Marcus roused himself and had an obvious hangover. ‘Bugger! What time is it?’
It was eight o’clock, and Marcus had been too drunk to return to his own bedroom the night before. He grabbed a dressing gown and stumbled to the window, but even back then it was stuck firm. He hurried from the room and somehow managed to pull on his trousers and a sweater. Boatly followed him downstairs and laughed as he watched from the doorway as Marcus hopped barefoot over the gravel towards Amy.
He remembered she was very angry, shouting and swiping at him with her riding crop. ‘You said you would be at the stables to ride with me and I’ve been waiting ages. I have to have a practice before the fete this afternoon.’
Marcus had apologized and said he’d overslept. He promised he would join her and ride out to the fields to watch her jumping. He ran back over to the house, shouting as he went.
‘Simon, SIMON, can I borrow a pair of your boots?’
Boatly smiled as his mind returned to the present and he went and lay back down on his bed. He remembered thinking that Amy was a right little madam; if she’d swished her riding crop a little closer she’d have slashed her father’s face. Marcus had burst into the bedroom, asking again if he could use a pair of Simon’s riding boots. Boatly had gestured to his wardrobe and said there was a pair in there or a pair of old ones by the back kitchen door. Marcus had sat on the bed, pulling on the black leather boots; they were too large and he had to tuck his trousers inside them.
‘Christ, this could be embarrassing. I hate bloody horses. What’s the one I rode out on once with you?’
‘It’s an old police horse – they use him for children with special needs. He’s called Puddle; he might not get up the energy for a trot but he won’t throw you off.’
‘Fuck off, I am going to look a right arsehole.’ Marcus stamped his feet in the boots.
It was strange to remember it all so clearly after such a long time. Whether or not it was due to Detective Reid asking when Amy had stayed, or seeing the annoying girl on her horse, he wasn’t sure. He remembered when they both returned from the ride and the outcome had made him laugh until he ached. Marcus, covered in mud, described Puddle’s slow ponderous walk and how it had left him far behind Amy. Suddenly confronted by a thick thistle bush, Puddle was spooked and took off at a gallop. Amy described the way she had first been impressed as her dad sped past her – she didn’t think Daddy could gallop so well – but then seeing him hurtling through the air headfirst into the ditch had made her hysterical.
Boatly remembered they were all sitting at the kitchen table, with a bowl of hot water and Dettol; Amy dipping in a wad of cotton wool to clean a nasty scrape on the side of Marcus’s face. Her cheeks were flushed, her blonde silky hair falling around her shoulders, and she had loosened the cravat of her shirt. Tall and boyishly slender, she tenderly washed out the graze. Boatly recalled how envious he had felt, her adoration and sweetness touching him, because he knew he would never experience that kind of affection from a child of his own. He also remembered just how beautiful she had become when he had seen her on the beach in Antigua, the tiny bikini showing off her perfect pubescent figure. The way she had lowered her sunglasses to look at him, it had felt provocative; even the way she had sipped her fruit-filled glass with a straw had not been like a young teenager. But similar to the way Lena had behaved towards him when they had first met.
When Lena had refused to allow her daughter to go water-skiing, Amy had given him a knowing glance and a shrug of her shoulders. He left after lunch to join his friends on the waiting speedboat, and when he turned back, she had been waving and smiling. ‘Bye-bye, Simon,’ she had called out. That was the last time he had seen her, and now it really saddened him that she was missing, but there was also a niggling unease that perhaps Marcus might have had something to do with it. He hoped that he had not, but at the same time it had registered with him that their affection towards each other was very intimate.
Simon suspected Marcus must have persuaded Amy not to tell Lena about staying at the Old Manor as she did not approve of their friendship and would have refused to allow Amy to stay there. They had slept together in the guest bedroom, and Marcus had come through to his room when Amy was asleep. Boatly now found himself wondering if there was something beyond the doting father image that Marcus portrayed. His mind was made up in an instant: he would sell the flat and distance himself from Marcus, as he didn’t want any possibility of becoming embroiled in the police investigation.
Chapter 24
The station was not exactly a hive of activity when Reid returned to type up his report. There were however two phone calls that had generated possible leads. A man had stated that he was certain that he saw Amy Fulford on the afternoon of her disappearance standing by a car on the corner of Fulham Road. He was unable to give any registration number but thought the car might have been a Jaguar and was a grey or silver colour. The occupant was a middle-aged man but he was unable to give a description and said that Amy had got into the car and it drove off. He only recalled the incident after watching the Crime Night programme and seeing the video of Amy. Reid sent DC Wey to interview the caller.
DS Lane had also been checking into a second possible sighting, this time from a woman. She was certain she had seen Amy in the Marble Arch underpass heading towards Park Lane. Again she had remembered the incident because of the TV programme, and that Amy had stopped by a street musician playing a guitar and was talking to him while tossing some coins into the boy’s guitar case.
Reid decided he would take off home and spend the evening reading through the journal Lena Fulford had given him. He wanted to preserve it for fingerprints and get it over to the lab the next day, so he put on a pair of protective gloves. Opening the envelope, he found that the leather-bound journal had a second envelope tucked inside. This was some birthday cards, and a note, plus a list of items for Christmas gifts. The card had large looped writing in a blue felt tip pen and from what was written it seemed to be the most recent card Lena received from Amy.
To my darling Mummy, have a wonderful birthday and I hope you like my present. It is obviously not as perfect and as expensive as my gorgeous Cartier watch, but it is by Cartier and it is I think very elegant and writes smoothly and is something you can use signing cheques. Haw, haw! From your adoring daughter Amy.
Reid put the card to one side and opened a small square of pink notepaper with tiny pink flowers at the corners.
Dearest Mummy, I cannot thank you enough for buying me exactly what I wanted. I love my watch, and it is the exact one I showed to you ages and ages ago, and I love you for remembering. Amy.
Reid next read a list written in the same large looped handwriting. It was a list of items including shoes, a Mulberry handbag, and an expensive brand of chocolates. Lena had enclosed on her business card a handwritten note that was underlined.
Please look at these examples of Amy’s handwriting. They are quite recent, and I kept them to have an idea of what Christmas gifts I should buy her. LF.
He neatly placed the notes together before he opened the first page of the journal. Here the handwriting was small, tight, and very different, with hardly a break between the words, and each line cramped up close to the next. He flicked through numerous pages like a pack of cards but not as yet reading. The pen had changed; there were a variety of colours, sometimes in biro, others in fountain-pen ink or from a felt tip. He noticed that occasionally the handwriting slanted to the right and then at times to the left. Other times it was so closely written and so small that it was difficult to read, but what surprised him, and it must also have been confusing for Lena, was that there was no thick looped script on any page as in the writing on the birthday card and list.
He took out his notebook, and made a comment about the note, the card and the gift list. He then turned to read page one.
Permission granted to insert or rewrite for all selected subjects.
He surpassed his usual tedious self a
nd as a tormentor continues to play the bountiful but the strings attached place him high on the list. It must be determined whether or not he deserves the ultimate punishment, and perhaps trials should be conducted before the final decision is made. Access to both establishments is now completed, which enables the substances to be planted. Owing to neither subject being aware where the weekend is spent gives considerable freedom, but this must be carefully orchestrated. Movements are restricted due to the stupid bitch hiring a domestic slave that monitors everything but she is not on duty during weekends.
She has certainly surpassed herself hiring this bitch. A is obviously a woman with severe controlling impulses; she cannot stand to see anything that is not in a straight line. She cannot stand to have anything in its original container or package, but transfers everything into plastic boxes and then writes on them with a thick black felt tip pen in old=fashioned lettering. This will include cornflakes and sugar, flour etc. My abhorrence of this woman is such that I have told her never to enter the bedroom. I place hairs across the drawers so that I am aware when she had been sneaking in and nosing around. Her ugliness, her bad teeth repel me to such an extent I have decided that I might attempt to try out a couple of things on her before anyone else. She has square fingernails, stumpy nasty hands and a wide arse and feet in stinking tennis shoes, but worse than her hideous appearance is her ingratiating manner. She is a character worthy of a Dickens novel and I know she hates me. She is so envious of me, of everything I have, that she can hardly bear to look at me with her watery brown bloodshot eyes. The envy is down to the fact she has never had anything of worth in her flatulent tedious existence and she gave birth to an equally wretched creature that quite obviously loathes her and attempts to keep her at a distance. This creature is squint-eyed and has bitten stumpy fingernails, and gives me the shivers as she is forced to have this dragon visit her every weekend. All she talks about is her tedious boring past, her abusive husband, divorced for fifteen years and she still can’t stop talking about him. She wishes he was dead and buried but she will be gone before him. I guarantee that. It is just a question of exactly how to get rid of her without it becoming suspicious.
Reid sighed before turning over to the next page and continuing.
She has now acquired a driver, an ex-con, a small despicable little house-breaker who wears secondhand clothes that smell of mothballs and stale cologne. H thinks himself so dapper but he’s insidious and creepy, especially around her, and I would not trust him an inch. His sidelong glances to me, my breasts, my cunt, make me loathe to ever be in the car with him. He probably smells my seat after I’ve got out, he’s that repellent, and yet she puts up with him. A and the midget get along when they think she’s out, and if only on occasion she would check her groceries because the pair of them are thieving bagloads of food. M of the ‘Good morning, Fulford residence, how can I help you?’, when in reality she would like to say, ‘This is MY house, it’s MY residence.’ Her envy is constantly glittering in her oddly-shaped button eyes, and she knows that I know and so she will hardly ever look me in the face.
Reid turned over the next four pages, which were all filled with strong dark drawings. There were disturbing grotesque figures and faces, all done in black felt tip pen or black ink. He skimmed over them before continuing.
H needs to be got rid of, but that should be easy as once a thief always a thief. I will place something tempting for him to be unable to keep his wretched fingers from stealing. One of her diamonds would be good, but she is so lax about security and insurance and constantly out of it mentally that she might not even notice it missing. If this was to occur I could query where the diamond was, but then H could have time to replace it. I think the same choice of endings would be advisable. They both steal food . . . Carefully does it, one at a time, as there must be no suspicion.
Reid noticed that the handwriting now took on a totally different style, reverting to printed letters with spaces and dashes. He flicked over a few more pages.
Symptoms can vary, including slight gastrointestinal discomfort, and in some cases they can contain a toxin, which can stimulate the immune system to attack its own red blood cells. Angel wing mushrooms can create acute brain disorder, and attack kidney function.
1. Amanita muscaria – dried and consumed it can be psychoactive . . . V good
2. Amanita pantherina (panthercap mushroom) – associated with more fatalities than muscaria
3. Chlorophyllum molybdites (green-gilled) – intense gastrointestinal upset.
After reading such nasty vitriol Reid wondered why passages of the journal now turned into a biology lesson about mushrooms and their effects. He noticed the entry about the Amanita muscaria was repeatedly underlined and assumed the ‘psychoactive V. good’ meant very good as a drug. He’d heard of ‘magic mushrooms’ and their hallucinogenic effects, and now wondered if Amy had tried them and the entries about fatal or stomach-upsetting mushrooms was an indication of the ones to avoid collecting in woodland. He read on:
The more unusual toxin is coprine, a compound which is harmless unless ingested within a few days of drinking alcohol, as it inhibits an enzyme required for breaking down alcohol. Once ingested the person will feel as if he suffers from a hangover, flushing, headaches, nausea, palpitations and trouble breathing . . .
Reid shook his head; there was page after page about mushrooms and their side effects, some passages underlined and some with ticks or stars beside them. Also listed was how long it took for the symptoms to begin to show, and there were initials in minuscule writing beside some timings. The onset of the effects mostly took anywhere between four to eleven hours but in some cases as long as two to twenty days.
He started to flick through the mass of data on mushrooms. It could have been for some kind of biology test, but it nevertheless unsettled him. He got up and fetched a large scotch and ice before he could face any more of the journal. There were further lengthy pages of hatred referring to ‘A’, ‘M’ and ‘H’ and Reid was pretty sure from the content that ‘A’ and ‘M’ were both Agnes and ‘H’ obviously Harry. One page was a detailed list of how many times Agnes had been searching the bedroom. This was discovered thanks to the fine strand of hair placed over each drawer revealing it had been opened.
He noted that there was never a direct reference to the author. It was always ‘she’ this and ‘she’ that, and from the different styles of handwriting it appeared as if a number of people had been involved in composing the journal. He was however beginning to understand why Lena Fulford had not felt it would assist in discovering where or with whom Amy might have run away. No locations were mentioned. He continued to skim-read until he came to an entry about ‘S’. The clue was in the description, which indicated it was about Serena Newman. It was a lengthy vicious attack on her so-called friend, whom she labelled as nothing but an envious acquaintance. The method of using the anonymous website to blacken her name and reputation was described in detail and there was obvious intention to repay ‘S’ for lying.
What shocked him next were the overtly sexual paragraphs concerning the lesbian activities, but these were written in such a way it could be confusing, unless you were aware of Miss Polka’s Christian name, Jo. Paragraph after paragraph in the same minuscule writing described how Jo had become so enamoured and obsessed with silken skin, licking and sucking every inch of perfection in an attempt to gain an arousal, but all it had done was sicken and repulse her. The ‘Watcher’ was underlined, and yet again there was a lengthy description of how being a ‘Watcher’ had taught her that there could be satisfaction in observing someone obsessed with touching perfect unblemished skin.
Reid thought about the peephole in Amy’s bedroom at the flat in Green Street. Was Amy referring to this, and was she in actual fact the ‘Watcher’? He put the journal to one side and got a refill, this time adding water to his scotch, and some ice. It was almost twelve and he felt tired out, but if he was correct then he needed to persist, despite it be
coming emotionally exhausting.
The ‘Watcher’ began describing anal sex as the preferred position of subject ‘F’, stripped naked and using dildos, but rarely if ever ejaculating into his partner’s vagina, preferring the whore’s arse. Reid felt like hurling the journal across the room, but if as he suspected subject ‘F’ was in actual fact Marcus Fulford then it was clear Amy was the Watcher and using the peephole to look into Marcus’s bedroom. He knew he had to continue to read the nasty descriptions of anal sex and copulation to learn more about Amy’s state of mind.
Page after page gave intimate details of women’s bodies, and how the ‘Watcher’ had found gratification by masturbation. It became so repetitive that he flicked over page after page until he came to subject ‘L’ and wondered if it was about Lena Fulford.
Reid saw that yet again there was a noticeable change in the style of handwriting. ‘L’ was described as frigid, mentally unstable, a self-harming yet brilliant person who was self-obsessed and needed to be loved, but was incapable of loving because of her warped jealous nature. ‘L’ was unable to give up her lust for material wealth and success; she was narrow and blinkered about everything and everyone around her. The writer described how ‘she’ had been able to exist by becoming invisible, and even breathing had to be hardly detectable as the monster could be so destructive. The writer now referred to the ‘Watcher’ as if it were someone she knew and had spoken with. She wrote that the ‘Watcher’ was now able to release its inhibitions and delight in filth and pornography, enjoying stinking and smelling and wearing the vile garments of the whores.
Reid flicked through the rest of the journal to see how much he had left to read. He noticed to his surprise that the back pages were full of lists of recipes, ingredients and cooking instructions for dishes like spaghetti bolognese, risotto and chilli con carne, and laughed to himself that a journal full of vile language and hatred could also contain some simple home-cooking and methods for packing and freezing home-cooked meals.
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