‘Are they back together?’
‘I think so; they don’t always sleep together though, and I heard him say something terrible the other morning.’
Natalie was eager to continue the conversation but Agnes said she had to go as someone was coming into the kitchen.
‘Wait, what did he say, for heaven’s sake?’
Agnes lowered her voice. ‘That it would have been better if they had found her dead.’
‘Oh my God, that’s dreadful. Fancy saying something like that.’
‘Got to go.’ Agnes shut off her mobile as Marcus appeared at the kitchen door.
‘Who are you talking to, Agnes?’ he asked.
‘My daughter, she’s very concerned with all this stuff in the papers.’
‘Aren’t we all? I am at my wits’ end, and being cloistered up here is driving me nuts.’
‘Would you like some pancakes?’
He shook his head and walked off. Agnes went into the TV room; Lena was with the Victim Support worker, Deirdre Standing, a pleasant woman who had agreed to stay a couple of nights and had moved into a smaller bedroom.
‘Morning, Deirdre, I’m just putting coffee on, would you like something to eat?’
‘Just coffee thank you, Agnes. Lena, would you like something to eat?’
Lena was playing patience and didn’t look up from the cards.
‘I’m not hungry.’
The next day a very nervous and sweating DI Reid was given Simon Boatly’s post mortem results by DCI Jackson. He had been suffering from AIDS-related bronchial pneumonia and had died as a result of it. Initial tests had not as yet found any poisons from mushrooms, but further toxicology work was still in progress. The report said that it was possible the poison might have aggravated his condition, but passed through his system before he died. Reid had never felt so relieved in his life over the death of another human being.
Reid was at the Fulford house by twelve, where Marcus was waiting with Lena in the sitting room. Keen to put their minds at rest, he came straight to the reason he was there.
‘Your friend Simon Boatly died of an AIDS-related infection.’
‘AIDS,’ Lena said and gave an odd soft laugh.
Reid continued. ‘To date no one we had been concerned about has shown any signs of illness linked to mushroom-poisoning nor have we found anything untoward in their food supplies.’
Lena said that although Amy was still missing this came as a huge relief. Marcus however seemed to take the news differently – he asked Reid to repeat it, saying that he was certain it could not have been AIDS, and then asked if he knew whether Grant was also infected.
‘I think, Mr Fulford, that a forensic pathologist knows an AIDS-related death when he examines a body. As for Grant, well I’ve never met or spoken with him.’
Marcus abruptly left the room, and Lena stared after him.
‘He is finding this very difficult to deal with,’ she said quietly.
‘Well, Mr Boatly was a close friend.’
‘I don’t mean about that, it’s the press camped outside virtually twenty-four seven. It’s a total invasion of our privacy and we can’t move out of the house. The press and Crime Night appeals failed to bring any new or useful information to light, yet they continue to pressure us.’
‘They don’t give up easily. It’s possible if you agreed to do a TV interview, say in the house here, that you would not then be subjected to such media pressure. I can also help you vet the questions before the show.’
She nodded, and sat down again. ‘The ironic thing is, my husband has really looked after me, and we have been closer since this all happened than we have in years, so, some good has come of it.’
‘No divorce then?’
She smiled again and without replying to his question said she would ask Agnes to bring him a coffee while she talked to Marcus about the TV interview.
Marcus was changing his clothes when she walked into the guest room and repeated her conversation with DI Reid.
‘Oh really, they want to tout us out like B-list celebrities, do they? We’ve already been interviewed; this is like watching us crumble and there is nothing more I can add to what I’ve already said. That professor has made a big name for himself out of it, spouting bullshit, and all this multiple personality stuff is a load of crap.’
She plucked at the bedspread and watched as he shrugged into the new jacket she had bought him. He then got a pair of new suede shoes from the wardrobe and sat on the bed to put them on.
‘What are you doing?’
‘What does it look like?’
‘Are you going out?’
‘I am going to see Grant at Simon’s place. I need to know if he’s arranging a funeral and what he might need from me.’
‘Why would he need anything from you?’
‘Because I know he is on his own and doesn’t know many people.’
Lena folded her arms, trying to keep her patience.
‘You mean you want to find out if there is anything in the will for you?’
‘I never even thought about that.’
She went and stood in front of him. ‘He kicked you out of his flat, Marcus, and put it on the market. Some friend, and now we know he died of AIDS.’
‘Don’t pretend like you didn’t know, he never hid it, and you trying to insinuate that he might have screwed Amy sickened me.’
That infuriated her still further. ‘Sickened you? He sickened me! The big rich friend with all his model girlfriends, yachts and sports cars. It was all an act, he was a queer, a homosexual who always hated me.’
‘He didn’t hate you, Lena, it was all in your mind. You were just jealous of our friendship.’
‘Really? And just how far did that friendship go?’
The slap almost knocked her off her feet; she toppled sideways and then regained her balance to punch him in his chest. He gripped her by her wrists, pushing her away from him, so angry that he would have slapped her again if she hadn’t ducked to kick him.
‘Well maybe you should have yourself tested,’ she hissed.
He just shook his head; this was the side of Lena that he’d always hated.
‘You should hope Simon has left me financially well off, considering the shambolic state of your business affairs.’
He knew from the expression on her face and her clenched fists that she was gearing up for an almighty row, but he no longer had the appetite for a fight. Instead he walked calmly out of the bedroom.
‘I am sorry but I refuse to be further subjected to any more media interviews,’ Marcus said as he joined DI Reid in the sitting room. ‘Right now, I am leaving to go to Henley to discuss my friend’s funeral.’
‘Well that is your prerogative, Mr Fulford; it was just a suggestion.’
‘We have gone along with all the police advice and requests so far, Detective, and the result, as you can see outside, is a media circus, and I refuse to have any further part in it.’
Marcus, wearing dark glasses, drove his Mini to the gates and the uniform officer let him out, whereupon the press photographers clamoured to get pictures of him as he drove off.
Reid watched all this through the hallway window as Deirdre from Victim Support, who had been sitting waiting in the TV room, came to stand beside him. She was a sturdy pleasant-faced woman in her mid- to late-thirties and had a very professional demeanour.
‘How are things here?’ he asked her.
‘Very tense. I am having more to do with her than the husband, he just wanders around smoking and drinking, but she is trying her best to remain calm and positive. Any idea how long you’ll need me to be here?’ she asked.
‘Well it’s entirely up to you. I can’t force you to stay, but their daughter is still missing, they’re being harassed by the media, and our investigation is stalling.’
‘Yes, I appreciate that, but I don’t usually move in to a family home and I have my own two daughters to look after. I also have other victims of crime that I need to visit,’ she informed him in a serious but pleasant manner.