Twisted

by Lynda La Plante

  Jackson continued. ‘I called the hospital and told them it may be mushroom-poisoning and sent them a list of every mushroom mentioned in the journal. They said they’d do what they could, but his condition is critical and they’re doubtful he will survive the night.’

  Reid’s face turned ashen; his mouth was instantly so dry he could barely speak. ‘It can’t be connected, it can’t. I don’t think Amy even knew where Harry lived. Both Lena Fulford and Agnes checked everything at the house and threw a load of food out. No one else who works or lives in the Fulford house has been ill at all, and anyway Lena sacked him over the watch. It’s impossible, simply impossible for Dunn to have been poisoned.’

  ‘Well you had better bloody check it out.’ Jackson slammed out of the office as Reid tried to calm himself down, battling against the sensation of everything closing in on him. Not only was he exhausted but now he was concerned that he had never mentioned the sexual relationship between Amy and Miss Polka. If Deirdre’s information led to the discovery of the pair going to Italy, he would have to admit failing to report it. He hoped to God that Harry Dunn was not a victim because if he was, it would be his career finished.

  Agnes had a double gin and tonic. She had started by answering questions very diplomatically, but when offered ten thousand pounds, and a second double gin and tonic, her tongue loosened. She was certain that she could easily remove some family photographs from the Fulfords’ albums, but asked if she could call her daughter just to make sure she was doing the right thing.

  Natalie immediately suggested that her mother ask for another five thousand, and to check that the journalist would ensure that there would be no repercussions over the confidentiality agreement she signed when starting work for Mrs Fulford. Agnes turned off the phone and pursed her lips. She then requested the payment be increased to fifteen thousand. The deal was agreed and Agnes was assured that she would see the article before it was printed, so that any changes could be made.

  When DI Reid arrived at Kingston Hospital to enquire about Harry Dunn he found that DS Lane was already there. Harry had died just a short while earlier without Lane having an opportunity to talk to him. He told a shattered Reid that Harry’s wife said he came home from work with a container of bolognese from Mrs Fulford’s, and that was all he’d eaten with some spaghetti before falling ill. Harry hadn’t even had a chance to tell her that he had been sacked over the watch. Reid sank onto one of the hard waiting-room seats and put his head in his hands, wretched with guilt and wondering if he could have done more to prevent Harry’s death.

  It was some time before Harry’s attending doctor was available to speak to Reid and Lane. Harry had been admitted with suspected gastroenteritis, his symptoms consisting of dehydration, high fever and severe bouts of vomiting. After DCI Jackson had called them they had administered various antidotes for mushroom-poisoning, but to no avail and Mr Dunn had eventually succumbed to a bronchial infection that had resulted in his lungs collapsing, culminating in a heart attack and death.

  Harry Dunn’s body was being transferred to the mortuary and a post mortem was to be carried out the following day. Reid was shocked and asked if mushroom-poisoning could have brought on the lung collapse and heart attack. The doctor was non-committal until a forensic post mortem was done, and toxicology tests completed.

  Reid, grasping at straws, asked if it was possible Harry’s lungs collapsed through bronchitis alone. The doctor said he doubted it as his wife said he was perfectly healthy and full of life before suddenly being taken ill. The doctor told Reid that he could speak to Mrs Dunn and pointed to the waiting room opposite them. Reid could see an elderly woman in floods of tears being comforted by a nurse. As much as he knew he should speak to her about her husband, his guilt was so great he just couldn’t bring himself to do so. DS Lane could see how upset Reid was and patted him on the shoulder, assuring him he would speak to her and take a statement. Reid thanked him and asked that he take her home and seize the empty bolognese container for forensics.

  Reid went to the toilets to wash his face with cold water. To his relief there was no one else about as he stood staring at his reflection in the mirror, observing how his expression failed to hide his anger at his own stupid mistakes, and he banged his fist repeatedly into the metal towel holder, leaving two big dents. Returning to his car, he couldn’t get Mrs Dunn’s wretchedly sad face out of his mind; by the time he was in the driver’s seat the overwhelming emotions became too much for him, and he broke down in floods of tears.

  Eventually composing himself, Reid rang Deirdre and said he would not be coming over, making the excuse that he’d been held up and to tell Mrs Fulford that he would like to talk to her in the morning. A frustrated Deirdre replied she was finding it all rather a waste of time as Mrs Fulford had not come out of her office for hours and still refused to eat anything. She felt like she was wet-nursing her rather than performing her role as a counsellor.

  ‘I could do with some counselling myself,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Nothing, I’ll be in touch.’

  No sooner had Deirdre come off the phone than Lena walked into the TV room.

  ‘Would you like me to make a tea or coffee, Lena?’

  ‘I’ll make you one,’ Lena said, beaming. ‘I have been so hard at work all day, and I think I have rectified all the problems. As from tomorrow I will reorder and start getting the business back in shape. Everyone has been very understanding, and I have got the orders coming back and deliveries can be deferred until we are ready.’

  ‘Oh that’s good, and a tea’s fine for me, thanks.’

  Lena clapped her hands. ‘Yes, isn’t it, and I have also made a decision – whether Marcus likes it or not is not my problem. I want to do a television interview, so I want you to contact Detective Reid and tell him to set the wheels in motion. I will need to have my hair done, and will organize someone to do my makeup, and maybe you can help me choose what I should wear.’

  Deirdre was non-plussed. Lena now appeared energized and confident, almost like a different person, and in no way concerned that Marcus had not returned. She could hear her banging around the kitchen. The TV was on very loud in there, and to Deirdre’s astonishment Lena reappeared with a glass of chilled white wine for her.

  ‘Here you go, and the fry-up I’m making for us both won’t take long. There’s an old movie with Doris Day on Channel 5 we can watch while we eat.’

  Deirdre accepted the wine, even though she would have preferred a cup of tea.

  Marcus was also cooking dinner for himself; he had bought steaks, only to discover that Grant was a very dedicated vegan. He tossed a salad and fried up his steak as Grant opened a second bottle of very good wine. They had already gone over details for the funeral, compiling lists of guests and attempting to contact relatives, but it was not very fruitful as only two of the names they had recovered from Simon’s address book were still living. There was an elderly aunt who was in a retirement home and an uncle who was somewhere in Canada. Grant had been in touch with Simon’s lawyers to ascertain whether or not his will was up to date, and was told that Simon had very recently made some alterations. Grant had been eager to discover who the beneficiaries were, but had been informed that the legal team were still checking all the bequests.

  ‘Do you reckon he looked after you?’ Marcus asked, when he really wanted to know if he himself had been left anything. He had elaborated on how long he and Simon had been friends and tried his best not to sound over-eager, turning the conversation to how long Grant had been Simon’s partner.

  Grant had been slightly evasive, as he had only been associated with Simon for six months. He explained that he had been hired as a crew member for Simon’s yacht and their relationship had become serious only recently. Yet again Marcus prodded for information, knowing Simon had died from an AIDS-related illness. Grant claimed that they rarely had unprotected sex – although Simon had never admitted to him that he was infected, there
had been suspicion on his part and he said he wanted to have himself tested.

  ‘What about you?’

  Marcus made no reply as he cut up his steak.

  ‘You and he had an ongoing thing, so have you been tested?’ Grant persisted.

  ‘No, and we were not active for years, but I’ll have myself tested as it can be dormant for Christ knows how long.’

  ‘Yeah, I know, but I also know if he was fully aware then he should have bloody well come clean with me. If there is no cash coming my way I’ll fucking sue his legal team that are being so protective about who’s getting what.’

  ‘How much is this place worth?’ Marcus asked as he finished his steak.

  ‘I dunno, but there’s his yacht, the Bahamas villa, his car, the sale of this place and the Mayfair flat, so he must have been rolling in cash. This has got to be four to six million what with how much land it’s on, and with the waterfront.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess so – old Simon was never short, and he was always very generous to me, but right now I don’t have a pot to piss in. He suddenly withdrew finances for my divorce lawyer and kicked me out of the Green Street flat virtually overnight.’

  ‘Yeah, he could get these whims, one minute chucking cash around, the next querying a grocery bill, but he was generous and I got a wardrobe of great gear from him,’ Grant replied. ‘What I was thinking was maybe going through his cupboards and packing up stuff that I’d like. I don’t know how long they’ll allow me to stay on here, unless he has made arrangements for me – do you think he would have done?’

  Marcus shrugged, thinking that if he personally had been left money he would go through with the divorce and then go abroad.

  ‘What about your daughter?’ Grant suddenly asked.

  It threw Marcus; somehow he had shut out the emotional turmoil of her disappearance, as not allowing himself to think about her made it easier to cope with what had just happened to Simon.

  ‘I mean, what do you think happened to her?’ Grant persisted.

  Suddenly the impact of Amy vanishing hit Marcus all over again and he gasped for breath, as if his chest would burst.

  ‘I don’t know, I don’t know, but I have started to believe she will never be found. I can’t sleep at night thinking about where she could be, or what could have happened to her. My worst fear, that I may eventually have to live with, is that she could be dead.’

  ‘What about your wife?’

  Marcus rubbed his eyes, and then picked up the napkin and wiped his face. ‘We broke up two years before Amy disappeared. I had to get away from Lena – I mean, Amy knew how I felt because she would feel the same pressure from her. She’s like a ticking time bomb, and you never know when she will explode or fly off the handle. In reality I should have had the guts to leave her a long time ago, but I stayed for the sake of Amy.’

  ‘But you must have loved her once.’

  ‘Yes of course I did, she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever met, and I had no indication that she had problems.’

  ‘What problems?’

  Marcus sighed. ‘I don’t really want to get into this. Just leave it, because if I have to think about it I get to feel guilty. She just has major problems, and I am probably one of them because she won’t let me go, she’s obsessive, but I believed we could work it out – we couldn’t, we can’t and now all I want is to walk away from her.’

  ‘Does she know you and Simon were at it?’ Grant asked regardless.

  ‘At it? For Christ’s sake, don’t make it sound so crass, and any sexual activity I had with Simon was a long time ago.’ He got up from the table to take his dirty plate to the sink and almost tripped over a large tin dog bowl. He looked down and picked it up as Grant joined him with his dinner plate.

  ‘I should chuck that out as it was Wally’s – I meant to do it days ago.’

  Marcus ran the water into the sink and went back to the table to pick up his wine glass; he refilled it as Grant put the dog bowl into a bin.

  ‘What did he die of?’

  ‘Wally? It was hideous, what with him being such a huge dog vomiting all over the place; the vet came out a few times but we reckoned it was rat poison from the barns out back – they have horses and with the hay and stuff it’s always got mice and rats.’

  ‘Rat poison, is that what the vet said?’

  ‘Yeah, Wally would eat anything but he was almost catatonic by the time he died.’

  ‘Did you feed him?’

  ‘Simon was off his food, hardly kept anything down, and I would fill up a bowl outside with anything he’d not finished for Wally.’

  Marcus thought about it as he washed the dishes and continued sipping at the wine.

  ‘You ever take food out of the freezer?’

  Grant was pouring himself another glass and heading out of the kitchen.

  ‘Yeah, but like I said, Simon wasn’t eating much.’ He paused in the doorway.

  Marcus drained his wine, and ran the glass under the tap. He didn’t want to even attempt to explain to Grant the reason he’d asked, but he felt unsettled and changed the subject.

  ‘You know Simon had some very nice gold cufflinks, a couple with emeralds in the centre.’

  Grant grinned. ‘Yeah, I know. I’ll maybe go up and have a check over the bedroom.’

  Marcus waited until the kitchen was clear before he went into the back kitchen and opened the deep freeze. There were shelves of meats and frozen vegetables, French fries, but no containers of ready-made meals. He made his way back to the main kitchen and banged into the doorframe – he was quite drunk. Could it have been possible that Simon had eaten something containing poison, and then if Grant had fed the leftovers to Wally maybe that was what the dog had died from, and not rat poison?

  He was still unable to stop thinking about it as he went upstairs and found Grant in Simon’s bedroom. He had opened lots of the drawers and small leather boxes had been tossed onto the bed. He continued his rummaging as Marcus started to open one box after another, uncovering monogrammed cufflinks and gold studs along with gold chains, medallions and heavy gold bracelets.

  ‘He liked the bling, did old Simon,’ Grant remarked as he searched through a drawer of silk ties and cravats.

  ‘Yeah he certainly did. Any money stashed around?’

  Grant shook his head, but Marcus was sure he would have already searched and pocketed much of what he wanted. He crossed to the massive old Victorian wardrobe, opening both carved doors to reveal rows and rows of suits and jackets, all expensive and tailored for Simon. Cashmere sweaters lay in stacks on the open-shelved unit above racks of trousers.

  ‘Like a men’s fashion store in here,’ Marcus said, taking out some of the items to check their labels, as he caught the distinct cologne worn by Simon, a musky lime perfume.

  ‘You staying over?’ Grant asked nonchalantly.

  ‘Well I’ve had too much to drink to drive back to London.’

  Grant came to stand beside him and put his hand on the small of his neck.

  ‘Maybe not sleep in here – let’s take this stuff down and open up the rest of the boxes with a nice glass of wine.’

  Marcus cringed slightly and then smiled. ‘Yeah, why not?’

  Grant returned to collect the boxes from the bed and tossed one to Marcus but as he tried to catch it, he stumbled and dropped it. The large leather case sprang open to reveal a diamond necklace.

  ‘Christ almighty, look at this – are they real diamonds?’

  Grant bent down and scooped it up, grinning. ‘I’d say they’re the real thing, and worth a packet.’

  Marcus watched as Grant stuffed the necklace into his pocket.

  ‘Hey, I thought we’d share stuff . . .’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m just putting it in my pocket to take downstairs. You never know, it might be part of a really valuable set that we can share out,’ Grant said and, with his hands full of the smaller items, he walked out.

  Lena had shouted to Deirdre that ever
ything was ready. Eggs, bacon, sausages, baked beans and mushrooms were all piled high on a plate, plus she had made fried bread, and was looking in the fridge for the tomato ketchup when Deirdre walked in.

  ‘Wow, this is a feast,’ she said.

  ‘Pour yourself another glass of wine, and do you want HP or tomato ketchup?’

  ‘HP for me, thank you.’

  Lena plonked down both sauces and then drew out a chair to sit opposite Deirdre. The television set was turned down low, and Lena gestured towards it, saying that Doris Day was singing ‘Que Sera Sera’, and it was about her son being kidnapped, but she couldn’t really remember much of the plot. She picked up the remote and turned the TV off.

  ‘Agnes watches all the daytime soaps and the usual crap. Sometimes I come in here and cringe as it’s either somebody cooking, or somebody selling or buying a house, so I hate to sit down and eat when she’s around. She drives me to distraction, forever washing her hands, and I swear if you stood still long enough she’d put a plastic bag over your head and stick a label on you.’

  Deirdre smiled and started eating as Lena banged the sauce bottle against the table, and then ate at an amazing rate, dipping the bread into the egg yolk.

  ‘I often think that this is the best dinner ever, and I love BLTs with loads of mayonnaise, and crispy fresh lettuce with thin-sliced tomatoes.’

  ‘My favourite too,’ Deirdre said and between mouthfuls asked Lena what her business was as she had never been told.

  ‘Oh I recently started a company called Kiddy Winks, it does themed parties for children, so I have people making up the costumes, toys and designs for the cake, tablecloths, balloons with their names printed on – all sorts of things like that.’

  She pushed her half-eaten dinner aside. ‘I had hired a girl called Gail Summers to help me run it, and I really made her welcome, and I was so helpful explaining everything to her and do you know how she repaid me?’