‘I hope you don’t feel that I should not go into work, but I have to deal with finding a replacement for Gail Summers. The stupid girl has left a large consignment for John Lewis in the warehouse and it should have been delivered last week.’
‘I think it is probably best to keep busy,’ he said, thinking it sounded lame under the circumstances.
Her hand still on his arm, she moved closer, looking up at him, and he could see her pupils were enlarged, the dark black making her irises very blue. ‘Has there been anything from the programme? I had hoped you’d call, and all the press – surely someone must know something?’
‘We’re still hoping, but sadly often these programmes create a lot of wasted time, with wretched people ringing in with sick false information, but every call has to be checked out.’
‘How awful that people use such heartbreak to concoct lies.’
He felt uneasy with her being so close and her hand on his arm was awkward. Eventually he gently patted it. ‘Don’t give up hope, Mrs Fulford; maybe we will get a call from someone that has seen her or knows where she may be.’
‘Oh I hope so, the house feels so empty all the time, and I miss her – I cry myself to sleep because it’s been over a week now. Have you ever had a case where a missing girl has been gone for so long?’
She finally moved her hand from his arm, and he lied, telling her that often it had been many months. She held the door open for him and he could not bring himself to say that a murder team would be brought in to review the case, as hope was fading for her daughter to be found alive. He didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but for no one to have seen or talked to Amy since that Saturday afternoon compounded his worst fears that she was dead.
As he left the house Reid gave a brief nod to Harry, who was standing by the Lexus waiting for Lena. Harry was increasingly nervous about the watch he had found in Marcus’s car, as his intention to sell it had faltered after the press release and his unwelcome discovery that it had Amy’s name engraved on it. It was still hidden in a drawer at his home. A Cartier watch would have been a nice little earner, but he was starting to think he should toss it into a skip and get rid of it.
Reid did not open the envelope containing the journal, but drove straight to Henley-on-Thames, feeding into the sat nav the address he’d been given, which was just outside the quaint Thames-side town. He drove along small country lanes, until he branched off into rather a substantial drive with big open gates. The Old Manor was a very elegant two-storey sprawling property with a vast garden and sweeping lawns down to the river at the rear. He drew up outside the white stone steps, which led to a large studded double door with a magnificent stone urn on either side. As he got out of the car a girl on a horse appeared from round the side of a barn and pulled up on the reins.
‘What do you want?’ she asked.
He was about to take out his ID when the front door swung open and a huge dog that looked like a cross between a wolfhound and an Akita hurtled out. It almost knocked Reid off his feet as it bounded on towards the horse and rider.
‘Wally, just behave… WALLY!’ the girl shrieked.
She wheeled the horse round as the dog barked and bounded alongside them. A suntanned man wearing a padded velvet dressing gown and slippers appeared at the door and Reid instantly recognized him from photographs at the flat in Mayfair.
‘Mr Boatly, I am Detective Inspector Victor Reid.’
‘Sorry about the dog – totally untrained and an absolute pest. I’ve not been able to take him for a walk yet so he’s a bit boisterous,’ the man said. ‘Come on in, sir, and please excuse the apparel as I intended to get dressed, but I didn’t think you would get here so soon.’
Simon Boatly was at least six feet two, slender, and his hair was bleached blond, while his suntan gave him a rather heavily lined face, with his teeth made whiter than white. He slithered along the polished wooden floor in Moroccan slippers, his ankles a deep tan, and he was obviously naked beneath the velvet dressing gown. It was old-fashioned, worn in places, with a threadbare satin collar, and the sash was frayed at the ends.
‘Right, let’s get you settled and I’ll put some pants on. Go on into the drawing room, help yourself to a drink and I won’t be more than a minute.’
Reid looked round the vast room; massive sofas and easy chairs almost as worn as the velvet dressing gown were dotted around a big stone fireplace. The grate was full of charred logs and cinders, dirty wine glasses were left on an assortment of coffee tables and a grand piano was draped in a Spanish embroidered shawl, the fringe puddling onto the floor. Oil paintings were hung in profusion, cups and plaques arranged on various sideboards, and above the fire mantel was a large gold-framed mirror with invitations stuck to the frame and propped up along the marble shelf.
The scattered Persian rugs were threadbare, with frayed edges, and badly stained. Reid eased himself onto a sofa, but then got up as he felt himself to be too low down. He eventually attempted to sit on a large carver chair, but most of the wicker seat had fallen out. The arms were embellished with wolf heads and were worn to a paler colour of wood than the rest of the chair. The room had a similar feel to the flat in Green Street – old-fashioned, full of antiques and no sign of anyone taking care of it; even the windows were grimy and the draped curtains a pale washed-out green velvet.
It was rather longer than a minute, more like ten, before Simon Boatly returned, now wearing cord slacks and a pale blue pullover, which enhanced his cornflower-blue eyes. He was a very handsome man but with an air of decadence, and a very easy-going manner as he slouched onto the sofa. He had a silk handkerchief that he wafted about, informing Reid it was dabbed in Olbas Oil as, since he got off the plane, he’d felt as if he had combination of jet lag and the onset of flu.
‘I obviously agreed to see you as I am shocked to hear about Amy; first thing I did was call poor old Marcus – he’s devastated, and it is really not a good sign for her to have been missing for so many days.’ He sniffed with the handkerchief covering his nose. ‘Don’t suppose there’s any news?’ He leaned forward. ‘Obviously not or I don’t suppose you would be interested in meeting me, but I can’t for the life of me think if I can give you any kind of insight as to where she might have run off to, or who she might have run off with.’
Reid said nothing, but took out his notebook and flicked it open.
‘How well do you know Amy Fulford?’
‘I wouldn’t even claim to know her. I’ve met her of course as me and Marcus are old mates; we go back a long way and he rents my pad in Green Street. This place used to belong to the same aunt – if it smells musty to you it’s because it’s been locked up while I am away. I’ve just got this elderly local biddy to clean and dust, not that I think looking around she’s very diligent; maybe I’ve got an allergy to dust and not the flu bug that’s apparently going the rounds.’
‘Did you entertain local prostitutes in the Green Street property?’
‘Wow, that is a bit on the nail, isn’t it? I may have done in the past, but I was left that place when I was a youngster. Did you know that one can even get a thing called “Gentleman’s Navigator” for a mobile phone? It can be used in major cities around the world to locate escort girls, strip clubs and even brothels, along with pictures, reviews and the going rate for sex… or any kind of erotic pleasure you may desire,’ he said with a smug smile.
‘No I didn’t,’ Reid replied tersely.
‘I used to be a bit of a jack-the-lad, but I can’t say that I have the same active libido, and doing the work that I do gives me a steady supply of lovely models.’
Reid made no notes but he found Mr Boatly a bit over-eager to depict himself as some modern-day Errol Flynn, and the longer and more closely he watched him and listened to the droll upper-class voice, the less he liked him. He constantly flicked at his blond hair, or sniffed at the Olbas Oil on his handkerchief; he still wore no socks and his slippers hung loosely on his tanned feet.