Twisted (35 page)

He had expected some reaction – denial, even tears, but she remained impassive, staring at him.

‘So, Mrs Fulford, I am asking you, and now is the time to tell me the truth, I believe your daughter is a very disturbed young woman who is sexually permissive and—’

Lena stood up, interrupting him. ‘I have told you the truth; you are describing someone else, not Amy. Please don’t treat me as some brainless idiot. You have not for one moment considered what it means to me to be told a murder team are now running the investigation. You think she has been murdered, is that right? THAT IS RIGHT, ISN’T IT?’

‘In my job, Mrs Fulford, we deal in facts,’ Jackson said confidently. ‘It is not what I think, but the facts are your daughter has been missing for almost two weeks. We have had no sighting of her that gives us a clue as to where she could be, so I have to consider that she might have been abducted. If you have any doubts about any person who you think might have been involved then I need names. All I’m asking is that you give it up to me.’

She stood in front of him and her mouth formed into a thin tight line. ‘Give it up to you?’

She folded her arms. Jackson in all his years in the force had never come across a woman like her. The fragility had gone; she was like steel and her beautiful face looked ugly and vicious. It was the way her mouth turned down, as if she was gritting her teeth.

‘I have given DI Reid everything I possibly can, and I find your attitude unsympathetic and painfully brutal. If your intention is to force me to falsely implicate someone close to me in Amy’s disappearance then you are sorely mistaken in me. This really is most distressing.’

‘Time is of the essence, Mrs Fulford. All I am attempting to do is find answers, and I apologize if I upset you by giving you distressing details.’

‘You have implied that my daughter is a prostitute – just exactly how do you expect me to react? I do not believe a word of it. She is fifteen years old, for God’s sake.’

Jackson gave a shrug of his shoulders. ‘No matter how distasteful, I’m telling you the truth. Now let me ask you again: if you have any suspicions regarding close members of your family or associates whom I should question, please tell me. I assure you it will be treated with the utmost discretion and without prejudice.’

‘Are you implying my husband?’

‘I don’t know, you tell me.’

‘Have you read Amy’s journal?’

Lena mistook Jackson’s puzzled look as one of confirmation. ‘Detective Reid gave me his word that no one else would read it.’

Jackson was taken aback as he had no record of any journal in the files from DI Reid. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mrs Fulford.’ He glanced towards his DS, who shook his head.

‘It’s written by Amy, and if you are now taking over the investigation then you have my permission to read it, but I want it returned as soon as possible.’

The fragility returned and she was obviously having difficulty controlling her emotions when, to his astonishment, she began to sway and struggle to breathe, flapping her hands as she took gasps of breath. Quickly he went to her side and his DS rushed to help him guide her to sit down.

‘Bag, get me a paper bag,’ she spluttered and became even more incapable of catching her breath as he realized she was having a panic attack.

The DS ran to the kitchen and informed Agnes, who hurried in with a brown paper bag and handed it to Lena. She covered her mouth and nose with the open end and breathed in and out deeply.

Gradually the panic attack subsided and she sat back, leaning against the cushions on the sofa. She closed her eyes and Jackson decided it would be best to give Mrs Fulford some space.

Jackson went with his DS to speak with Harry Dunn. Agnes showed them where the garage was and, returning to assist Mrs Fulford, found her walking unsteadily in the hall. She was ashen-faced and shaking but no longer short of breath.

‘Let me help you upstairs to your bedroom.’ Agnes reached out to put an arm around Lena, but she recoiled and moved away.

‘Leave me alone, just leave me alone.’

Agnes watched her climbing slowly up the stairs; she could hear her crying and for the first time she actually felt compassion. She had been unable to hear the conversation as the doors to the sitting room had been closed. She wondered if the reason for Lena’s panic attack had been the possibility they had found a body or evidence that suggested Amy had been murdered. She quietly followed Lena upstairs, keeping her distance, as she wanted to make sure she made it safely to her bedroom. At a knock on the front door she turned back and opened it. DCI Jackson told her Harry was not in the garage or outside in the garden. She realized he must be in the kitchen and they found him having a coffee and Penguin biscuit.

Jackson asked Agnes to leave, but on closing the kitchen door she decided to listen. She could hear Harry explaining about the boxes they had taken and him being questioned about cleaning Mr Fulford’s car. She heard him say that Agnes had told him to valet-clean the Mini as it was in such a filthy state. ‘Little bastard’s putting me right in it,’ she thought.

Lena sat on the edge of her bed. She suspected Agnes had been trying to listen at the sitting-room door. She had read in Amy’s journal about her hatred of Agnes and had started to monitor her herself, noticing just how intrusive she was around the house. It had never really interested her before, but now it did, and she was becoming irritated by seemingly inconsequential things, like how everything had to be in a straight line and the fridge was full of plastic cartons of meals with handwritten sticky labels on them detailing the date and contents.

The phone rang, and it made Lena physically jump. She was about to answer when the red light came on and she knew Agnes had picked it up. After a moment her phone rang again.

‘Mrs Fulford, it’s your husband.’

She sat on the edge of the bed, peering at the lights on the phone, wanting to make sure Agnes put the receiver down, worried the woman would attempt to listen in on the call.

‘Lena? It’s me, Marcus,’ he said and still she waited for the phone light to go out.

‘Are you there?’

‘Give me one good reason why I should talk to you after what you did to me with Gail,’ Lena said in a distressed voice.

‘Because right now we need each other more than ever. Gail means nothing to me, she never did. She offered to get the bank documents and I stupidly agreed, and for that I am truly sorry.’

‘I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for being so underhand, Marcus.’

‘I accept that, but right now I need your help.’

‘Why, what’s happened?’

‘I’ve just had Simon’s lawyers on to me, he wants to sell Green Street and they have asked me to leave.’

She said nothing and he asked if she was listening, but she still said nothing.

‘Sweetheart, I have no place to stay, and I was wondering if I could come to yours; I’ll sleep in the guest bedroom. Lena, please?’

There was another pause before she agreed and started to tell him about the visit of DCI Jackson, but Marcus was unable to make much sense of what she was saying as she began to sob uncontrollably. He said he would be at the house as soon as he could get there and cut off the call.

Lena lay back sobbing, still holding the receiver, unable to deal with what Jackson had told her. Amy was her precious baby, her beautiful perfect little girl; the disgusting things Jackson had said were lies, all horrible lies, and she couldn’t understand why they had told her such hideous things.

Reid had gone straight to the lab first thing that morning with the journal. Once there he had two more copies made, one for Professor Elliott Cornwall and one for DCI Jackson. He had already phoned Cornwall, explained the circumstances of Amy’s disappearance and the existence of the journal. Cornwall said he could see Reid at ten a.m., but could only spare about half an hour as he had patients to attend to.

Reid took the original journal to the fingerprint section where he spoke with John Reardon, who was the forensic scientist in charge. He briefed him about the investigation and importance of the journal.

‘It would be better to get a document examiner to look at it first before we start treating it,’ Reardon said.

‘Why?’

Reardon looked surprised by Reid’s remark. ‘The different handwriting styles – the Questioned Documents section can look at them and compare them against known samples of Amy Fulford’s and tell what is or is not her writing.’

This was something Reid had not considered; in fact he’d never had the need to use a handwriting expert before. He felt somewhat embarrassed about his lack of forensic knowledge.

‘There’s some cards written by Amy in the envelope in the plastic evidence bag containing the journal.’

Reardon shook his head. ‘I can tell you now they’ll need a bit more than that.’

‘I’ve got some old diaries of hers back in my office so I’ll get them brought up.’

‘Leave the journal with me and I’ll take it down to the document expert. They need to do their magic first before we can do our light source examination and then some ninhydrin testing.’

‘What’s ninhydrin?’ Reid asked, wanting to improve his forensic knowledge.

‘A chemical used to reveal fingerprints on porous surfaces like books, magazines, banknotes and so on; it makes any fingerprints turn a high-contrast purple.’

‘Will the purple wear off?’ a concerned Reid asked.

‘No, though it may fade a bit, and the chemical is harmful, so once we’re finished with the treated document we recommend it’s destroyed.’

It wasn’t what Reid wanted to hear. ‘Maybe best leave the chemical stuff out. I don’t want to upset the family as technically the journal is their property.’

Reardon shrugged. ‘Well that’s up to you, but if you miss a fingerprint that could have helped to solve your case then don’t blame me.’

‘You’re right, finding Amy is the most important thing.’

‘Tell you what, let me do some non-destructive tests first and see what we come up with, then we can reassess the use of ninhydrin.’

En route to Cornwall’s, Reid decided that he would put off telling Lena Fulford about the Ninhydrin testing until after the damage was done, as it might not come to anything anyway. He contacted the murder squad office to speak to DCI Jackson about the journal but was told he’d gone to Lena Fulford’s house and didn’t want to be disturbed unless it was urgent. Reid said he was going to see a forensic psychiatrist in Harley Street and ended the call.

Professor Elliott Cornwall was waiting impatiently for Reid in the reception area and took Reid straight to his office, which was white and very clinical, with the inevitable couch, large pot plants and minimal furniture. Bookcases were filled with reference journals on psychiatry, psychology, profiling and similar topics; some of them looked very old.

Cornwall sat at his desk and gestured for Reid to take a seat opposite him. He was a short dapper man in his fifties with combed-back black and grey hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He looked immaculate in a blue three-piece pinstripe suit and carried himself with an air of authority. He was well spoken, polite and seemed genuinely interested in examining the journal and giving his professional medical opinion on the contents.

Reid handed the photocopies to Cornwall, who asked how quickly he needed a report. Without wishing to appear pushy, Reid said as soon as possible. Dr Cornwall flicked through the pages, quickly scanning them. He then turned the pages back and forth, back and forth, paying close attention to some; others he virtually ignored.

‘I agree with you, Inspector Reid, the handwriting in the journal is varied and remarkably different in some sections.’

‘So Amy let someone else write in her personal journal?’

Cornwall smiled. ‘You misunderstand me, officer. I believe Amy is suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder, or DID as we now call it in the profession. It used to be known as Multiple Personality Disorder, a severe condition in which two or more distinct identities are present in a person and they alternate in taking control of the mind and actions. We call the different identities “alters” and certain types of circumstances can cause a particular alter to emerge within the subject.’

‘So you’re saying the various handwriting styles in the journal are done by different “alters” inside Amy?’

‘Yes, and although I’ve obviously not as yet had an opportunity to study the journal thoroughly, I have identified at least three or four alters so far. When a different personality takes control of an individual’s behaviour and thoughts it’s called “switching” and this can take from seconds, to minutes, to days. The sudden change in handwriting midway through a page is indicative of the switching of Amy’s alters.’

‘Would an aggressive alter ever cause actual physical harm to someone?’

‘I have known it to happen, and given evidence in some extremely violent cases.’

‘So if Amy is alive she could be a danger to her family and friends?’

‘Most certainly, yes. If you find her, my advice would be to have her sectioned immediately under the Mental Health Act and have her assessed in a secure clinic,’ Cornwall said and looked at his watch.

Reid realized Cornwall was in a hurry as he had patients to see. There was so much more he wanted to ask, but he knew for now his questions would have to wait until Cornwall had time to do an in-depth study of the journal. He also knew he’d better get back to the station and so tucked his notebook and pen into his jacket.

‘I’m so glad I brought the journal to you, Professor Cornwall, and I can’t thank you enough for your help. It puts a whole new perspective on the investigation.’

‘You need to understand that often people with DID are depressed or even suicidal, and self-mutilation is common.’

‘What?’ Reid stopped in his tracks. ‘Someone else in Amy’s head will make her cut or attempt to kill herself?’

‘Yes, and Amy will not even be conscious of why or when it happened.’

‘This is really frightening stuff to take in, Professor, but what causes DID?’

‘Trauma and stress, but research has shown that predominantly it’s physical or sexual abuse in childhood and dissociation then becomes a form of defence mechanism. As time passes they begin to develop more and more different personalities.’