Twisted

Chapter 38

It was ten p.m. when her mobile rang and she was unable to tell the caller’s identity as it was withheld. When she answered she did not at first recognize the voice, but then immediately became fully alert.

‘I think we really need to have a private meeting as I have something I want to discuss with you.’

‘Who is this?’

‘It’s Mrs Fulford, Agnes.’

‘I am so pleased you have called, Mrs Fulford, as I have been bereft since I left and feeling really ashamed about what happened,’ Agnes gushed. ‘Mr Fulford’s death must have been heartbreaking for you to have to deal with.’

‘Yes, but I’m keeping myself busy,’ Lena said briskly. ‘I will be in Weybridge tomorrow at a big antiques fair at Sandown; there is a coffee stall not far from the entrance so we can meet there at three. I was wrong in the way I treated you and I want to make it up to you financially.’

Agnes agreed to the meeting and after shutting off the call, shed a few tears of relief. She was certain that she could get her old position back and a large sum of cash – it would be more than she could have hoped for, and she was determined she would make up for her betrayal.

Reid was at his desk by eight, and started the day by calling the school to enquire if they had a forwarding address or contact number for Miss Polka. The headmistress Miss Harrington gave him a mobile number but did not know where Miss Polka had moved to, though she had said she might go travelling abroad. The mobile phone number was no longer active. He contacted his friend Agent Morgan from the National Crime Agency to see if he could give him a heads-up on the whereabouts of a Josephine Polka. Morgan said he needed some more information but Reid told him that all he had was her date of birth, her description and that she might have left the UK any time since the date she finished teaching at the school.

Reid knew that if his theory was correct he would need a search warrant for Lena Fulford’s house. To get one, along with enough officers to carry out the search, he would have to confront DCI Jackson and explain his reasons. This all meant he desperately needed evidence, as everything was still without foundation and his suspicions alone were not enough.

He had arranged to meet Gail Summers at her two-bedroom Putney flat. She was still unemployed and deeply upset by the revelations about and accusations against Marcus Fulford.

‘As far as I’m concerned, Marcus was a marvellous and caring father. He adored Amy and would never have abused her either sexually or violently.’

‘Do you not feel he used you to get what he wanted…?’

‘No, and I don’t deny I was underhand in providing him with Lena’s financial situation, but at the time he was living on benefits and was certain that Lena would attempt to hide her wealth.’

‘Did he say much about his wife to you?’

‘No. It was the other way round. At work Lena was always vitriolic and horrible about him, and would say he was a bad father and role model for Amy. I knew a totally different Marcus and when Lena found out about me it was hideous,’ she informed him. ‘She was very frightening and I was relieved to quit working for her.’

‘When you say she was frightening, describe how she behaved,’ Reid said, conscious that he had up to now excused this side of Lena.

‘Well, phoning me and being threatening and abusive. She said I would never find work and she would make sure I had no recommendation from her when I applied for a job.’

When Reid went to see Justine Hyde at her flat she was equally shocked by the accusations levelled at Marcus and was still coming to terms with the fact he had died. She was adamant that he had never abused his daughter. She had never met Lena, socially or otherwise, but obviously was very aware of her existence as she said that often when she and Marcus were together Lena would make persistent calls to his mobile about Amy and how he let her do what she wanted. He was also certain that Lena was often outside the flat in Green Street, as if she was stalking him. She had met Amy, and like Gail Summers claimed that she had only ever seen a loving and doting father who she believed put his daughter first. Justine also said she was aware that Marcus had a very strong friendship with Simon Boatly, but just how deep the relationship had gone in the past had not been discussed.

‘He was very confident about the divorce, and that he would benefit from it financially, and he wanted Amy to stay with him permanently and not just every other weekend. I was certain Amy wanted to live with him – she never said anything to me about her mother.’

Even though he was beginning to discover more and more about Lena Fulford’s behaviour, Reid was only too aware he as yet had no evidence that she was the author of the journal, or that she had administered poison to the victims. He had no choice but to continue his round of interviews.

He returned to the Harley Street clinic used by Professor Elliot Cornwall. This time he was met at the reception desk by a smiling young woman wearing a short white medical coat and rimless glasses. She stood up to shake his hand.

‘You must be Detective Reid. I am Professor Cornwall’s new assistant and I have to make his apology to you. He has inadvertently been called away on an urgent matter, and asked if you would be able to rearrange the appointment for next week as he is only here three days a week.’

Disappointed, Reid asked if she could contact him and explain that it was very important he see him as soon as possible. She hesitated and checked her watch but then after asking him to wait she went into a room off the reception area. After five minutes she returned and sat at her desk, drew a notepad towards her and wrote down an address and phone number.

‘This is Professor Cornwall’s private address in Chelsea. If it is urgent he could see you later this evening, at eight thirty.’

A meal in the station’s canteen killed some of the waiting time and with still an hour to go before going to Chelsea Reid was just heading into his office when the phone rang.

‘Hi Victor, it’s Andy Morgan from the National Crime Agency. I’ve got some info for you and believe me, it took a bit of digging so the beers are on you next time we meet up.’

‘What you got, Andy?’ Reid asked anxiously.

‘At first I hit a dead end with Miss Polka travelling to Europe, but then I spoke with the UK Border Force who in turn liaised with the FBI. They were able to track Miss Polka from the UK to Florida, and then onto an artists’ group expedition to Peru.’

‘Peru?’ Reid exclaimed.

‘Yeah, she returned and took an internal flight to Texas, and as yet I’ve no further details, but if you want to let me keep going I might get further results. There’s always the problem that she could have hired or bought a car.’

‘Do you know if she was travelling alone?’

‘I can back-track and see who sat beside her on the flights. It will take time, Vic, and the beers are now looking more like a crate of champagne.’

‘Thanks but leave it for now, Andy, and I really appreciate what you’ve done.’

Reid hung up, in some relief that Miss Polka was obviously alive. Thinking about it, as he knew she was a keen artist, her travels made sense.

Parking in the street some way along from where Professor Cornwall lived, he walked back to the elegant property, observing that the professor obviously earned a hell of a lot more than he did. The black and white stone step was immaculate, and the freshly painted front door in a dark shade of maroon had an inlaid frosted-glass window.

The bell rang and as he waited he saw a shadow across the glass, before a very attractive young girl opened the door. She smiled and invited him in, took his coat and folded it over her arm, leading him along a thickly carpeted corridor.

‘My father will be with you shortly. Please sit down, and if you would like a tea or coffee please help yourself as there are flasks on a trolley.’

‘Thank you.’

She gave another polite smile and closed the door behind him. The room was sparsely furnished with wall-to-wall bookcases, a comfortable sofa and a big wingback chair in front of a large decorative fireplace. There were good Persian rugs scattered over the polished pine floor, and numerous watercolours in gilt frames on the walls. There was a low coffee table with Country Life magazines lined up alongside copies of the New Statesman and Private Eye. Although the room appeared to be comfortable there was a rather austere atmosphere and Reid wondered if this was where his private patients waited for their appointments.

He sat in the centre of the sofa, and it was at least ten minutes before Professor Cornwall entered. He was dressed in a dark jacket with pinstripe trousers but had loosened his shirt collar and wore no tie. He was also wearing carpet slippers.

‘Detective Reid, nice to see you again. Sorry to keep you waiting. I hope my daughter offered you tea or coffee?’

‘Yes thank you, but I’m fine.’

‘Probably a good thing as I think the flasks were made up a few hours ago. Perhaps a glass of whisky would be preferable?’

‘Yes, it would thank you.’

Reid watched as Professor Cornwall went to a bookshelf, which swung open to reveal a drinks cabinet. He poured two cut glasses of malt, turned to ask if he wanted water, but Reid smiled and, noticing the bottle, said he would take it neat.

‘Good thinking, it’s very mature and watering it down ruins the liquid gold.’

Cornwall sat in the wingback chair, placing his own glass on a small coffee table beside it.

‘Right, this had better be good, I have had one hell of day with back-to-back appointments, but now I am all ears.’

Reid opened his briefcase and removed the journal in its plastic evidence bag.

‘I sincerely hope I am not wasting your time, but I need to discuss with you my feelings about the contents of Amy Fulford’s journal,’ he began.

‘I have read it, and I can’t see how I can add anything now as your investigation is over and done with – that’s why I never did a full report. I was quite shocked when your DCI Jackson told me the father had murdered the daughter.’

‘I just need to ask your opinion as I have concerns that the case might not have unfolded exactly as you just described it. I am also concerned about who may have written the journal.’

‘Concerned?’ snorted the professor. ‘My diagnosis is, I believe, correct and a clear indication of someone suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder. As you were made aware when we last met, the journal is written by someone who has multiple identities, with each one having a separate set of behaviours and memories. I referred to them as alters, if you recall.’

Reid found him a trifle overbearing, as if he enjoyed the sound of his own voice, but he knew he had to tread carefully and not insult him.

‘You were told that this journal was written by Amy Fulford.’

‘Yes, by you as I recall, Inspector.’

‘She is or was the fifteen-year-old daughter of Lena and Marcus Fulford.’

‘Sadly I am also aware of the outcome and that her father was arrested and about to be charged with her murder when he fell ill and died.’

‘Yes, and unfortunately we have not as yet recovered her body, so although the investigation will continue, to hopefully bring closure, we have found no trace of her.’

‘Yes, yes, I am aware of that, but I am trying to understand what you are here for and want from me.’

‘What if I said that the journal was not written by Amy Fulford?’

‘Pardon?’ The temperature in the room seemed to drop in an instant.

‘I know you were told that it belonged to Amy, but I need to discuss the possibility that it was actually written by her mother.’

‘Her mother?’

Nervously Reid sipped the whisky and coughed before he continued.

‘Amy was highly intelligent, in fact exceptionally so. This would mean that it was perfectly credible that she’d written it, even more so if you were informed that it belonged to her.’

Cornwall stared at Reid, which made him feel even more nervous, and he stuttered slightly as he continued to explain. He mentioned that Lena was diagnosed with bipolar disorder by Miss Jordan, which got a dismissive wave of the hand.

‘Lena Fulford was abused by her father as a child for many years,’ he went on. ‘She was academically brilliant with a first-class Biological Sciences degree from Oxford, and she got a scholarship to Harvard, but due to a nervous breakdown she had to return to England with her father.’ Reid had the unsettling sensation that the Persian rug was being tugged from beneath his feet as Cornwall continued to stare at him.

Cornwall drained his glass and got up to replenish it, without offering his guest a refill. Whether or not he was taking on board everything he was being told was hard to tell, as he showed no reaction.

‘There is also something that we have contained throughout the investigation as we did not want to cause unnecessary panic.’

‘Just a minute, please.’ Cornwall held up his hand. ‘I need to digest what you have been telling me about Mrs Fulford as it seems to me that you are accusing me of making the wrong diagnosis regarding Amy.’

‘No, sir, I am merely asking you to consider an alternative proposition about the author of the journal. I admit to possibly misleading you into believing that the journal was written by Amy, but it was not intentional, and I also think your diagnosis is correct…’

‘For Mrs Fulford, who, if I understand you, is the person you believe has DID.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Even if that is the case, from what DCI Jackson told me all the evidence points to Marcus Fulford abusing and murdering his daughter. So you see the journal may actually be immaterial, even if it was written by Mrs Fulford.’

Reid disagreed. ‘If you look at it all logically there is not a shred of hard evidence, yet it has been accepted that Marcus Fulford murdered his daughter on the afternoon she went missing.’

He was eager for Cornwall to interject, to ask questions, but instead he remained silent, sipping his drink. Reid was starting to sweat under his unflinching gaze.

‘My concerns are that IF it was never Amy’s intention to use the poison, but was instead her mother’s, then far from it being immaterial we have people still at risk, the ones named in the journal as enemies.’

At last Cornwall reacted, raising his index finger and pausing before he spoke.

‘Let me get this right. You originally came to me on the suggestion of Marjory Jordan, correct?’

‘Yes, sir. She read the journal and directed me to you because she didn’t want to break the rules of confidentiality in respect of her patient Mrs Fulford. She’d seen you talk at a conference and said you were one of the most esteemed and experienced men in the field of forensic psychiatry.’

‘But she never at any point implied that the journal was written by Mrs Fulford and not her daughter.’

‘No.’

‘Bloody woman, these amateurs make more trouble for our profession as they rarely if ever know what they are treating, and she should have at least wondered if her own patient was possibly the writer – it beggars belief.’

‘Personally I think she saw Lena Fulford as nothing more than a good money-earner,’ Reid remarked. ‘She said she’d give us free help and advice, but then hit us with a bill for three thousand pounds for treating Mrs Fulford during the investigation. DCI Jackson refused to pay it and she is threatening to take us to the small claims court.’ He wanted to up the ante as at last he was now getting a reaction from Cornwall.

‘Right, let me have the journal.’

Cornwall put out his hand and Reid passed it to him. The professor leaned back, holding it in his hand, as if weighing up the amount of work it would now require.

‘This could be a very long night, Detective Reid. I will go through it page by page and ask you relevant questions. I think we need a fresh pot of coffee and no more of my precious malt.’