Twisted

by Lynda La Plante

  Usually if Lena was wearing her grey outfit she would have chosen a grey soft leather clutch bag, but she was in such a tense state of mind, she snatched up the handbag she had carried earlier from the kitchen. Quickly she searched for her set of car keys and headed out towards the garage. Even though she had not deliberately thought about where she was going, as if on automatic pilot she was going to have it out with Marcus.

  It was after eight when Reid finished his report at the station, but he was in no hurry to leave as he was waiting for DS James and DC Wey to return from enquiries at the school. He would instigate a press release the following morning and ask for more staff to assist in the investigation. They would require CCTV footage from the different routes Amy might have taken from Fulham to her father’s Mayfair address. The bus company would also be questioned in case any drivers had seen Amy. As of that evening she had been missing for three full days and nights and Reid was now considering the possibility she had been abducted. He ran a computer search for any recent abductions, rapes or murders in the Fulham and Mayfair areas, but there was nothing unsolved or linked to his case.

  DC Wey and DS James returned at nine fifteen. They had brought in takeaway hamburgers and French fries, and joined Reid in his office. Wey placed Amy’s overnight bag on Reid’s desk and told him that Serena had taken it back to the school on Sunday, anticipating that Amy would be there. While Wey continued, and gave a rundown on the visit to the Newmans, Reid put on some protective latex gloves and started checking through the overnight bag. The fact the bag was left at Serena’s suggested that Amy had intended returning to stay with her friend. It was also confirmation that discovering what had occurred after Amy left the Newmans’ property was now urgent. They could not be sure if she did in actual fact go to her father’s flat, but either way the clock was ticking.

  The bag contained her school uniform, tights, black slip-on loafers and clean underwear. There was also a nightdress in white cotton, folded neatly, along with a plastic bag containing toothpaste, battery toothbrush and a hairbrush. There was no makeup, perfume or trinkets, but underneath the clothes they found a paperback of Sheridan’s play, The Rivals. Serena had told the officers she and Amy were intending doing some homework as they were going to audition for one of the roles in the school’s production. She said that Amy was her usual self and not upset about anything, and asked her to accompany her to her father’s flat, but she had refused because she wanted to wash her hair. They asked if this had upset Amy in any way and Serena had said that it didn’t worry her, as Amy would be back in time for them to go to the cinema together.

  Flicking through his notebook, Wey said he had asked why Serena had not been concerned when Amy had not turned up at her home or met them at the cinema. She had called her friend on her mobile, but it was left on voicemail; she admitted that she had been irritated when Amy sent her a text ‘bailing on her’, as she had done it once before. Apparently it had been some time ago, when Amy had gone to stay with her father and promised to meet up with her for a Chinese. That time she had not even called and when they returned to school Amy had said she had been taken to see a movie with her father and suggested that it had not been a firmed-up date but just a casual possibility they would meet up.

  James Lane finished his hamburger, and wiped his face with a paper napkin, and then his greasy fingers. ‘Serena was a cute little thing, and didn’t seem that fazed by the fact her friend is missing, but she said that as far as she knows Amy has no boyfriend, or has never mentioned one, although they are not that close as Amy always has either a weekend with her father or mother and they both arrange activities.’

  Wey nodded, and reached for the ketchup, before continuing. They had asked a number of pupils about who was closest to Amy but they had almost all agreed that she was a bit of a loner. She was also academically a very bright pupil and interviewing her teachers had given them no indication that Amy was in any way a troubled teenager. She was studious, and artistic and a good athlete, and not one of them had said a bad word against her. They were obviously concerned and asked if there was anything they could do to assist tracing Amy.

  ‘Any male teachers?’ Reid asked, eating a chip, which by now was cold.

  Wey opened his notebook again and named a fencing master and a music teacher. One was crippled and elderly and the other had extreme halitosis, and so both detectives doubted that their girl would find either attractive. They had found the art teacher a very sexy lady, a Miss Polka, and she had been helpful, even showing them some of Amy’s artwork, which was excellent.

  Reid was getting tired; he yawned and stood up to stretch his legs.

  ‘I’m arranging a press conference with the Fulfords for tomorrow morning and will need your help. No doubt the conference will lead to slews of calls and more enquiries.’

  ‘Any luck with Amy’s mobile phone or iPad?’ DS Lane asked.

  ‘Not as yet, and there’s been no activity on either since she went missing. Barbara got a list of all the calls she made over the few days before her disappearance but it has not turned up anything unusual or productive.’

  ‘If we can find her phone or iPad it would be a big step forward,’ Wey remarked.

  ‘I know, so Barbara’s asked the phone company to monitor them in case they go live,’ Reid sighed.

  He could see that both detectives were aware of the fact they could be dealing with more than just a missing young girl and the grim possibility she might even have been abducted. Reid started to pace back and forth, trying to get up some adrenalin, and ticked off on his fingers his gut feelings from the day’s interviews.

  ‘The mother is neurotic, but obviously concerned, so that may have been a natural reaction; she’s successful, very wealthy, from what I could ascertain, but we need a full disclosure of her business, and the possibility is always that someone she employs might be connected. She runs a very tight ship with a housekeeper and driver that hardly have any contact with her daughter, but she is a model teenager by all accounts, her bedroom immaculate, ditto the whole house.’

  Wey yawned as he flicked open his notebook, jotting down what he felt was relevant. Reid continued pacing around the office.

  ‘There’s gardeners as well, so we need to check them out, and also run a check on her driver as he has a criminal record, and start to question her neighbours.’

  ‘What about the father?’ DS Lane asked

  ‘Okay, he needs looking into; I don’t trust him. He rents this flat, the whole place is a bit seedy and the perfect teenager’s bedroom is a shit-hole, and I want forensics in to see if there’s any blood or other types of DNA – reason is, there’s underwear tossed around, sexy and lacy, and it looks stained. Very different to her mum’s place, so it could bring a result. He’s a good-looking guy, but bit of a loser, so focus on him.’

  ‘Semen stains?’ DS Lane asked.

  ‘Possibly, but that’s why I’m calling in forensics to go over Amy’s room at the flat.’

  ‘You think he’s been screwing his own daughter?’ Wey asked, not shocked, just interested in Reid’s take on him.

  ‘Who knows, but Amy’s excuse was something about needing her wristwatch. I couldn’t see one there and he couldn’t recall when he last saw it. I dunno . . . and we need to check his neighbours, see if anyone saw our girl on the Saturday afternoon. Also check on Mrs Fulford’s neighbours.’

  Lane and Wey looked at each other, both realizing that if Amy returned to her father’s, but never left, there was another even more frightening scenario to consider.

  Lane spoke first. ‘So do you think she’s still alive?’

  Reid reached for the last congealing chip. ‘We have to consider the very real possibility she is not.’

  Chapter 8

  Lena kept her hand on the door buzzer, but it seemed an age before Marcus answered and when he did, he sounded quite hoarse. As he buzzed her in and she closed the door behind her he came hurtling down the stairs from his flat.

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nbsp; ‘Is she home? Have they found her?’ he asked desperately.

  ‘No, no, she’s not come home; I’m here because we need to talk.’

  He sighed and then gestured for her to follow him up the wide marble staircase. The stair carpet had been a plush crimson, but was now rather threadbare and some of the brass stair rods were missing. The hallway had at one time been very grand, with marble mosaic flooring, but two flats had been created from the ground-floor rooms. Marcus occupied the second-floor flat and it was quite a way up. The polished wooden doors of the flats were all the same, with brass numberplates and knockers. He walked ahead of her, barefoot, wearing boxer shorts and a cotton dressing gown that looked as if it needed ironing.

  ‘I was asleep,’ he muttered as she elbowed his front door closed, trying to avoid the stack of circulars shoved to one side on the moth-eaten fitted carpet. The high ceiling and cornices gave the impression the flat was large, and probably at one time it would all have been one or two bedrooms, but it was now divided into a small kitchen and breakfast diner, utility room, bathroom, sitting room and two bedrooms. It felt shabby and yet there were some good paintings. As Lena followed him into the sitting room she saw it was reasonably well furnished, with leather armchairs and a low carved coffee table. There were more oil paintings on the walls and on an oak carved dresser were numerous photographs of the owner, Simon Boatly, in sporting attire, plus stacks of dirty coffee cups and mugs.

  ‘Do you know what time it is?’ Marcus asked, slumping down onto a worn leather armchair.

  ‘I don’t know and I don’t care – don’t you have a vacuum cleaner?’

  ‘It’s broken, and don’t tell me you’ve come round to moan about housekeeping.’

  She removed her coat and folding it neatly placed it over the arm of the other armchair. Sitting opposite him, she took in the good-quality silk Persian rug between them, observing as she always did the room and contents. Knowing her of old, Marcus shook his head.

  ‘Everything in here belongs to Simon. I am as you know just renting it – before that it was his aunt’s place and I doubt anything has been done since she died; I don’t know how long he’s staying away but it could be a year or so – anything else you need to know?’

  ‘There’s a lot I want to know, Marcus,’ she said coldly.

  ‘I am sure you do, but you look as if you are going out for a business meeting. I’d have thought considering the situation you would be at home to see if Amy called – has she?’

  ‘I would have contacted you if she had, and I’m on my mobile.’

  He gave a wide-handed gesture, puzzled as to why she was at his flat and picking up from the way she clenched her mouth so tightly that she was very tense.

  ‘I have read Amy’s journal and I’ve got to say it threw me sideways,’ she said, trying not to sound angry, wanting to be as calm as possible but now unsure how she should elaborate on why she was there.

  ‘What have you found out?’

  ‘She details your sexual antics with various girlfriends or whores, I’m not sure who they are, but she is very derogatory in her descriptions, but more than that—’

  He interrupted her, leaning forward. ‘What? I don’t believe this.’

  ‘You were obviously having sex with women when Amy was in the flat.’

  ‘Well, maybe, but Amy would have been in her bedroom, so I can’t see how she would know what I was doing, and it was not as if it was a regular occurrence when she was here – just what are you suggesting?’

  ‘I am not suggesting anything; I am merely telling you what she has written and in such explicit detail it reads like she was in the same room.’

  ‘Are you joking? What the fuck do you take me for?’

  ‘What I take you for is immaterial, what I am telling you is that from her journal it reads as if she were witness to or even worse partaking in your grubby little orgies.’

  He stood up, enraged. ‘That is bloody disgusting – orgies? For chrissakes, having a few sexual encounters is not anything I am ashamed of, but if you are implying that I would have allowed Amy to be involved then that is sick, and a total lie; I never would have been so crass as to allow that.’

  Lena hated to even admit it, but she was enjoying seeing him embarrassed and desperately trying to extricate himself from her accusations.

  ‘But did you have sex while Amy was here at the flat?’

  ‘Yes, maybe I did a couple of times, but it was weekends, for God’s sake, and it’s not as if she’s a little kid, and I don’t think she even met any one of them for more than a coffee.’

  ‘But you admit to having women here and having sex with them while you were supposed to be looking after Amy.’

  ‘I just said that I did,’ he snapped angrily.

  ‘Well according to her journal she must have been watching you. I am not about to go into the disgusting details of your preferences or these tarts you bring here, but your daughter describes very explicitly their bodies, and yours, plus what sexual positions you used and your use of sex toys.’

  Marcus leaned back in the chair and glared at her. ‘You are enjoying this, you’re fucking gloating about it, but I am telling you that at no time was Amy ever present, and I resent you implying they were tarts; they were all . . .’ He sighed, realizing that whatever he said made it sound worse, and he truthfully was certain that it could only have happened a few times when Amy was staying.

  ‘Did you abuse her?’ Lena said quietly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I asked if you abused Amy sexually because she certainly makes it sound as if she was privy not only to your prowess screwing up the arse but—’

  The slap was so hard it knocked her sideways. He stood over her, clenching his fists, afraid he would slap her again. He then backed away from her, ashamed. ‘I’m sorry, so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, and Jesus Christ you know I have never laid a hand on you, but I swear on my life I never even touched my daughter. It sickens me just thinking that you even asked me.’

  She shook her head and rubbed her cheek as he crossed to a drinks cabinet and poured himself a brandy.

  ‘If the police read her journal, Marcus, they will get the same impression.’

  When he turned he was shaking. ‘I want to read it. Let me see it.’

  Lena shrugged and stood up. ‘I haven’t got it with me and while I’m here I want to see her bedroom.’

  He downed the brandy in one gulp and gasped. ‘That detective who came here said not to touch anything in Amy’s room as he wants someone to check through everything.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know – probably forensics or something like that.’

  ‘Well, just let me have a look, then I am going home.’

  Although Lena had been to the flat before to pick up or drop Amy off, she had always refused and in fact never actually wanted to come inside, and had only entered as far as the hallway with Amy’s suitcase. It had also been upsetting and traumatic as it was very early in their separation and she had not really wanted Amy to spend any time with Marcus, let alone an entire weekend. However, she had been persuaded it was good for Amy to be on amicable terms with both of them so she had relented.

  Marcus stood waiting for her at the sitting-room door, and then gestured towards the small corridor leading off. Amy’s bedroom was next door to his, with windows facing out onto Green Street. His bedroom door was ajar, and passing it Lena could see a king-size unmade bed with a bright orange duvet half across it and half dragging over the floor. It had the same fitted carpet as all the rest of the flat, and when Marcus opened the door to Amy’s bedroom she could see it was similarly in need of hoovering. She stepped into the room and gasped, and turning to Marcus asked if it was in the same state as when Amy was last there.

  ‘Yeah, I mean I looked around for anything that might give me a clue as to where she could have taken off – friends, contacts – but it was in this state, it always is, she’s very untidy.’

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bsp; ‘Untidy,’ Lena said, shocked. The room to her mind was a tip of dirty clothes, unmade scruffy bed and stained pillowslips; everything appeared to have been thrown around.

  ‘They want to get some forensic guys in to test stuff, her clothes,’ Marcus said and pointed to a pair of panties left by the bedside. ‘I think they want to check if there’s any DNA – you know, to see if she is sexually active. Considering what you’ve just accused me of, I am not going to even let you go further into the room as I don’t want that disgusting bullshit aimed at me.’

  ‘Do you think she is?’ Lena asked, still looking around the room.

  ‘No, but if she is she never mentioned any boyfriend to me. I know she has a thing about a movie actor and some boy band, but it’s just teenage stuff – those posters have been up for about a year.’ He gestured to the posters Blu-Tacked to the wall facing Amy’s bed.

  ‘What are those drawings?’ she said, pointing to ones pinned beside her bed.

  ‘Stuff she does in art class, I dunno – I know she likes her art teacher a lot, a Miss Polka who I met once when I collected Amy from school.’

  ‘It smells in here,’ Lena said, wrinkling her nose.

  ‘Well it’s been shut up, and she wasn’t the cleanest—’ He froze and then closed his eyes. He had just spoken of Amy in the past tense and it hit him like a punch. He turned away, heading back down the corridor.