Twisted

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘So the child steps outside of themselves and perceives the trauma as if it’s happening to a different person?’ Styles asked.

  ‘Yes, and they may use this coping mechanism in response to stressful situations throughout their lives.’

  There were murmurs and whispers around the room, but the importance of this information was not lost on anyone in the room, even DCI Jackson. Reid had their close attention now as no one had ever been involved in or dealt with a case like it before.

  ‘Professor Cornwall has looked at the journal and he believes that Amy Fulford had at least three or four different personalities and maybe many more. These different alters will have distinctive patterns of thinking and relating to the world, and can be in control of her behaviour and thoughts at different times. Some alters have stronger personalities than the others and are able to take control of the host whenever they want or think they should.’

  The room was now totally silent as everyone took in the severity of Amy Fulford’s DID. They listened attentively as Reid spoke about the different alters ‘switching’ from one to another within seconds and how it was possible Amy might have been taken over by the most dominant personality, who now totally controlled her mind and actions.

  Reid wrote ‘Aggressive Alters’ on the board and spoke of the contents of the journal and how there was hatred directed at her parents, Agnes, Harry and Serena, to name but a few, and there were also veiled threats of harm towards some of them. Jackson asked him to elaborate and so Reid explained that in the journal Amy had written, ‘H needs to be got rid of’, and he suspected this was about Harry. Another entry, which he suspected was about Agnes, stated, ‘It’s just a question of exactly how to get rid of her without it becoming suspicious.’

  Jackson held up his hand to interrupt Reid. ‘All very interesting, and I have read some of the journal myself, but the two entries you just mentioned could mean nothing more than Amy wanted to get them both sacked by setting them up.’

  ‘I don’t belief that to be the case and—’

  ‘Let me finish, DI Reid. In the journal Amy writes about fitting Harry up with a bit of jewellery to steal and she clearly dislikes Agnes and wants her out the house. You are letting your imagination run away with you.’

  ‘Professor Cornwall said aggressive alters can and have carried out violent physical harm to those they hate.’

  ‘Did he refer to or mention the specific bits of the journal that you have quoted?’

  ‘No, sir, I asked him if an aggressive alter could be violent.’

  ‘That does not mean Amy Fulford is about to become a serial killer. Granted, she’s clearly got mental issues and could still be a runaway, so I intend to call a press conference; we will release our concerns that she may be suffering from a mental illness and be a danger to herself. Also we will get one of our computer graphics guys to use Amy’s photograph and show what she might look like with different hair colouring. However, we also have to be open-minded and accept that she may be dead by her father’s or a stranger’s hand.’

  It was at this point that Jackson called the meeting to an abrupt halt and strode into his office, telling Reid he wanted to speak with him. He didn’t feel so bad after a few of the murder squad detectives approached him and said his talk about DID was really interesting and they agreed with him that Amy could be a danger to people.

  At that moment Reid’s phone rang and he stepped out to the corridor to take the call. It was DS Lane and he’d been given a tip-off that Crime Night had somehow got their hands on the vice squad’s CCTV footage and they wanted to run it on the next show.

  ‘How the hell did they get that?’ Reid asked furiously.

  ‘I dunno, all I do know is they want to run it, and repeat some of the material that was used in the last show.’

  ‘Okay, thanks for letting me know.’

  Reid knocked on Jackson’s door and related the call he had just received from DS Lane.

  Jackson shrugged. ‘Well that’s typical of an underhand investigative journalist. I hope you’re not accusing someone on my team, as your lot had a copy before us.’

  Reid had a feeling that Jackson was aware of it, and suspected that he might even have leaked it himself. While he didn’t want to get into a confrontation with the DCI, he felt it was unethical to show the footage and would be very disturbing for the Fulfords. As he turned away, Jackson gestured for him to come closer.

  ‘Listen, you got a good relationship with the parents, right? I think they maybe should be made aware of how we are proceeding. The mother was very antagonistic towards me, so I want you to go and give them the update on the journal and what that bloke Cornwall said.’

  Reid agreed, though he thought Jackson was just using him to do the dirty work. His suspicions were confirmed when Jackson then told him that he should really put them through the wringer to find out what might have traumatized their daughter.

  ‘You know they put out she was Miss Perfect, right? Well we now know differently, and we need to get some answers.’

  Reid found the DCI too close, as if he was invading his space, and he took a step back.

  ‘Do you have a problem with seeing them?’

  ‘No, no I don’t, but I wondered if we should tell the people mentioned in the journal to at least be on their guard as Amy may turn up looking totally different and assault them.’

  ‘Listen, I am doing as much as I can to digest this bloody journal,’ growled Jackson, ‘but for me it’s just the ramblings of a sick little girl. If DID is caused by sexual abuse at a young age then the suspect is staring you in the face. Now get out there and find me some evidence against Marcus Fulford.’

  Agnes had tidied the kitchen and dining room. She was unsure if she should check on Lena, but aware that Marcus was staying, decided not to go upstairs. She gathered up some of the sweaters that she had put to one side to be dry-cleaned and noticed the note Lena had left the previous evening that the two cartons of food were in the fridge. Agnes had a look for them, opened the unmarked container and could see it was indeed a bolognese sauce. She then left a note for Lena saying she would be back shortly and would she like the chicken or bolognese for her dinner tonight.

  Lena had slept longer than she had in weeks, and woke feeling very heavy-headed. She had a cold shower, dressed, dried her hair, and made up her face. Now that she was feeling more refreshed she collected all the cut garments, placing them into a waste bag, and then carried them downstairs to throw into the bins outside the kitchen door. She returned to the guest bedroom and gently tried to open the door, but realizing it was locked decided not to knock and wake Marcus. Then she went into her office, wrote a letter and placed it an envelope addressed to Harry Dunn, before returning to the kitchen and noticing the note Agnes had left about the dry-cleaning and asking what she wanted for dinner. Lena wrote a note back to say she had gone shopping, and might go out to dinner, so Agnes could help herself to the unused cartons of food. She then went to the garage to get the car, leaving the envelope for Harry in a prominent position. She decided to do the shopping in Richmond town centre, feeling very positive, and eager to choose some designer shirts and socks for Marcus.

  Agnes returned from the dry-cleaners and carefully pinned up the tickets on her notice board. Lena’s note caught her eye, so she went to the fridge and took out the plastic containers of food as Harry entered the kitchen.

  He was tight-lipped, folding the letter Lena had left him and stuffing it into his pocket. ‘The bitch has just fired me without the decency to tell me to my face. She better bloody well pay me a month’s notice.’

  ‘Good heavens, that’s awful, I’m so sorry – did she give you a reason?’

  He shrugged, not wanting to get into it, but Agnes continued reminding him how good a job he had done always keeping the car immaculate.

  ‘Yeah, well part of it’s your fault.’

  ‘My fault? What have I done?’

  ‘You told me to clean his ruddy Mi
ni, which I did and it was disgusting, full of garbage and fag ends; anyway, I found something, and I swear before God I intended handing it in, I just forgot.’

  ‘What on earth did you find?’

  ‘Amy’s watch, but with my record they put two and two together and come up with Christ knows what. I get arrested and spend bloody hours down the station with this prick questioning me over and over. Now she leaves this letter for me and never even gives me the opportunity to explain. I’m out on my ear.’

  ‘Oh I am sorry, it’s just dreadful.’

  Harry noticed the plastic cartons of food she was holding. ‘You making some lunch? I wouldn’t mind something to eat before I bugger off.’

  ‘Mrs Fulford didn’t want them so I was going to have the chicken. You can have the bolognese if you want?’

  ‘Thanks. After two years that’s about all I’ll be getting . . . fucking spaghetti bolognese.’

  Reid drove into the school’s horseshoe drive, parked up and walked to Miss Polka’s cottage. The front door was open, and so he knocked and then stepped further inside. The small hallway was stacked with all the paintings and framed photographs. He continued into the little sitting room to see even more artwork stacked and two large cardboard boxes filled with books. He turned back towards the entrance, and then stopped as he could hear someone crying. Cautiously he moved to the room next to the kitchen and tapped on the door.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It’s DI Reid.’

  She was sitting on the edge of a double bed, cases and clothes piled high around her.

  ‘I’m sorry to intrude, but your front door was open.’

  ‘You’re lucky I’m still here – a removal firm is coming to put my stuff into storage.’

  ‘You’re leaving?’

  ‘Not by choice; I’ve been given my marching orders by Miss Harrington, and told that if I leave quietly, if I don’t cause any further embarrassment, I will be paid up until the end of this term and she’ll give me a reference.’

  She had obviously been crying for some time; her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Not as much as I am; I have no alternative but to accept and hand in my resignation. They have a new art teacher moving in tomorrow, and I am not even allowed to say goodbye to my pupils. I think Miss Harrington has put a stopwatch on me, and will be monitoring my departure through her office window.’

  ‘You’re a good art teacher and with the reference I’m sure you will get a job somewhere else.’

  ‘I don’t know what I’ll do right now, but more importantly, is there any news about Amy?’

  ‘So far we have not traced her, but I believe it is possible she is alive.’

  ‘Really?’ she asked, wide-eyed.

  ‘Really – so how about a cup of coffee?’

  She ran her fingers through her lovely curly hair and gave a wan smile.

  ‘Okay, let’s go into the kitchen.’

  He followed her out of the bedroom and into the kitchen next door to it.

  He had to stand in the doorway as the kitchen was small and he watched her brew up fresh coffee for them both. He liked the way she moved in her ballet pumps, very light on her feet.

  She passed him a full mug. ‘Let’s go and sit down.’

  He sat in the same chair he had previously as she sank onto the low stool, which was surrounded by framed photographs of herself.

  ‘We have been given a journal that belonged to Amy and which she wrote in. It portrays a very tortured soul and we believe through expert opinion she was suffering from a multiple personality disorder.’

  Miss Polka, cupping both hands around her coffee, frowned and tilted her head to one side. ‘I don’t understand?’

  ‘It’s a complicated psychiatric disorder and hard to explain, but in short her mind and actions could have been taken over by a person in her head. She could be alive and living under an assumed identity and the real Amy is repressed by another personality.’

  She sighed sadly and her expression grew quizzical. ‘Oh that poor child. It sounds utterly awful and makes me feel wretched. Is it my fault?’

  He had such a strange feeling, wanting to put his arms around her; instead he carefully placed his coffee mug down on the floor beside his chair.

  ‘I don’t know whose fault any of it is, but I am trying to find out. The identity controlling Amy may be dangerous and want to harm people they’ve written about in the journal.’

  She was so shocked she spilt some of her coffee, got up and hurried from the room. She weaved around the stacks of paintings and he heard her retching and being violently sick in the bathroom. Concerned, he went to see if she was all right. She was shaking and wiping her mouth with some toilet paper, having flushed the toilet.

  ‘I’m sorry, but there is no need for you to be with me; it’s always the way I react to anything upsetting me. If there is nothing else you need to talk to me about I really should get my packing finished.’

  ‘Listen, I want you to know that I never brought up our previous conversation – it didn’t come from me, rightly or wrongly.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Did Amy ever confide in you about anything concerning her mental state or to do with her family?’

  ‘No, never. I swear if she had I’d tell you. I hope you find her, I really do – it’s just heartbreaking.’

  ‘Who do you think tipped off the headmistress?’

  ‘Tipped off! I really don’t know, but she implied it was anonymous, and asked me directly about whether or not I was a lesbian. Ridiculous but, to be honest, whether or not it was foolish of me, I said it was my own business and would leave directly, so here I am packing and doing just that.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry. Do you know where you are going?’

  ‘No, but as soon as I do, I have your card and will let you have my address. Obviously I want to know whatever the outcome is for poor Amy.’

  ‘We all do, so, good luck.’

  She shook his hand, eager to finish her packing, and looked close to tears again, so he left and heard her crying.

  Chapter 29

  Lena had returned from her shopping loaded down with shirts, trousers and socks for Marcus. She was about to take all her boutique and designer bags upstairs when Agnes came out from the kitchen.

  ‘Is Marcus up yet?’ Lena asked her.

  ‘Not yet, but I think I heard him moving around earlier. Shall I make him some brunch?’

  ‘I’ll ask him to come down.’ She continued onto the landing and found the guest bedroom door ajar.

  ‘Marcus, Agnes wants to know if you are hungry.’ She paused at the door.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll just dry my hair. I can’t find my clothes – do you know where she’s put them?’

  Lena called out that he should come into her room as they were in her wardrobe. She was like a child with presents as she unwrapped and laid out all the new shirts, covering the bed, and then she piled up the new socks and folded the three pairs of cord trousers. She was bending over the bed when he walked in wearing just a towelling dressing gown and put his arms around her.

  ‘Hey, I slept like a log, and you were right, I feel a lot more human now.’ He hugged and kissed her neck and she turned in his arms, smiling.

  ‘Listen, I have tossed out all those awful old clothes and you can have a fashion display. I think I have got all the right sizes.’

  He walked around the bed. ‘Are you crazy – when did you buy all this gear?’

  ‘This morning, so you take what you want to wear for today and then go and have something to eat.’

  He sighed and shook his head. ‘You shouldn’t have done this, Lena.’

  ‘Oh, and I suppose you want me to take it all back, do you?’

  ‘No, of course not, but you make me feel like a schoolkid whose mummy’s gone and got his clothes.’

  ‘You don’t like the styles?’

  ‘Of course I do: you always ha
ve impeccable taste – not necessarily my own, but this stuff is really nice, thank you.’

  She wrapped her arms around him, smiling, and he kissed her cheek. She picked up some dark green cords and then a dark green polo shirt, holding them out to him, along with new underwear and socks by Calvin Klein.

  ‘Here you go, try these on.’

  ‘At least let me pick what I want to wear.’ He sounded tetchy.

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, don’t be so prissy, and you need to have a shave.’

  He clutched the clothes and gave a rueful smile. ‘Can Agnes make me pancakes?’

  ‘Of course she can. Do you want maple syrup or bacon with them?’

  ‘Both,’ he called over his shoulder as he walked out. When he got to his room he kicked the door shut behind him and threw the clothes onto his unmade bed. It had always really annoyed him the way she would pick and choose his clothes; it made him feel not only like a kept boy but a ten-year-old one. She wanted him to dress like a country gent – tweeds and cords – whereas he preferred his old shirts and jeans and fully intended retrieving them from wherever she had thrown them out.

  By the time he had shaved and dressed in the cords, with the hideous polo shirt, even pulling on his new socks, which were cashmere, he felt less angry and berated himself for being so ungrateful.

  Agnes had made a pile of pancakes with crisp bacon and a pot of honey was open on the table.

  ‘No maple syrup, Agnes?’

  ‘Well there is but Mrs Fulford thought you’d prefer honey.’

  ‘Well I don’t, I want the syrup and black coffee.’

  ‘Yes, sir, that colour suits you – brings out the green in your eyes.’

  He laughed; she flushed and put down his pancakes with the syrup. She asked if she could just say something that he might feel was not her business.

  ‘By all means, Agnes, fire away.’

  ‘It’s just that Mrs Fulford’s office phone rings constantly and she has spent so little time in there and you know how methodical and tidy she is.’