Twisted

Chapter 36

By seven o’clock Jackson was ordering the team to get together to decide how to handle the situation. Marcus Fulford’s death had become a big issue for the press office and it was fortunate for the team that he had become ill while his solicitor was present, and not found dead in the cell.

The team had cobbled together a timeline of when each victim could have eaten or drunk contaminated food, and they had confirmation that the residue in the brandy bottle contained the remnants of a lethal concoction from a variety of mushrooms, which were still being analysed to identify the exact fungi. The examination had verified traces of the Ink Cap mushroom, which would slowly take effect if alcohol were consumed after ingestion.

Jackson and Reid were finding it impossible to be certain when the poison had been administered, owing to the different times each victim had died and not knowing exactly when the food or drink was laced. However, the dates did match with the period of time Amy Fulford was missing, and now they had the added evidence of the box of marzipan truffles given to the Newmans. They also had a statement from Agnes that she had defrosted a spaghetti bolognese and was going to serve it to Mr and Mrs Fulford, but when they had not eaten it, she had passed it to Harry Dunn who took it home.

They had yet again contacted all the surviving ‘enemies’ in the journal to warn them to be vigilant; however, Agnes Moors was not at home or answering her mobile. Her daughter Natalie said that she too was unable to contact her mother, and that Agnes was so upset she had gone to visit a friend, but did not say who or when she’d be back. Jackson wanted her tracked down, as the last thing he needed was another murder to deal with.

Jackson was unsure whether Amy was still alive, on the run, or had been murdered by her father, but reckoned that if she was alive it might be worth trying to lure her out into the open. He decided to issue a press release worded to imply that Marcus Fulford had murdered his daughter, and that they were no longer looking for a suspect in her disappearance. Admittedly they had no body but it would not be the first murder inquiry to never recover its victim.

Reid had the distinct impression Jackson was also trying to bring the case to a close, and that if Amy didn’t surface, or her body wasn’t found after a month or so, he would shut the investigation down. While he didn’t want to question Jackson’s judgement, Reid worried that if the information about the poison was to surface it could be alleged that the police had deliberately misled the public. He left the station feeling depressed, and in some way appalled that without any real confirmed evidence Marcus Fulford would be named as the man who had killed his own daughter.

Once home he opened a bottle of scotch, mulling over the entire investigation, and tormented by the guilt of not contacting Deirdre. Finally he rang her mobile. She told him that Miss Jordan had informed Lena of Marcus’s death and she had been inconsolable, screaming, sobbing and suffering another panic attack. It had taken considerable time to calm her, but after a sedative they had left her alone in her bedroom to sleep. However, ten minutes later she appeared in the drawing room, started swearing and shouting and insisted on playing the piano.

Deirdre was shocked at such bizarre behaviour, but Miss Jordan maintained if it was her way of releasing the pain they should let her get on with it. Eventually the sedative kicked in and Lena was helped to her bed by Miss Jordan.

By this time Deirdre really felt her nerves could not take much more. She told Reid she was no longer willing to stay at the house and pointed out that as a Victim Support worker she was not obliged to do so in the first place, and had only offered to help him out of the kindness of her heart. Reid tried to persuade her to stay another night, but she refused and said she was leaving and that was that. Reid spoke with Marjory Jordan, who she said she could not stay overnight and that it was his responsibility to find someone to be with Lena.

Reid phoned Barbara Burrows. She was at home and had just had a hot relaxing bath, and was about to have some dinner.

‘Hello, sir, how are you?’

‘Fine, thanks. I really need your help with Mrs Fulford, Barbara.’

‘What can I do for you?’

‘She’s taken the death of her husband very badly and the Victim Support lady has had to leave and Marjory Jordan is busy so I…’

‘Need someone to sit with her?’

‘You’re a star, Barbara. I knew I could rely on you,’ he said, assuming her question was a positive answer.

She wasn’t actually that keen on going over to Lena Fulford’s as she’d hoped to have a relaxing evening, but she did have a soft spot for Reid.

‘I’m happy to be of assistance, sir, and chuffed that you asked me to help out.’

‘It should only be for a couple of days as Jackson seems intent on bringing closure to the inquiry.’

‘But surely he can’t shut the case down – won’t they still at least search for Amy’s body?’

‘Yes, that will obviously be continued. There have been many murder investigations where the victim’s remains have not been discovered for months, even years.’

‘If it’s Jackson’s decision, he should speak to Mrs Fulford and not lumber it on you.’

He sighed, knowing that would never happen, as he put down the phone. The discovery of the maroon sweater last worn by Amy was basically the lynch-pin of the investigation, proving that the girl must have returned to the flat her father was renting. No matter what angle he looked at it from, it was difficult to see who else would have placed it there if not Amy herself. He had the statement from Justine Hyde, Marcus’s girlfriend, that he had been with her from about five thirty after the football match. If Fulford had killed Amy before the football match, Reid wondered, would he have even bothered to go to the game and then straight to Justine’s flat? Reid knew that Boatly had a key to the Mayfair flat. But it had been confirmed that he was still abroad on the day Amy went missing. He wondered, had Amy’s watch simply fallen from her wrist one weekend when she was in the car rather than from her dead body?

The unanswered questions went round and round in his head, until in frustration he began to jot down each one and underline it. Another scenario he mulled over was that if Marcus had found out that his daughter was making a hit list of people she wanted to poison, was that a possible reason for a violent argument that resulted in her death?

Even in his exhaustion he forced himself to think back through all the interviews, the mass of statements taken, his trips back and forth to the house in Henley and his original meeting with Simon Boatly. He next moved on to the times he had been to Amy’s school, the meetings with Miss Polka and the headmistress, as well as his interview with the school matron. As far as he was able to ascertain, there was never any single mention of Amy showing signs of abuse by Marcus. Miss Polka had owned up to a sexual relationship with Amy, but Amy herself had never said anything about being abused by her own father – the only abuse uncovered so far was the unpleasant bullying on Amy’s Facebook page. Yet the findings at Marcus’s rented flat were construed by Jackson as confirmation that Amy was sexually abused, but there was no forensic evidence of his DNA on Amy’s underwear or bed sheets.

It was almost four in the morning, and his head was throbbing from concentrating for so many hours, along with the half bottle of scotch he’d consumed, but he refused to call it quits. When did Amy prepare the poison? When did she pre-plan the infusion of it in the brandy, the truffles and the bolognese that was originally in the deep freeze? Did it take months of preparation, and where did she learn how to break down the mushroom spores to turn the poison into liquid for the brandy? Although her biology and history essays made references to poison mushrooms, the question was, when and where did she collect the mushrooms and how did she know the exact measurements? His list of queries got longer and longer, and now, unable to question Marcus Fulford, he began to accept the conclusion, rightly or wrongly, that Amy’s murder happened on the Saturday she disappeared, and the subsequent poisoning and death of her victims was a tragic outcome of a plan that had already been set in motion.

There were only two journalists sitting in a car by the gates sipping coffee when DCI Jackson and Chief Superintendent Douglas drew up at Lena Fulford’s house the next morning. Barbara Burrows opened the front door and reported that Mrs Fulford had slept through the night without any incident, and was still dressing but should be down shortly.

They had to wait fifteen minutes before Lena came into the drawing room. She looked pale and drawn but had dressed smartly, wore makeup and her hair was swept up into a pleat. They both expressed their sympathy for the loss of her husband and said that they also now felt he was responsible for Amy’s death.

‘Did he admit it?’ she asked, barely audible.

‘We did not have the opportunity to question him in depth as he fell ill during the interrogation, but he could give no explanation as to why your daughter’s sweater was found in the flat he rented from Mr Boatly,’ Jackson told her.

She at last looked up, her incredibly blue eyes wide and unblinking. ‘Do you believe that he was sexually abusing Amy?’

The normally blustering DCI was sweating as he said, as diplomatically as he could, that there was no direct or forensic evidence of the abuse, but the telltale signs, like the peephole they had uncovered in the flat, led them to believe that it was a strong possibility.

There was an awful silence as she slowly looked up again, her eyes were brimming with tears.

‘I’m deeply sorry, Mrs Fulford, but my experienced and professional opinion is that Amy won’t be coming home,’ Douglas said, feeling it wouldn’t be right under the circumstances to use the term ‘murdered’.

Jackson found it hard to meet her eyes. ‘We won’t give up looking for Amy, but you need to understand we may never find her body.’

Douglas glared at Jackson, annoyed with his choice of phrase at such a delicate time. Lena straightened her back, sitting fully upright.

‘Thank you for kind words of sympathy, but I would like to be left alone, so I can come to terms with the fact my beloved daughter will never be coming home, as I had hoped and prayed. I feel totally and utterly numb, and at the same time I have a terrible sense of guilt that I ever trusted Marcus and loved him to such an extent I did not protect my daughter.’

Driving back to the station, Chief Superintendent Douglas asked Jackson if he felt Mrs Fulford was drugged, as he had never in his entire career come across a woman who had been able to deal with such wretched and heartbreaking facts with hardly any trace of emotion.

‘Maybe she’s simply no emotion left after the events of the last few weeks. Also Burrows took me to one side and told me she had taken quite a few sedatives,’ Jackson replied, somewhat relieved that his ordeal was over.

‘Right, well let’s hope she doesn’t forget everything we told her because I don’t fancy going through that again. Her being so quiet, so calm, it made me feel worse than I have ever felt before… I just think God help her when the reality takes over because she’s still in denial…’

After the press release the interest in the Fulford case palled. For the journalists it was case closed, and they no longer rang or waited outside the Fulford house. Marcus Fulford’s body was released for burial, the death certificate giving the cause as organ failure, and Lena arranged the funeral at Putney crematorium with only a handful of mourners present. Lena herself did not attend the service, claiming she was too distressed, and wished to be left alone to grieve for her daughter.

DC Burrows had offered to stay with Lena for a few days but she said she’d prefer to be on her own. Barbara had even suggested that she call by or ring her every few days, just to see how she was or if there was anything she needed. Miss Jordan had monitored Lena and although she had not requested any further appointments, she had promised to take her medication on a regular basis. Lena also told Miss Jordan that she was going to concentrate all her energies into her businesses as she had neglected them. There had been a lot of confusion and poor decisions and her finances were in disarray but she wanted to regain all her customers and take on new staff to work in the main office.

Agnes Moors never heard a word from Lena, but did worry about inadvertently bumping into her. She had been interviewed for various housekeeper positions, but without a recommendation from her last employer, she found it difficult to get an interview. The fifteen thousand she had been paid for the newspaper article was disappearing fast. She had written numerous letters to Lena, asking her to understand that she meant no harm and regretted what she had done, and was just asking for a reference so she could get a job. They were all to no avail, and she never got a reply. She was now seriously considering taking Lena to a tribunal and sent her a letter to this effect.

On receiving the letter, Lena felt sick with anger and tore it to pieces. She would have to think very carefully about what she should do about it, as it was an obvious blackmail threat. The last thing she wanted was for the wretched woman to contact the press as she had done previously. She herself obviously had more than enough money to pay her former housekeeper off, but to write a glowing CV would be too much like twisting the knife.

Sitting at her desk, Lena began to compose a letter to Agnes, but she kept tearing it up and starting again. Eventually she decided that she would have a face-to-face meeting with her, but would need to make arrangements first because she would have to be very careful.

She physically jumped when the landline rang and she hesitated before answering. It was a relief that it was DI Reid calling to see how she was, and if Simon Boatly’s lawyers had been in contact with her.

‘No they haven’t. Why do you ask?’

‘It appears that Simon Boatly has left your husband three million pounds.’

She was totally shocked and said nothing.

‘Are you there, Mrs Fulford?’

‘Yes. Are you sure about this money?’

‘It may be best that you contact Mr Sutherland, Mr Boatly’s solicitor, yourself. I haven’t got his details to hand but the office is in Kensington and the address and phone number is on the internet.’

As soon as Reid finished the call she was straight on the computer to get Sutherland’s office number. She spoke firstly with the office clerk, who was not fully aware of the inheritance as the office dealt with so many wills. Lena explained that her husband Marcus had been left a large sum of money in the will of a Simon Boatly, who was one of their clients, and that Marcus had died shortly after Simon, but that his will was made some time ago, and everything was to be left to her should he die. The clerk asked if they had any children as they might also be beneficiaries. Lena didn’t want to go into chapter and verse about Marcus murdering Amy, and how she had poisoned him, so simply said that they had a daughter Amy, but she had died recently.

‘Well everything sounds in order, but of course we would need to see Mr Fulford’s will.’

‘Certainly, the original is still with my solicitors and I know he had a copy,’ Lena said, thinking it highly unlikely Marcus would have made another will since they separated.

‘Let me just get the file out so I can have a quick look at the exact clauses.’

A few seconds later the clerk came back on the phone and said he’d found the file.

‘So with Marcus being deceased, and his will leaving everything to me, then I should be the natural beneficiary of Marcus’s bequest from Mr Boatly?’ Lena said.

‘Unfortunately that doesn’t appear to be the case as-’

‘What do you mean, unfortunately-?’

‘Please let me finish, Mrs Fulford. Mr Boatly stipulated a clause that Marcus had to be divorced to receive the money, therefore his bequest in the will is null and void. I am very sorry and please accept my sincere condolences at the loss of your husband and daughter.’

She slammed the receiver down and muttered angrily, ‘Fuck you, FUCK YOU!’

Lena took stock for a few moments but then began to wonder if she could contest the will on the grounds that she and Marcus had been about to be divorced. She went to the guest-room wardrobe and took out Marcus’s holdall, unzipping it to find it was full of papers and letters, old files and tax returns. She tipped everything onto the floor and began to search for the copy of his will, but instead of being able to concentrate on the job at hand she began to feel a terrible all-consuming weight of sadness. It was truly a pitiful array of his belongings. There were bundles of letters tied with elastic bands, some so old they were worn and torn and she sat on the floor opening one after another. Love letters from her to Marcus when they had first met, and letters from Amy to him, along with postcards and birthday cards, and numerous florid letters of adoration for Marcus from Simon Boatly. She knew more than ever now that Simon Boatly had always been trying to persuade Marcus to leave her. The letters to Marcus from Amy in her familiar looped childish handwriting made her break down in tears. Sweet, loving letters explaining how much she missed him, and some proudly describing her exam results.

Lena carried all the letters in a small plastic container into the garden, crossing the small path that led to the garage across the flagged paving stones towards the rear of the walled garden. She hopped from one paving stone to another as if playing a child’s game of hopscotch. The fir trees and the dense bushes hid the section of the garden that had once been a Victorian vegetable patch, where the old greenhouses, once used to cultivate lettuce and tender vegetables, still stood, although most of the glass panes were broken, and the interiors overrun with weeds and ferns. One part of the ground was blackened from the gardeners burning rubbish and the dark damp ground beside it nurtured the growing bed of mushrooms.