Douglas frowned. ‘You need to make a decision one way or the other about Marcus Fulford.’
‘We’ve obviously been misled regarding Amy’s character, so it’s reasonable to think she was sexually aware and may even have had a male friend that she decided to run off with. Perhaps an older man… there’s a family friend we suspect…’
‘Who is he and why haven’t you spoken with him yet?’
‘Simon Boatly, but we believe he’s in the Bahamas at present. He’s a wealthy aristocrat photographer, but basically living off the interest from a considerable inheritance. He also owns the Mayfair flat Marcus Fulford lives in.’
‘Well stop sitting on the fence, get out there and make some arrests,’ Chief Superintendent Douglas said as he picked a small piece of fluff from his immaculate trousers. He held it between finger and thumb, screwed it into a tiny pin-size ball and flicked it onto the worn carpet.
‘Although we found Amy’s passport she could have acquired another one, and we are checking flights around the time she was missing,’ Reid said, trying to avoid Douglas forcing his hand.
‘I’ve got a daughter the same age and I find it difficult to believe that a fifteen-year-old teenager never whispered secrets to her school pals. If our missing girl was sexually aware, and having some kind of a relationship with this Boatly bloke, then I would think she would have told someone about him, even more so as she was at a weekly boarding school and sharing a dormitory. If you insist on holding off on arresting people then I think it might be beneficial for you to have another session at Amy’s school.’
‘Already in hand, sir.’
‘Good. I’m having to go over to Scotland Yard, but contact me if anything comes in. I’ll give you until Monday and if you’re no farther forward I’m calling in a murder squad to take over the investigation.’
‘Does that include the weekend, sir?’ Reid asked, hoping the answer would be no since as a DI he would not get paid overtime.
‘Yes, of course it does and I’m ordering you to work.’
‘And what about my team?’
‘Overtime budget is tight, so you can only have two officers with you.’
‘If a murder squad does take the case I would like to stay on board,’ said Reid, spying his chance.
‘Let’s see how you go first, but make sure you keep me informed of any developments.’
Reid remained sitting at his desk as the DCS left. He had really not intended to bring up his thoughts on Simon Boatly, but now that he had he would have to question him. He sighed, doubting their budget would run to anyone making a trip to the Bahamas, but along with Marcus Fulford, Boatly was earmarked as a suspect. He checked his watch; it was nine fifteen, and it felt as if he had been at work all morning – instead it was only just beginning. His meagre budget was being stretched to breaking point by forensics and the extra uniformed officers assisting in the house-to-house enquiries. If it became a murder squad inquiry he really hoped he could remain on the case, and work alongside such experienced detectives, as it would be an excellent move for his future career.
Chapter 19
Agnes was taken aback at the mess in the kitchen. Again she was left to clear up the newspapers from the table, then wash the dishes and return the kitchen to its usual immaculate order, finishing by using cleaning spray on the granite work tops so they gleamed. As she went into the hall she saw Marcus heading down the stairs.
‘I don’t suppose you have any cigarettes, do you?’ he asked sheepishly.
‘Well as a matter of fact I do – it’s a pack that Harry left. I’ll get them for you.’
The phone rang and she saw that apprehensive look on his face, so quickly said that she would take it in case it was a journalist.
‘The Fulford residence, this is Agnes Moors speaking.’
Marcus waited then Agnes turned to him, holding out the receiver.
‘It’s for you, a Detective James Lane.’
Marcus took the receiver, and after a moment asked Agnes to transfer it to the drawing room. She passed him a packet of Marlboro Lights, which in fact were her own, but she would never admit that she still smoked. Marcus left the kitchen just as Lena walked in.
‘Who was on the phone?’ Lena asked.
Agnes said it was a detective and Marcus was taking the call in the drawing room.
‘Did he have any news?’
‘He never said. Do you want me to make some fresh coffee?’
‘No, I have a headache. Are there any paracetamol tablets in here?’
‘Yes, there’s a pack of Mandanol, the ones you prefer, in the first aid drawer beneath the telephone.’
Lena opened the drawer, fetched a glass and poured herself some water before taking out the blister pack. Agnes watched as she popped out four tablets and, without making eye contact, said quietly that they were 500 mg caplets and perhaps four were too many to take at one time.
Lena ignored her swallowing the capsules one after the other. She drained the glass and left it on the draining board.
Marcus was sitting on a sofa smoking, but when Lena walked in he got to his feet.
‘I have to go to the flat and bring my stuff back,’ he said quietly.
‘I thought you had given up smoking?’
‘I have, but for chrissakes don’t give me a lecture – the pack belongs to Harry.’
‘What did the police want?’
‘No news, but I need to give them a couple of contact numbers which are at the flat.’
‘What contact numbers?’
He inhaled, and let the smoke drift from his nose. ‘They want to talk to Simon Boatly, and any numbers I have for him are in an old address book.’ He made no mention that they had also required further details of the women he had been seeing.
‘But you said he was abroad when Amy went missing.’
‘I know; nevertheless that is what they asked me for and that is what I intend to do, all right?’
Lena nodded as he stubbed out the cigarette; the haze of tobacco smoke and the acrid smell hung in the air. She folded her arms, still standing in the doorway; it felt to Marcus that she was blocking him leaving.
‘I’m going, Lena.’
‘Did he say there was any news at all?’
‘No, darling, he didn’t and if he had I would have told you.’
‘Did you know that there were police officers looking around the garden yesterday? They have been over all the place, in and out of the garage.’
‘Lena, just bloody back off me and let me go home.’
She stepped away from the door and he gave her cheek a light kiss, but she averted her face as he smelt of nicotine. Hearing the front door shut, she picked up the packet of cigarettes and went into the kitchen.
‘Throw these out, Agnes.’
The phone rang and Agnes saw the same look of fear cross Lena’s face, and she quickly answered, repeating her mantra, ‘This is the Fulford residence, Agnes Moors speaking.’
Just as she’d done with Marcus, she held out the receiver and said that it was Detective James Lane; he wanted to speak to her. Lena was shaking as she took the phone. Agnes, all ears, listened as Lena said that she would begin to find a suitable section and would have it waiting for collection. She replaced the receiver, informing Agnes that the police wanted some footage of Amy for Crime Night, the new television programme.
‘That’s good – it means they are really doing everything possible,’ Agnes said, dropping the cigarette pack into the pedal bin. As soon as Lena walked out she pressed it open again and replaced the pack in her pocket. The way things were going, she reckoned she would need to light up soon, it was all so tense.
Reid was walking back through the busy main office to his own when DC Wey got up from his desk and said he had an interesting development to tell him about.