‘I thought you had given up smoking?’
‘I have, but for chrissakes don’t give me a lecture – the pack belongs to Harry.’
‘What did the police want?’
‘No news, but I need to give them a couple of contact numbers which are at the flat.’
‘What contact numbers?’
He inhaled, and let the smoke drift from his nose. ‘They want to talk to Simon Boatly, and any numbers I have for him are in an old address book.’ He made no mention that they had also required further details of the women he had been seeing.
‘But you said he was abroad when Amy went missing.’
‘I know; nevertheless that is what they asked me for and that is what I intend to do, all right?’
Lena nodded as he stubbed out the cigarette; the haze of tobacco smoke and the acrid smell hung in the air. She folded her arms, still standing in the doorway; it felt to Marcus that she was blocking him leaving.
‘I’m going, Lena.’
‘Did he say there was any news at all?’
‘No, darling, he didn’t and if he had I would have told you.’
‘Did you know that there were police officers looking around the garden yesterday? They have been over all the place, in and out of the garage.’
‘Lena, just bloody back off me and let me go home.’
She stepped away from the door and he gave her cheek a light kiss, but she averted her face as he smelt of nicotine. Hearing the front door shut, she picked up the packet of cigarettes and went into the kitchen.
‘Throw these out, Agnes.’
The phone rang and Agnes saw the same look of fear cross Lena’s face, and she quickly answered, repeating her mantra, ‘This is the Fulford residence, Agnes Moors speaking.’
Just as she’d done with Marcus, she held out the receiver and said that it was Detective James Lane; he wanted to speak to her. Lena was shaking as she took the phone. Agnes, all ears, listened as Lena said that she would begin to find a suitable section and would have it waiting for collection. She replaced the receiver, informing Agnes that the police wanted some footage of Amy for Crime Night, the new television programme.
‘That’s good – it means they are really doing everything possible,’ Agnes said, dropping the cigarette pack into the pedal bin. As soon as Lena walked out she pressed it open again and replaced the pack in her pocket. The way things were going, she reckoned she would need to light up soon, it was all so tense.
Reid was walking back through the busy main office to his own when DC Wey got up from his desk and said he had an interesting development to tell him about.
‘I’ve been questioning “working girls” known to frequent the Mayfair area in and around Green Street. I was showing them a picture of Amy and discovered something interesting, but also quite worrying.’
Reid sat down and told Wey to tell him, and the rest of the office, the information he had uncovered.
‘The girls were all glamorous and many drove smart cars, and the majority were Russian . . . long gone are the old whores that used to work that area. The new breed of sex workers are attracted to the very upmarket restaurants in and around the place, like Harry’s Bar, George’s, Scott’s and two new exclusive Italian restaurants which are always busy with wealthy and even famous customers.’
Reid wasn’t interested in the history of Mayfair prostitution. He sighed and turned his finger in a circular motion.
‘Just get on with it, Takeaway.’
‘At first I got a load of abuse as they thought I was there to nick them for soliciting and a few even told me to fuck off. Then I got lucky with an eighteen-year-old Chinese tart called Lily Leo . . .’
‘How much did she charge?’ DS Lane asked, causing laughter round the room.
Wey himself chuckled before continuing. ‘She was rather blunt but she was frank with me, and there was no charge probably because we both have slant eyes,’ he said, making fun of his own looks and causing more laughter from members of the team.
Reid smiled and although he wanted Wey to get to the point the constable had a way of making people laugh and the team’s spirits needed lifting, so he let him continue without interruption.
‘Lily looked at Amy’s photograph and was certain that she had been working the street near to the flat she lived in with her father. She could not confirm if Amy was turning tricks, but she had seen her a few times. She also recalled that once she had been wearing a school uniform, but she had not seen her for some time and reckoned it would have been at least two months ago.’
There was stunned silence round the room as everyone sat up and took in this shocking revelation.
‘Lily was certain she recognized Amy Fulford,’ Wey went on, ‘and said she stood out because she was even younger than herself. The area is apparently divided up virtually by paving slabs and older “professionals” had also warned her off a couple of times.’
Reid was astonished by what Wey had discovered and found it hard to accept. ‘What about any of the other girls you spoke to – did any of them corroborate what this Leo woman said?’
‘None of them would really talk to me, sir, but I did notice a reaction from one or two when I showed them Amy’s picture. It was as if they had seen her on the streets before.’
‘Well we can’t just dismiss what Leo says; whether it’s lies or mistaken identity it has to be followed up.’
‘I spoke with Westminster Council who told me the plethora of Bentleys, Ferraris and other high-priced cars parked on the meters in and around the Mayfair area are magnets for the girls. More CCTV cameras were recently put up in the area for security as there are two new flashy nightclubs and Prince Harry had been frequenting the one that used to be the old Annabel’s,’ Wey went on.
‘I want you to get at least two months’ CCTV footage from any cameras on the streets the prostitutes worked and go through it with a fine toothcomb,’ Reid told him.
Wey sighed at the thought of watching hour after hour of prostitutes plying their trade and Reid picked up on this.
‘You can share the footage amongst the office, Takeaway, so as to speed things up.’
Wey looked relieved. ‘Thanks, guv. I also spoke to a friend on the vice squad. There had been complaints from the residents about all the tarts and about used condoms thrown out of cars, so vice did video surveillance and clamped down on the area a few months ago. They nicked a few and the others moved on, but vice can’t do twenty-four seven surveillance in one area alone due to cost and manpower so like a bad penny they keep coming back.’
Reid stood up and started to head for his office. ‘Get all the video the vice squad have as well and let’s see if Amy Fulford shows up turning tricks.’ He instructed Wey to go back to interviewing the ‘whores’ and if they didn’t like it he was to bring them in for questioning. He was to specifically find out which ones had confronted Amy Fulford and if Lily, or any other ‘toms’, knew Marcus Fulford.
The new information was depressing, but Reid reasoned at least they might get something from the vice quad. Now seemed like a good moment to get the visit to the school over and done with. He’d wanted to take Barbara Burrows with him as it was a girls’ school and they might be more responsive to her, but he knew she was busy with other enquiries, and there was no one else available who could assist him. He was walking to his car when DS Lane approached, informing him that Lena Fulford was looking for a video that the Crime Night programme could use. Justine and Gail had been contacted, but Justine was in Leeds for some hairdressing event. He said it was going to be difficult to organize cars to take them to the lab at different times, and once they had a list from Marcus there would be other women to get hold of.
Lane smiled. ‘Picking out their bloody knickers is going to be a farce, but I think we also need Lena Fulford. She will be able to tell if any belonged to Amy. We’ve got sexy silk, tacky net, G-strings, navy-blue school issue and—’
‘For God’s sake, give it a rest,’ Reid sn
apped. ‘Just get on with organizing everyone. I really don’t care if they meet one another or not. And yes, that will have to include Lena.’
‘These are women her husband is shagging,’ Lane said defensively.
‘They are getting divorced. I would say that Mrs Fulford is more than aware of her husband’s inability to keep his dick in his pants.’
Marcus turned his untidy bedroom upside down, opening and closing drawers, trying to recall where his old address book was as he hadn’t used it for so long. Any calls he made were from his mobile and he hadn’t spoken to Simon for months, although he had received a couple of terse notes from his lawyers about the non-payment of rent.
By the time he had searched the entire flat, and finally found his dog-eared old leather address book, he’d been home for over an hour. To his irritation his doorbell rang and it was Detective Wey asking if he could have a few words with him. Marcus buzzed open the front door and stood on the landing waiting for him to come to the second floor.
Marcus led him into the flat and through to the small untidy sitting room, where Wey perched himself on one of the old leather chairs, flipping open his notebook. He took down the contact numbers and repeated each one to make sure they were correct. He then asked about whether or not Marcus had used any of the prostitutes known to frequent his area.
‘If I had, what on earth has that got to do with the fact my daughter is missing?’
‘It may be important, sir, especially if you have used any of them recently, and if so, did they come here into your flat?’
Marcus rubbed at his head and then opened his arms. ‘Yeah, I may have used a couple, but not recently, and, let me tell you, never when my daughter was staying here with me.’
‘Do you recall their names?’
Marcus gave a long sigh, and shrugged.
‘I know they sometimes use fake names, but even a description would help us. This is important, Mr Fulford, and I am sorry if it seems to be embarrassing.’
‘I’m not bloody embarrassed; it’s not as if I’m some sexual pervert, just on occasions I have booked a girl after an evening out – you know, had a few drinks too many – and they are fucking available around here.’
Wey’s face was an impassive mask as he waited for Marcus to continue.
‘Okay, let me try and remember – if not their names then what they looked like.’ He smiled as if it was a joke but it fell flat.
Reid was on the M3 motorway heading towards Ascot when he received the call from Wey telling him that Marcus Fulford had admitted to using prostitutes on a frequent basis since he’d moved into the Green Street flat. However, he claimed he had not paid for any girls in the past few months as he was in a relationship with Justine.
‘This guy gets his leg over more times than I’ve had hot dinners,’ Wey said.
‘Dear God, this man is a scumbag, isn’t he?’ Reid muttered.
‘Good-looking guy, not working, lot of free time on his hands, some would call him the fucking lucky one,’ Wey remarked.
‘Okay, thanks for letting me know. Keep at it and find the women he slept with. I should be back after lunch if you get any further news.’ Reid cut off the speakerphone call and continued driving. The sat nav told him to turn off for Ascot and he went past the racecourse and onto Windsor Great Road before turning into Broadlands Ladies’ School. It was previously a large Victorian manor but now there were modern outbuildings that seemed to hold gymnasiums, an indoor swimming pool complex and indoor tennis courts. The vast surrounding grounds were covered in playing fields for hockey, lacrosse, and even cricket. Built onto the square courtyard, which was the main entrance to the school, were various cottages used to accommodate the staff, and behind the old house was a large 1960s building that contained the main boarding dormitories.
Reid parked in a visitors’ bay alongside numerous cars he presumed belonged to daytime staff. He stood surveying the old manor, which had a plaque on a side door engraved HEADMISTRESS AND PRIVATE STAFF ENTRANCE ONLY. As he bleeped his car locked he could see a hockey game in progress on one of the playing fields.
The girls reminded him of those from St Trinian’s, but the school’s similarity ended there. The gardens were well tended and the lawns mown, and numerous large stone plinths with vast plants stood to either side of the entrance. Immaculate white steps led to the arched double entrance doors, featuring a bell with brass surrounds. He waited a moment before pressing it and, looking around, noticed the wooden painted signs with arrows pointing to dormitories, dining hall, assembly hall and art studio. Three girls wearing grey blazers, white shirts, dark ties and navy-blue pleated skirts walked past, carrying a tray of fresh oranges and water jugs, as they headed towards the playing fields. The tall leggy girls were, he reckoned, about fourteen or fifteen years old, but they did not even glance in his direction.
A small woman with half-moon glasses opened the door. She was wearing a neat blue suit with a bow at the neck of her white blouse. Introducing herself as the school administrator, she led him along a marble mosaic floor with polished side tables filled with magazines and vases of flowers.
‘Miss Harrington is expecting you,’ she said primly and gestured for him to walk ahead of her towards a polished heavy door with HEADMISTRESS on a plaque. He could smell a mixture of polish, scented flowers and cooked mince, which, perhaps with the exception of the mince, could not have been more different from his old school.
The headmistress, Celia Harrington, was sitting behind a vast carved desk; oil paintings adorned the walls and the thick plush green carpet looked like one of the playing fields. She was younger than he had expected and rather attractive in a motherly sort of way, with curly grey hair, a printed blouse and slim-fitting grey skirt.
The glass-fronted cabinets were full of books, and there were two green leather chairs placed in front of her desk. She rose to shake his hand, and then placed both her well-manicured hands on top of a large open diary.
‘I spoke to Mrs Fulford earlier to express my sincere sympathy as this must be a dreadful time for her. All of us have been greatly distressed; Amy is such a lovely girl and a great asset to our school. She is truly missed and we say a prayer for her every morning at Chapel. We have so many boarders from around the world, and I don’t know if you are aware but we have pupils from aged eleven up to eighteen, and we have over four hundred pupils, only a small per cent of whom are day pupils. The girls that are full-time boarders remain at weekends and we try to make things entertaining for them.’
Reid liked her voice, it was soft and cultured, and she spoke unhurriedly and with eye contact. Eventually she gave a sad smile.
‘I presume by your presence you have no news yet?’
‘No, sadly I don’t.’ Reid held her gaze. ‘I would like your permission to talk to Amy’s classmates as well as her teachers, and I will obviously be as diplomatic as possible. She has now been missing six days and I am hoping that perhaps one of them might have some clue about her disappearance.’
‘Quite, however we were interviewed previously by a Detective Sergeant Lane and a Detective Constable Wey and they were extremely kind and thoughtful. We will endeavour to give you every assistance but truthfully no one had anything of relevance to explain her non-appearance here; she is an excellent pupil, very quiet and studious and also very athletic and extremely well liked. She was to be sitting her exams, but as she has already shown a higher than average ability in her half-term assessment we doubted that could be a reason for her not to return here.’
Reid took a sly glance at the large clock on the marble mantel. ‘I would especially like to speak with Serena Newman, as she was one of the last persons to see Amy and it would seem they were very close.’
‘Certainly. I have of course spoken with Serena myself and she was most concerned for Amy and in floods of tears. School protocol and governing rules dictate that I or another teacher must be present when you interview any of the pupils.’
Rules and regulati
ons was something that had crossed Reid’s mind, but he was hoping under the circumstances Ms Harrington would not be so rigid. He really wanted to speak to Serena without any teachers present as it might make her feel more at ease. However, he was in Miss Harrington’s domain and had no choice but to abide by her rules.
Almost as if she read his mind she pushed back her leather desk chair and said that Amy’s class, 11A, were in one of the new buildings and as it was rather a complex route to get there she would walk him over and introduce him to their form teacher.
Reid followed Miss Harrington along one corridor after another, until they left the old manor and crossed a small courtyard to a new annexe. Pupils passing gave a polite good morning to Miss Harrington and he was very impressed by the overall cleanliness and organized notice boards. Along the walls were photographs of past sports teams and trophies in glass-fronted cabinets. On the first floor they passed windowed doors bearing form numbers and lists of pupils; he could hear the muted voices coming from the classrooms, but like everything else it all appeared to be controlled and the girls attentive to their teachers. Reaching the last classroom in the corridor, Miss Harrington tapped and slowly opened the door, causing the ten pupils to all rise in unison.
‘Good morning, Miss Harrington,’ came the chorus from the girls.
‘Good morning and please be seated.’
They sat down and Miss Harrington turned to a florid-faced woman who wore round glasses that gave her an expression like an owl. She was chunky and rather overweight, but had a lovely smile as Reid shook her hand. Miss Harrington introduced him quietly to Mrs Vicks, the history teacher, and then turned to the class. ‘This is Detective Inspector Reid of the Metropolitan Police and he is leading the inquiry into finding Amy Fulford. I want you all to pay close attention to what he asks, and think about your answers before you speak. This is a very serious matter and one where we all need to take every opportunity to help in any way we can.’
Reid would have liked to announce himself; the quiet cordial voice was starting to get on his nerves. He also did not want her to remain in the classroom, or the owl-like woman. It came as an unwelcome surprise when Miss Harrington said Mrs Vicks would remain with him and she would be in her study awaiting his return. As she left the classroom he turned to Mrs Vicks; she blinked quickly, even more reminiscent of an owl, but gave him another warm smile and sat behind her desk.
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