Twisted

by Lynda La Plante

  He still had about half the journal to finish, but he had read enough, so snapped it closed, put it in an evidence bag and removed the protective gloves he’d been wearing. He drained his glass and went for a shower and then to bed. It was, he felt, no real clue as to where Amy Fulford was, but it did give an insight into someone who he felt was a very disturbed young woman.

  Tuesday, day ten, and Reid was in his office early. Tech Support had opened Amy Fulford’s iPad and it contained some anonymous and unpleasant Facebook comments and emails that showed Amy was being cyberbullied. Although this could be another reason for her running away, the iPad gave no clue of where she might have gone. All the emails and Facebook comments would be checked to try and trace the sender and/or point of origin, but it would be difficult if not impossible if fake IP addresses had been used.

  DS Lane was still trying to trace the street musician, but as yet had no luck. DC Wey had spoken with the man who said he saw Amy getting into a Jaguar on the corner of Fulham Road and having visited the spot was able to establish it was a local resident picking up his daughter. The press were still showing the same photographs but interest was dwindling as there was no new information. Reid had a meeting with Chief Superintendent Douglas, and as suspected was told that thanks to the lack of new developments his time was up and the murder squad would take over.

  ‘I’ve read Amy Fulford’s journal and sadly I can see no clues that divulge her whereabouts, but there are disturbing entries that I’d like an expert to look at,’ Reid informed Douglas.

  ‘What sort of expert?’

  ‘A forensic behavioural investigator and/or a forensic psychiatrist to analyse the content in respect of Amy’s state of mind.’

  Douglas was hesitant. ‘I don’t really see how it will help and apart from that my experience is that those kinds of experts charge a fortune for their time.’

  ‘Marjory Jordan, Lena Fulford’s therapist, might have a look at it as a favour and do it for nothing.’

  ‘I have no problem with that course of action,’ Douglas said and left the room.

  Reid rang Miss Jordan. She was very pleasant and more than happy to help and give her professional opinion of whether or not it was a valid document to assist in tracing Amy. She was true to her word and arrived at the station within the hour.

  Reid handed her a photocopy of the journal.

  ‘I’m having the original examined for fingerprints and I must ask that your examination is kept between the two of us as Lena Fulford is very worried about it being read by others and didn’t even want copies made.’

  Miss Jordan smiled. ‘Of course, I totally understand under the circumstances. In essence you are a client so the principles of confidentiality apply and if I can help find Amy then all the better.’

  ‘I feel rude asking this, but I’m up against the wall with my boss and extra money for my investigation . . .’

  ‘I’m happy to do this as a favour to you and, although they won’t be aware, the Fulfords as well.’

  ‘I really am very grateful and—’

  ‘However, if I find anything that would betray my patient confidentiality with Lena Fulford I will be unable to detail this in an official report. In fact it may be best if my findings are off the record so as to protect both of us.’

  ‘Whatever you feel is best,’ Reid said, knowing he was in a position where he had no choice other than to agree with Marjory Jordan.

  Chief Superintendent Douglas met with all the team at two o’clock. He praised them for their diligent work but at the same time it was obvious that without any further clues to the whereabouts of Amy Fulford, and with her now being missing for ten days, the case had to be taken over by the murder squad. He told them to complete all their actions and reports as soon as possible for the handover.

  Gloomily DI Reid gathered up all his notes, paperwork and files for the handover. He looked up to see that Douglas had come into his office.

  ‘Why so glum, Victor?’

  ‘To be perfectly frank, sir, I’m really disappointed not to have been asked to remain on the case. I’ve worked long hard hours, know the investigation inside out and I although understand your reasons it—’

  Douglas snorted as he interrupted. ‘Cut the self-pity, Reid. I’ve spoken personally to the commander in charge of Homicide and Serious Crime, who has given clearance for you to remain on the case.’

  ‘Really? I’m honoured that he thinks so highly of me.’

  ‘It’s not down to your investigative abilities, but simply because you’re close to the Fulfords and know them better than anyone else. The experienced detectives on the murder squad may go about their investigation in a very different manner so watch, listen and learn.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, I won’t let you down. Who’s taking over the investigation?’

  Douglas hesitated, glanced at a piece of paper in his hand and rubbed his chin. ‘It’s a DCI Barry Jackson. By all accounts very experienced, a tough bastard, but he takes the bull by the horns, so to speak, and he’ll leave no stone unturned. Do not rock the boat, do as you’re asked, cooperate and assist at all times in every way possible.’

  He closed the door, leaving Reid alone as he sat resting his elbows on his desk, his head in his hands. He’d never dealt with such a complicated missing person case before and realized how true it was that you gradually build up the image and personality of the person you’re looking for. You get to know them, but only through the voices and words of others, and if he closed his eyes he could see the young Amy’s beautiful face. It was something he often thought about. They were always smiling, the victims; the photographs that had been chosen to help try to find them for some sad reason always had lovely wide innocent smiles.

  Chapter 25

  Reid received a phone call from DCI Jackson telling him that his murder team were based at Belgravia and Reid and his misper colleagues were to report there for a debrief and handover. Jackson thought it convenient as it was three miles from Fulham, where Amy was last seen, and under two from Marcus Fulford’s flat in Mayfair. Reid was not so impressed, as he lived miles away in Surrey and the journey would be horrendous during the rush hour. Jackson also told Reid that DC Barbara Burrows could be attached to the murder team as she had been the family liaison officer for the Fulfords. DS Lane and DC Wey were to complete the actions they had been allocated and then return to the Richmond misper unit.

  By the time Reid arrived at Belgravia all the files and data he’d accumulated had been loaded on the murder squad computers. He had not yet had an opportunity to share any details about the journal, and knew it would have to be disclosed, but there had been no chance to do so in their opening encounter. Jackson introduced himself and gave him a few words of what seemed like a warning. ‘You’ve not been a detective very long, so you might not like the way I approach an investigation. I’ve got twenty-five years’ service, so my advice to you would be to watch, listen and learn, and don’t get under our feet, especially mine.’

  Reid felt like he was being belittled, but wasn’t going to show it. ‘Pleasure to be on board, DCI Jackson.’

  ‘Yes, well, if we’d been given this case earlier we’d probably have cracked it by now; ten days have elapsed and we’re playing bloody catch-up.’

  Jackson was a big raw-boned man with a bald head and small piercing eyes. He wore a suit that looked a size too large and a wide tie over a crumpled shirt with the collar sticking up at the corners. He also wore thick crepe-soled shoes that made him walk in a flat-footed way with his feet splayed out, but for such a big man he moved fast and due to his shoes very silently.

  Reid and his misper team had a lengthy meeting with DCI Jackson and his fellow members of the murder squad went over everything to date. Already up on the walls were large LCD TV screens with aerial maps of the high-priority locations: Fulham, Mayfair and Richmond. Marker flags with dates and times signalled each alleged sighting of Amy and possible routes that she might have taken were also highl
ighted. Reid reflected that it was all very high-tech and impressive as Jackson began to list his team’s assignments for the following day. Smirking at Reid, he remarked that he had the assistance of forty uniform officers to redo the house-to-house at the priority locations, just in case they weren’t done properly in the first instance. He would personally interview both parents, and the Newman family. Standing with his legs spread apart, he clapped his hands.

  ‘You are all aware that there has been an investigation by the small Richmond misper unit into Amy Fulford’s whereabouts, with no strong lines of investigation or suspects emerging. For me it has to be one of these three or a mixture: runaway, abducted or murdered. We find Amy, dead or alive, and we find out what happened and why. Enough time has been wasted already and somebody out there saw or knows something and we are going to find that person.’

  Reid remained sitting at the back of the incident room, listening as Jackson spoke with authority and confidence that he would solve the case. He proposed to check out any attempted abductions of tento eighteen-year-old females, London-wide to start with, over the last two years. He said to look at solved and unsolved rapes, and indecent assaults, and check on anyone with a record of sexual crimes living on or close to the Fulham Road, Mayfair or near the house in Richmond. It was difficult for Reid, as he knew his inexperienced team had done the best they could, but with the murder squad there was a totally different attitude. They were a much bigger unit and appeared tougher, and first and foremost they were focusing on the possibility of abduction. Reid was upset that Jackson hadn’t once praised his officers for their hard work, but what depressed him most was the ever-growing possibility they would never find Amy Fulford, dead or alive.

  Jackson called Reid into his office, his small beady eyes boring into him as he came too close for comfort. ‘You got a feel for this father as maybe screwing his own daughter?’

  ‘I can’t be certain. I think there is considerable dysfunction, but we have been unable to break his alibi for the time Amy went missing.’

  Jackson prodded him with a stubby finger. ‘Listen, Vic, you haven’t even viewed all the Stamford Bridge security CCTV or all the Mayfair ones.’

  ‘I only had a small team and there’s hours of the stuff—’

  Jackson prodded him again. ‘If he slipped out during the game he’d stick out like a sore thumb, same if he got there late. If ’s he’s in a seat on CCTV and never seen leaving then so what, he may have popped home before going to the girlfriend Justine’s place. He could have found Amy getting her stuff together to run away, and, pop, he gave her a beating that killed her. He could have left her there dead, gone to Justine’s to create the alibi and disposed of Amy on the Sunday or early Monday morning.’

  Reid nodded. Jackson was right and he was quick-thinking around the possible case scenarios; it was his arrogant attitude that galled Reid. He had even offered to be present when Jackson interviewed Marcus and Lena Fulford, but the DCI declined to have him along as he stressed he needed to make his own impression of the family.

  Reid had been home for an hour and it was after ten when his phone rang. It was Marjory Jordan and she apologized for the lateness of her call, but she had taken her time reading Amy’s journal. She said it was very dark and contained some disturbing emotions, but she didn’t really feel she could assist him. A perplexed Reid asked why not and she explained that she was not qualified to give evidence about the contents in a court of law. Reid asked if she would give him an ‘off the record’ opinion, but she still declined, stating that she didn’t want to upset Lena Fulford, breach her trust or break any rules of confidentiality. Reid could see her issues were valid, though he suspected she was making excuses because she just didn’t want to get involved in the whole sordid mess. He asked if there was anyone she could recommend to give a professional opinion on the journal. She thought for a moment and then recalled a forensic psychiatrist she had heard speak at a conference earlier in the year – his name was Professor Elliott Cornwall. He seemed to know his stuff and had been giving psychiatric assessment evidence in court for years. Before she rang off she had managed to find Professor Cornwall’s practice address and phone number in Harley Street.

  Wednesday, day eleven, and DCI Jackson set off with his DS, a younger man called David Styles. Nothing had quite prepared Jackson for the obvious wealth and luxury of the Fulfords’ home, and he had not anticipated that Lena herself would be so glamorous. He had seen her on the TV programme, but in the flesh she was stunning, and her skin glowed and her perfume was one he had never come across before. It was like fresh roses, and when she shook his hand it felt feather-light; she had an air of fragility, yet a strong sexuality. As they went to the sitting room she gestured to him to be seated and he chose to sit in the centre of the sofa that faced her. She was wearing a soft cashmere dress in ice blue, a set of pearls and her legs were very shapely. As she crossed them he could see the six-inch high heels in a dark navy.

  ‘Mrs Fulford, there is no easy way for me to explain my presence. I am now heading up a murder team that has been brought in to lead the investigation into your daughter’s disappearance.’

  She licked her lips and glanced towards his DS, gesturing for him to also take a seat. He hesitated and then sat in a hard-back chair by a window.

  ‘My job is to go over every possible scenario and re-question and check every detail in case there has been anything overlooked by DI Reid and his team. That is not to say I am in any way demeaning his officers, but I will be approaching the investigation in a slightly different manner. Firstly I’d like to ask you about your impending divorce.’

  Lena nodded, folded her hands in her lap and said she had no reason to think that her daughter was in anyway upset by the forthcoming divorce and that it was a very amicable arrangement.

  ‘That’s not true, is it, Mrs Fulford? It appears to be a very fraught separation, your daughter caught between her father and yourself. She may have seemed to be physically coping with the situation, but the reality is very different. Your daughter has been caught on CCTV camera by the vice squad attempting to sell her body, and her bedroom in the Mayfair flat was a hovel of dirty underwear, some of which belonged to prostitutes. There is a peephole giving access into the bedroom used by her father and pornographic videos and magazines hidden beneath her bed.’

  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.’

&nb
sp; ‘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.