning around to see her getting into the Mini, he hurried towards her once more.

‘Sorry, do you mind waiting for one second? I’ve had to park up the road and it’s a ten-minute meter, and I can take this space and bring down stuff easier than having to cart it all the way down the road.’

She wound down the window and passed him the residents’ parking ticket, telling him he could scratch off the day and time and no need to feed a meter.

‘Oh fantastic, thank you.’

She started the engine, waiting as she saw him in the driving mirror running down the road and eventually stopping by a Porsche. He bleeped it open and got in as she started to reverse and pull out from the bay. He took quite a while going backwards and forwards over and over again, but he eventually stopped behind the Mini, waiting for her to drive away. She headed towards the end of Green Street and could see he was still attempting to park as she turned right towards Grosvenor Square. He appeared very young and was obviously a rather inexperienced driver. She wondered if he was a relative of Simon’s but doubted it as he did not have the aristocratic tone. She had no idea that her husband’s closest friend was a homosexual; to the contrary Simon Boatly had always appeared overtly heterosexual with a bevy of glamorous model girls hanging around him. She had never liked him or the hold he appeared to have over Marcus. She thought it was a class thing, and due to his wealth Boatly had been a constant threat to her relationship from the beginning. When they had first all met she had tried to be friendly, even had dinners alone with Simon, but she was always suspicious of his intentions. It gave her some satisfaction that his forcing Marcus to leave the flat, when anyone with any sense of friendship would have wanted to help, proved that she was right in disliking the selfish egotistical extrovert.

Lena drove the Mini home, parking it alongside the Lexus in the garage. She let herself out via the garden door and entered the house, catching Agnes smoking in the kitchen and reading the papers.

‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Fulford, it’s just been such a worrying time. I needed to calm my nerves.’

‘Put it out and use the room spray, and please, Agnes, if you must smoke do it in the garden, and bring in Mr Fulford’s suitcases from the garage.’

Agnes was in a state as she wafted her hands to get rid of the smoke.

‘Shall I put them in the guest bedroom?’

‘No, Agnes, the master bedroom. I’ll be in my office; you can unpack them and take whatever needs washing into the utility room.’

‘Yes, Mrs Fulford, I’ll do that straight away.’

‘Thank you,’ Lena said crisply, pausing at the kitchen door. ‘Take out something from the freezer for dinner before you leave.’

‘Yes, Mrs Fulford, and will Mr Fulford be joining you?’

Lena made no reply and Agnes tipped the cigarette butt from the ashtray into the pedal bin. She rinsed the ashtray under the tap and shoved it into the dishwasher. She was angry at being caught out and the way Lena had spoken to her, muttering to herself, ‘Yes, Mrs Fulford, no, Mrs Fulford, three fucking bags full, Mrs Fulford.’ She went into the utility area, where the big double-door freezer was housed, to get something for the Fulfords’ evening meal. Looking through the freezer shelves, she noticed that a carton didn’t have one of her usual labels on it, and suspecting it must have dropped off, rummaged around for it. She couldn’t find the label and assumed it must have got stuck to the bottom of something else she had already used. Although it looked like a bolognese sauce Agnes couldn’t be sure so she took it to the kitchen with some chicken breasts in white wine sauce and laid them on the draining board to defrost. She wrote a note for Mrs Fulford: ‘Not sure what this is or when made. Will check when defrosted.’

It took her two trips to bring the suitcases in from the garage as they were both quite heavy. Taking them upstairs into the master bedroom, she chucked them onto the bed and began to take out all the contents. Some items she threw onto the floor as they needed washing, such as shirts, pyjamas, socks and underpants; for the rest she had to go into the guest bedroom wardrobe to fetch more hangers. She hung a few jackets, folded numerous sweaters, and a couple of these she felt needed to have a cold-water wash. Amongst them was a dark maroon cashmere with frilled cuffs, but she didn’t really pay much attention as the pile for the laundry was mounting. With her arms full she went downstairs and back to the utility room and began to select items for the first wash.

The huge sink was used for hand-washing and she poured some detergent for woollens and ran the cold water before putting the sweaters in to soak. She held up the soft cashmere maroon sweater and checked the label to see if it was safe to hand-wash; only then did she think that perhaps it belonged to Lena and put it to one side as Mrs F liked her cashmere to be dry-cleaned. She suspected that she would not be able to leave at her usual time as the washing machines and dryers would still be working, so she stuffed what she had not started into the white plastic laundry container. There was no way she was going to stay any longer than necessary, but at the same time she was curious as to why Marcus was moving back in, and into the main bedroom at that, which must surely mean the divorce was on hold. It was something she had never imagined would happen and she couldn’t help wondering if the disappearance of Amy had drawn them back together – with two weeks gone it might mean that they were facing the possibility she might never return alive.

Chapter 27

M
arcus had calmed down considerably. He had been given a mug of tea and a spare blanket as he felt cold, but he still could not stop shivering. He was forced to wait for the arrival of his solicitor, Angus McFarland, a man he had never met, who had called the station to verify that he would be present within an hour.

Harry Dunn had requested the duty solicitor, who was young and inexperienced, but listened attentively as he took notes and spent considerable time questioning Harry, going over his reason for having the Cartier watch in his flat. Harry explained the Fulfords had gone to Richmond Police Station and Agnes had told him to valet the Mini, where he found the watch almost hidden, as if it had fallen between the driver’s and the passenger seat. It had been dirty, as if it had been dropped in mud; he had put it in his pocket with the intention of cleaning it and handing it to Mr Fulford when he next saw him. He maintained that due to the press and the uproar around the missing girl he had forgotten he had it, and then he had left it in the pocket of his jacket and was very concerned he would be accused of stealing it, so chose to say nothing.

By the time he was interviewed by DCI Jackson, Harry was a nervous wreck. Jackson had listened to Harry’s explanation, which was being video-recorded, and then looked to his solicitor and shook his head in disbelief.

‘Bullshit, Mr Dunn. You find Amy’s Cartier watch, you know it’s vital to the investigation, but you hold onto it and say nothing. You think you got lucky, but with the missing girl’s name engraved on the back it’s hard to sell on to anyone, right? You have knowingly held onto evidence with the intention of what – chucking it out? Admit it, you had a hot potato on your hands, didn’t you?’

Dunn gave a long sigh. ‘Agnes had asked me to wash and valet Mr Fulford’s Mini as it was filthy. I don’t deny I found the watch, but at the time I never saw Amy’s name on it. I put it in my pocket to give to Mr Fulford, but with all the stuff about her going missing I totally forgot about it.’

‘So why didn’t you give it to him later?’

‘Because with my record I was worried I’d be accused of stealing it, and under the circumstances I was just going to throw it away.’

‘Ah, but you didn’t, did you! Besides, how could you possibly miss Amy’s name on it?’ Jackson asked and placed the watch, which was in a plastic evidence bag, on the table. He slowly turned it over, revealing the engraved letters.

On seeing it, Harry began to shake. ‘It was dirty and covered with bits of dry mud on it. I wiped it clean at home and saw Amy’s name and in a panic I hid it in a drawer.’

‘What type of mud was on it?’

Harry frowned and then shrugged, saying he didn’t know.

‘Was it reddish, clay, garden mud or—’

‘It was just dirty.’

Jackson stopped the recording, left the interview room and spoke with Styles in the corridor. ‘Dunn’s a lying little bastard, but he’s not a murderer. He thought he’d make a few grand selling the watch. Hold him until I interview Marcus Fulford. After that, Dunn can be released and bailed to return here in two weeks. If there’s no evidence against him regarding Amy’s disappearance, charge him with theft of the watch.’

Jackson made his way upstairs to the incident room, asking if DI Reid had returned, and when told he hadn’t he snapped that he wanted him contacted and told to get his arse back to the station pronto. He had begun to prepare for his interview with Marcus Fulford when Styles returned to say that Reid’s mobile went straight to voicemail so he had left a message for him, word for word as Jackson had instructed.

‘Right, what do we know about this brief, Angus McFarland?’

‘He’s got quite a formidable reputation – he’s Scottish.’

‘Yeah, I fathomed that out by his fucking name. I doubt Fulford will put his hands up if he was abusing or killed his daughter, but we have to put it to him as he’s been arrested. If she’s dead we need to find her body to have any real chance of nailing him.’

In the interview room Marcus Fulford was going over his arrest with Angus McFarland, who was a neat sandy-haired man in his late forties but who looked much younger, with a pinkish complexion and wet lips. He wore a grey suit with a pink shirt and a striped matching silk tie. He had a large briefcase for his files and notebook. He placed his notebook down on the small table and took out a Parker pen, then cleared his throat and checked his wristwatch.

‘They like to keep you waiting, all par for the course. Just stay calm, don’t let them rattle you, and if I touch your arm, you let me do the talking.’

Marcus nodded; he felt unbelievably tired, his body seemed heavy and his head throbbed. He held his hands tightly together, his palms wet as he was sweating with nerves, and he wanted to cry he was so numb from the shock of being arrested. He physically jumped when Jackson barged into the room. He introduced himself to McFarland and then gestured towards his DS.

‘This is Detective Sergeant David Styles, known to everyone as DS because of his initials and his rank obviously.’ If it was an attempt at a joke it fell flat. Drawing out a chair, he sat down, opening a thick file.

Jackson told Marcus the interview would be video-recorded and cautioned him. He was just about to begin when there was a knock at the door; he pushed his chair back and without even an excuse me left the room and saw DI Reid in the corridor.

‘Where the hell have you been, Reid?’

‘I have been with a Professor Elliot Cornwall and he has agreed to assist the investigation. There’s been a development and I—’

Jackson jabbed him in the chest with his stubby finger.

‘Whoever he is, you better have a bloody good reason for not informing me where you were going. You wait until I’m through in there and then see me in my office.’

‘Maybe, sir, you should speak to Professor Cornwall straight away or at least let me tell you what he said.’

‘I have Marcus Fulford in there with his solicitor; when I’m finished he will either be charged with murder or out of here, pending further enquiries. If it’s the latter you’re to blame for a piss-poor initial investigation.’

‘I did inform Chief Superintendent Douglas about taking the journal to an expert and—’

‘He may be senior to me but he’s not running this investigation, I AM! You are hanging onto your career by a thread because of insubordination; you have the journal of Amy Fulford, right? RIGHT?’

‘I did, sir, it’s at the lab for examination, but I have a photocopy for you.’