‘Well, hopefully we will find her. If that occurs then we will not continue the search, but what you have to understand is that is exactly what will be going on – an extensive and at times very invasive search into your backgrounds. Your privacy will feel as if it is being invaded, but we cannot skirt any possible area that might give us some indication of what has happened to your daughter.’
Marcus nodded; he was starting to sweat profusely and he was certain that Reid’s probing questions had a hidden agenda.
‘I will give you anything you need, if you just tell me what you want from me.’
Getting to his feet, Reid thanked him and said he would discuss it further that afternoon. Marcus was ushered out, while Reid went up into the incident room, which was a hive of activity but so far with no result. Amy Fulford seemed to have disappeared without a single sighting. He’d by now asked for checks on the properties that Lena Fulford had rented in Devon, and had received the background report on the prison record of Harry Dunn. It was surprising that someone with such obvious business acumen as Lena Fulford would employ as her driver a man with a lengthy record of burglaries. Reid was unsure if he actually approved of Dunn being given a chance to keep on the straight and narrow, but he had worked for her for over two years with no apparent problem. Reid would want to question him again and also the housekeeper, Mrs Agnes Moors, who it turned out also had a rather chequered background of employment with various companies but never as a housekeeper, and had been made redundant rather too many times.
Reid also had a strange feeling about Marcus Fulford, although he couldn’t actually pinpoint what it was exactly that worried him. He had asked for both Lena and Marcus’s financial situations to be looked into. She was the obvious breadwinner, so perhaps his insistence that their separation was amicable might not be exactly true. By now it was after one and Reid needed something to eat as he had been at the station since before seven that morning, so he took himself up to the canteen. Barbara Burrows was finishing her lunch and gave him a warm smile. She was a little in awe of him and was obviously trying to think what she should say, eventually blurting out, ‘No news yet?’
‘No,’ he said as he fetched a tray and lined up for steak and kidney pie and French fries. He sighed. No news, not so much as a whisper, and he had hoped the press releases would at least bring him something to act on. Taking his tray to a vacant table, he sat with his back to the rest of the room, not wanting to be joined or forced to have a conversation with anyone.
Harry Dunn had almost filled a large plastic rubbish bag with old newspapers, food cartons, cigarette stubs and empty beer cans from the car’s interior and now he was giving the Mini a final polish. He was in a quandary as to what exactly he should do about discovering a Cartier watch that must have fallen between the front seats. He guessed it must have been there for some time, as there were mud stains on the carpet and smudges on the watch face. Right now, it was in his pocket. He’d had a job to vacuum up the dirt from the carpets, having to get on his hands and knees and use a stiff brush to lift the dried mud from the driver’s and passenger sides. As he buffed the dashboard and stood back admiring his work, he decided he would simply not mention finding the watch and if a good enough length of time elapsed he’d sell it to a friend he’d used on many occasions to fence stolen goods. He got into the car, drove it round to the front of the house and parked up, taking the keys in to Agnes. He was hoping for coffee and a Penguin biscuit, but a police car drew up with Mrs Fulford in it and so he made a quick exit via the garden doors and returned to the garage. He would finish clearing up in there, rewind the hose and wait to find out if he was needed.
Lena hurried up the stairs and into her bedroom. She opened the door to the section of the wardrobe containing all her sweaters and took out the one she believed to be identical to Amy’s. It was fine cashmere with a scooped neck and long sleeves, the cuffs frilled with a small band of maroon lace. She returned to the waiting officer and handed him the sweater, which she had wrapped in tissue paper. Assuring her he’d have it photographed, he also asked if she would allow it to appear in any TV re-enactment. Lena agreed. Agnes had been listening and asked Lena if there was any further news, but Lena didn‘t reply and walked away.
Back upstairs in her bedroom she noticed the heavy thick white curtains that were lined with a pale green satin had been moved. She knew straight away that as always Agnes had, instead of leaving a section of satin showing as she preferred, straightened them to hang down without any lining visible. Irritated, she flipped them open further to reveal the green material. She couldn’t help but remember what Amy had written about Agnes, and although Lena was aware of her housekeeper’s curtain fixation, she had not, she realized, bothered to draw Agnes’s attention to the fact she liked to be able to see the lining.
Agnes had made the bed, stacking the many cushions in a dead straight line along the raised pillows, and Lena had a moment of panic when she realized the journal had been placed on her bedside table. She wondered if Agnes had read any of it, and hoped not, but just in case she placed the journal in her underwear drawer. At the sound of Marcus’s voice drifting up from the downstairs hall, she hurried to join him.
‘I’ve got to go back to my flat to meet up with DI Reid. Can you give me the journal to take with me?’
‘No, it’s better it stays here with me,’ she prevaricated. ‘Come over this evening and we can discuss it then, because I still don’t think the police should have access to it. It’s not as if it contains any details of where she might be or who she might be with, and it’s full of too many personal details.’
Marcus hesitated but then agreed and went into the kitchen to collect the keys to his car from Agnes. She mentioned that she had asked Harry to clean it, and he thanked her then took out his wallet and passed her a ten-pound note. ‘Give this to him from me.’
Agnes took the tenner and said she would see that Harry received it. She walked Marcus to the front door, asking him if he would like a sandwich, as it was way past lunchtime, but he declined and got into his gleaming Mini. It would probably have cost treble that amount if he had taken it to a valet service, but he was short of cash and hoped he had enough petrol to get him back to Mayfair.
Agnes headed round to the garage and Harry physically jumped as she walked in. She handed him the ten-pound note, and he gave a shrug of his shoulders as he pocketed it. The Cartier watch was still in his jacket that was hanging up by the hosepipe.
‘Do you know if she will be needing me this afternoon?’
‘No I don’t; they came and took away something she gave them, but I’ve no idea what it was.’
Lena went into her office, sitting for a while in front of her computer, but was unable to concentrate, or even contemplate thinking about business. She was completely drained, and opening a drawer took out a family photo album that she used to keep on her desk. So many photographs were of Marcus and Amy and herself on various holidays and now with their pending divorce she couldn’t stand to even look at it. Slowly she turned the thick cellophane-covered pages depicting their happy times. The first photograph of Amy with white-blonde hair sitting on a beach with a bucket and spade aged three years shocked Lena at just how beautiful her daughter was then, and page after page delivered the same emotional impact. Amy was stunning, always smiling and playful; photographs of them together brought back a flood of memories. Marcus tanned and athletic, carrying his daughter on his shoulders, Marcus and Amy swimming and diving, Amy riding a little pony she had adored. Lena smiling in a sundress with Amy clinging to her. Page after page showed her daughter getting older, but even minus front teeth she had retained such perfect features – she had been a gorgeous little girl. Lena knew she had spoiled her; every Christmas photograph showed a mountain of gifts stacked under a decorated tree. Towards the end of the album were pictures of Amy at thirteen; she was not smiling as much, but more often staring wide-eyed into the camera. The last photograph was taken more than two years ago; it was Amy in her school uniform, glum-faced and holding in her arms her old worn teddy bear that she now hated ever to be parted from.