Twisted (31 page)

Reid was under mounting pressure, as all of this activity had still not brought any further leads, and so he was immensely relieved when DS Lane received a call from Simon Boatly’s lawyers. They had been able to contact Boatly and confirmed that he was out of the country when Amy disappeared, but nevertheless he would be willing to speak to the investigating officers. Boatly had agreed to return to England a week ahead of his schedule, and would make himself available as soon as he arrived. They now had a new mobile phone number for him and an address in Henley where he would be staying.

It was early Monday morning when the forensic tests finally came in. There was a DNA match to Marcus Fulford from semen on the underwear belonging to Justine Hyde, Gail Summers and the prostitute Tanya. There was no DNA from Marcus on any of his daughter’s panties, clothes or bed sheets. A profile from Amy had been raised from the hairbrush in the overnight bag, and matched menstrual blood and faeces on her school cotton knickers.

Reid felt it was dead end after dead end with Marcus Fulford: now there was nothing from forensics to support the idea that he was abusing Amy. Wey had also double-checked and confirmed his alibi for his movements over the weekend Amy went missing. Reid knew the evidence suggested Marcus couldn’t have murdered Amy, but there was still the possibility that she might have run away because she was being sexually abused by him.

As the calls still continued to come, with many apparent time wasters, he was certain that if Amy Fulford were still alive she would have made contact. Even if Amy herself had not wished to come forward, if she were with someone who knew who she was, surely they would have been in touch. An alternative of course was that she had not run away but had been abducted by someone. If that was the case then all the publicity surrounding her disappearance might mean it was too much of a risk for an abductor to keep her alive.

Reid had spoken with Chief Superintendent Douglas who, after much deliberation, had agreed to give him one more day before calling in the murder squad. Reid protested, demanding to know why he couldn’t work the case with his team, but Douglas said he wanted the case cleared up once and for all and it would be done a lot quicker by a bigger, more professional and experienced team from the murder squad.

Now Reid sat in a sullen mood, sifting through the mass of data that had been accumulated, returning to day one in his notes. The good news was that Simon Boatly was at last available and Reid decided he would drive out to speak with him later that morning.

But first he drove to the Fulford house, where Agnes had the front door open even before he’d managed to park. Harry was outside with the Lexus, waiting to take Mrs Fulford to her warehouse.

Agnes rang through to Lena’s office upstairs and then showed Reid into the drawing room, pursing her lips. ‘She is being a bit difficult at the moment,’ she confided, ‘although it’s understandable in the circumstances. It’s good that she found Amy’s journal, as maybe it will help you find out what’s happened to her.’

At that moment Lena walked in and heard what Agnes said, realising immediately that her housekeeper had seen the journal. She had not intended to tell Reid about it, but knew she had to now. ‘Thank you, Agnes, I am quite capable of informing the inspector about the journal.’

Agnes scuttled out, shutting the door. Lena looked rested, and immaculate as ever, as she gestured for him to sit down. Waving her hand, she said that she was concerned about the contents of the journal, but nevertheless if he gave his word that none of it would be made public he could have it.

‘I just need to read it, Mrs Fulford, and I will return it as soon as possible.’

‘I don’t want any copies made. It is a very personal journal and after reading what some of the press are saying about her, describing Amy as a Lolita, it has made me feel very anxious and obviously distressed.’

He gave her a polite nod. She walked out and after a moment returned.

‘Here it is,’ she said, handing him a manila envelope, her name and address printed on it in red. He took it and, eager to leave, moved to pass her. She rested a hand on his arm.

‘I hope you don’t feel that I should not go into work, but I have to deal with finding a replacement for Gail Summers. The stupid girl has left a large consignment for John Lewis in the warehouse and it should have been delivered last week.’

‘I think it is probably best to keep busy,’ he said, thinking it sounded lame under the circumstances.

Her hand still on his arm, she moved closer, looking up at him, and he could see her pupils were enlarged, the dark black making her irises very blue. ‘Has there been anything from the programme? I had hoped you’d call, and all the press – surely someone must know something?’

‘We’re still hoping, but sadly often these programmes create a lot of wasted time, with wretched people ringing in with sick false information, but every call has to be checked out.’

‘How awful that people use such heartbreak to concoct lies.’

He felt uneasy with her being so close and her hand on his arm was awkward. Eventually he gently patted it. ‘Don’t give up hope, Mrs Fulford; maybe we will get a call from someone that has seen her or knows where she may be.’

‘Oh I hope so, the house feels so empty all the time, and I miss her – I cry myself to sleep because it’s been over a week now. Have you ever had a case where a missing girl has been gone for so long?’

She finally moved her hand from his arm, and he lied, telling her that often it had been many months. She held the door open for him and he could not bring himself to say that a murder team would be brought in to review the case, as hope was fading for her daughter to be found alive. He didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but for no one to have seen or talked to Amy since that Saturday afternoon compounded his worst fears that she was dead.

As he left the house Reid gave a brief nod to Harry, who was standing by the Lexus waiting for Lena. Harry was increasingly nervous about the watch he had found in Marcus’s car, as his intention to sell it had faltered after the press release and his unwelcome discovery that it had Amy’s name engraved on it. It was still hidden in a drawer at his home. A Cartier watch would have been a nice little earner, but he was starting to think he should toss it into a skip and get rid of it.

Reid did not open the envelope containing the journal, but drove straight to Henley-on-Thames, feeding into the sat nav the address he’d been given, which was just outside the quaint Thames-side town. He drove along small country lanes, until he branched off into rather a substantial drive with big open gates. The Old Manor was a very elegant two-storey sprawling property with a vast garden and sweeping lawns down to the river at the rear. He drew up outside the white stone steps, which led to a large studded double door with a magnificent stone urn on either side. As he got out of the car a girl on a horse appeared from round the side of a barn and pulled up on the reins.

‘What do you want?’ she asked.

He was about to take out his ID when the front door swung open and a huge dog that looked like a cross between a wolfhound and an Akita hurtled out. It almost knocked Reid off his feet as it bounded on towards the horse and rider.

‘Wally, just behave . . . WALLY!’ the girl shrieked.

She wheeled the horse round as the dog barked and bounded alongside them. A suntanned man wearing a padded velvet dressing gown and slippers appeared at the door and Reid instantly recognized him from photographs at the flat in Mayfair.

‘Mr Boatly, I am Detective Inspector Victor Reid.’

‘Sorry about the dog – totally untrained and an absolute pest. I’ve not been able to take him for a walk yet so he’s a bit boisterous,’ the man said. ‘Come on in, sir, and please excuse the apparel as I intended to get dressed, but I didn’t think you would get here so soon.’

Simon Boatly was at least six feet two, slender, and his hair was bleached blond, while his suntan gave him a rather heavily lined face, with his teeth made whiter than white. He slithered along the polished wooden floor in Moroccan slippers, his ankles a deep tan, and he was obviously naked beneath the velvet dressing gown. It was old-fashioned, worn in places, with a threadbare satin collar, and the sash was frayed at the ends.

‘Right, let’s get you settled and I’ll put some pants on. Go on into the drawing room, help yourself to a drink and I won’t be more than a minute.’

Reid looked round the vast room; massive sofas and easy chairs almost as worn as the velvet dressing gown were dotted around a big stone fireplace. The grate was full of charred logs and cinders, dirty wine glasses were left on an assortment of coffee tables and a grand piano was draped in a Spanish embroidered shawl, the fringe puddling onto the floor. Oil paintings were hung in profusion, cups and plaques arranged on various sideboards, and above the fire mantel was a large gold-framed mirror with invitations stuck to the frame and propped up along the marble shelf.

The scattered Persian rugs were threadbare, with frayed edges, and badly stained. Reid eased himself onto a sofa, but then got up as he felt himself to be too low down. He eventually attempted to sit on a large carver chair, but most of the wicker seat had fallen out. The arms were embellished with wolf heads and were worn to a paler colour of wood than the rest of the chair. The room had a similar feel to the flat in Green Street – old-fashioned, full of antiques and no sign of anyone taking care of it; even the windows were grimy and the draped curtains a pale washed-out green velvet.

It was rather longer than a minute, more like ten, before Simon Boatly returned, now wearing cord slacks and a pale blue pullover, which enhanced his cornflower-blue eyes. He was a very handsome man but with an air of decadence, and a very easy-going manner as he slouched onto the sofa. He had a silk handkerchief that he wafted about, informing Reid it was dabbed in Olbas Oil as, since he got off the plane, he’d felt as if he had combination of jet lag and the onset of flu.

‘I obviously agreed to see you as I am shocked to hear about Amy; first thing I did was call poor old Marcus – he’s devastated, and it is really not a good sign for her to have been missing for so many days.’ He sniffed with the handkerchief covering his nose. ‘Don’t suppose there’s any news?’ He leaned forward. ‘Obviously not or I don’t suppose you would be interested in meeting me, but I can’t for the life of me think if I can give you any kind of insight as to where she might have run off to, or who she might have run off with.’

Reid said nothing, but took out his notebook and flicked it open.

‘How well do you know Amy Fulford?’

‘I wouldn’t even claim to know her. I’ve met her of course as me and Marcus are old mates; we go back a long way and he rents my pad in Green Street. This place used to belong to the same aunt – if it smells musty to you it’s because it’s been locked up while I am away. I’ve just got this elderly local biddy to clean and dust, not that I think looking around she’s very diligent; maybe I’ve got an allergy to dust and not the flu bug that’s apparently going the rounds.’

‘Did you entertain local prostitutes in the Green Street property?’

‘Wow, that is a bit on the nail, isn’t it? I may have done in the past, but I was left that place when I was a youngster. Did you know that one can even get a thing called “Gentleman’s Navigator” for a mobile phone? It can be used in major cities around the world to locate escort girls, strip clubs and even brothels, along with pictures, reviews and the going rate for sex . . . or any kind of erotic pleasure you may desire,’ he said with a smug smile.

‘No I didn’t,’ Reid replied tersely.

‘I used to be a bit of a jack-the-lad, but I can’t say that I have the same active libido, and doing the work that I do gives me a steady supply of lovely models.’

Reid made no notes but he found Mr Boatly a bit over-eager to depict himself as some modern-day Errol Flynn, and the longer and more closely he watched him and listened to the droll upper-class voice, the less he liked him. He constantly flicked at his blond hair, or sniffed at the Olbas Oil on his handkerchief; he still wore no socks and his slippers hung loosely on his tanned feet.

‘How did you get on with Lena Fulford?’ he asked quietly.

‘Well I honestly felt that old Marcus had got lucky – not only was she a beauty but a very keen businesswoman. I mean, he’s hopeless, one job after another. I know he had a sort of goodish job when they married, designer for a wealthy boat yard, or let’s say the customers were wealthy. He would design very elegant interiors, but then I think he sort of had his work cut out as Lovely Lena was quite a handful. I know she never liked me, in many ways she was jealous of our friendship, but it turned out to be more of a mental thing.’ He twisted a finger at his temple.

‘You met them in Antigua?’ Reid asked.

‘Good God, yes I did, two or more years ago, I think. I was on the yacht and visiting friends who were staying at the wonderful Carlisle Hotel. They don’t have water-skiing facilities, and my chaps and I were told not to use their bay, so we were going to move further along the coast and ski there. The yacht had a speedboat on board with jet skis, plus staff, chef and crew.’

‘Did you know the Fulfords were staying at the hotel?’

‘I think I had it lodged somewhere in the brain cells, but it was sort of a coincidence really.’

‘You met Amy there?’

‘Yes I did; we all had lunch and Lena was a bit tetchy as usual. Thing is, you never know with her – sometimes she’s all warmth and smiles, next minute she’s quite nasty, and she refused to allow Amy to come on board the speedboat when I offered to take her water-skiing.’

‘How did Amy react?’

‘Just accepted it, no argument. I think she knew not to start one up with Lena – she’s a very intelligent girl, quiet, sort of watchful, as if she’s an arbitrator between them; anyway, I rejoined my pals and left. I think that is possibly the last time I saw Amy.’

‘She’s never been in touch with you?’

‘Heavens no, and when Marcus mentioned he needed a place it coincided with me getting the photo gig abroad, so I let him rent my old pad.’