‘Look what that two-faced bitch has done, she has stolen private photographs and given them to the press as well as saying things about me and Amy. How dare she do this to me? My lawyers will sue her and the paper. She will live to regret this, I’ll make her sorry, she is going to pay for this!’
Lena was so enraged her whole face changed, her mouth a thin tight line, and she was virtually spitting as she swore and threatened to take a knife and cut Agnes Moors’ throat. Deirdre was quite frightened as she watched Lena pace up and down the kitchen, smashing plates and cups and anything she could lay her hands on. It was a horrible scene that went on and on, and Deirdre was worried that when Agnes made her nine o’clock arrival Lena might assault her.
Eventually, more from exhaustion than anything else, Lena quietened and began cutting out the articles with a pair of scissors and folding them up. This done, she announced she was going to her office to talk to her lawyers, but as soon as Agnes arrived she wanted to know.
Deirdre took the opportunity to call Agnes’s mobile and warn her not to come into work. The woman was in floods of tears, and claimed the journalist had twisted what she had said.
‘You have done a lot of damage, Agnes,’ Deirdre pointed out, ‘and please stay away until we have some calm here. Mrs Fulford is talking to her lawyers.’
Agnes sobbed, and again claimed that she had not said all the things in the article, but admitted she had taken the photographs from Lena’s private album.
‘Listen to me, Agnes, I don’t know what the outcome will be, I am just giving you some advice, and I think you should take it and stay away until the heat has died down here.’
‘Will I lose my job?’ came the pleading response.
‘That’s not up to me, but stay away from the house for now.’
Deirdre next thought she had better call DI Reid to explain the situation. He had only just arrived at the station, but it was buzzing, not only because of the leak of Marcus’s arrest, but also the exclusive interview with Agnes Moors. Marcus had still not been interviewed and was waiting in the cells for his solicitor Angus McFarland. It appeared he was very hung over, feeling unwell and had been sick during the morning.
Deirdre cleared up the broken china and then went to see how Lena was doing. She had locked the office door and after repeatedly knocking Deirdre eventually got a response: Lena said that she wished to be left alone.
‘Listen to me, Lena, I have spoken to DI Reid and he is going to try to come over to be here for you, and he needs to know if you still want to do the television interview.’
‘I said I would do it, and if they want me to do it, I will do it, now please leave me alone.’
Deirdre returned to the kitchen and put the scissors away, then picked up the scraps of newspaper, rolling them into a ball and tossing them into the pedal bin. The kitchen was quickly back in order, although the phone rang constantly and her head started throbbing as she wondered if perhaps she should answer the calls, but decided against it. She knew if DI Reid wanted to make contact he would call her mobile. Hoping to take her mind off the situation, she decided to read one of the many books in the floor-to-ceiling bookcase in the drawing room.
Entering the vast elegantly furnished room, with its rows of silver-framed photographs on top of the piano and on all the small side tables, she went over to the bookcase. Her eye was caught by the rows of leather-bound photograph albums, and she rested her hand against one, letting her fingers trail across the bindings until she hooked her index finger into the curved leather of one that appeared older. Opening it, she realized it was Lena’s album from when she was young and single. She flicked over the plastic covers, noting the various photographs, some in black and white, and was impressed by the neatness and the small handwritten cards denoting the place and year. She turned numerous pages until she reached the last section and was surprised to see a smiling, stunningly pretty Lena in a black university gown, wearing a mortarboard and holding a degree scroll. The note beneath it was written in black felt tip print, very small and underlined: ‘Oxford University Graduation – First-Class Honours Degree in Biological Sciences’. Deirdre had had no notion that Lena was so well educated. Turning a few more pages there were pictures of her wearing a white lab coat and with that beautiful lazy smile on her face; written in felt tip at the bottom was: ‘MSc Course, Harvard, USA’. The last page showed a serious-faced Lena standing beside a tall elderly man with a shock of white hair; he wore a crumpled tweed suit and a cravat, and beneath the picture was a caption in a different larger print: ‘Home with Daddy’.
Intrigued by uncovering Lena’s past, Deirdre reached for another album, carefully replacing the one she had looked through. She wondered if this was where Agnes had stolen the photographs for the press, and thought how disgusting it was that the woman had been so invasive and sly. Another album held many photographs of Lena and Marcus’s wedding day, and again Lena looked stunningly beautiful, dressed in a couture white wedding gown. As Deirdre turned another plastic-covered page, loose photographs tumbled out and she had to get down on her hands and knees to pick them up. Many featured the same white-haired man but now his face was scribbled over, or blacked out with felt tip pen. She laid the album down flat on the floor and reinserted the loose photographs; one she thought had to be of Lena’s mother and it was obvious where she got her good looks. She turned it over and in looped ink writing on the back was the note ‘Mama before Cancer’. A second picture showed the virtually skeletal frame of the same woman, and on the back, written in the same childish writing, was ‘Mama dying’.
Deirdre closed the albums, and had started to get up when she noticed lined up on the last shelf of the bookcase a row of larger volumes. Some were atlases and one was dotted with small coloured stickers, but not until she eased it out did she realize it was a detailed Encyclopaedia of Mushrooms.
Deirdre carried the heavy book to the sofa and set it down on the coffee table. She turned to a page marked by a small coloured tab. There were large coloured photographs of a mushroom called ‘The Deadly Amanita’, another was of a strange small domed mushroom called ‘The Destroying Angel’ and one with a flat head was described as ‘The Death Cap’.
Deirdre jumped when her mobile rang, and she patted her pockets to retrieve it. It was a very agitated DI Reid, apologizing that he doubted if he could get to her as they had a really worrying situation.
Angus McFarland, Marcus’s solicitor, had been taken to the interview room, where he demanded to know why his client had been rearrested. Jackson told him about the maroon sweater, and curtly said Marcus could quite possibly have murdered Amy in the flat, left her body there while he created an alibi by visiting Justine, and then disposed of the body on the Sunday. It had been a heated discussion and when Marcus was then brought up from the cells, he looked flushed, complained of stomach pains, and said he’d been vomiting. McFarland suggested that the police doctor be called to administer some medication for his client.
Jackson thought Marcus was trying to pull a fast one, and, eager to get started, said he’d call a doctor after the interview. He was certain he could break Fulford into confessing to murder and was going to be hard on him. Reid started the DVD recorder and cautioned Marcus. Before Jackson could ask his first question McFarland interjected.
‘My client stands by his original alibi; he is innocent and has never lied about where he was on the day his daughter went missing. As for the maroon sweater, Mr Fulford accepts beyond doubt it is his daughter’s, and that she clearly went to the flat he rented on the Saturday afternoon, but he was not there. When he packed his bags to move he gathered up the contents of the laundry bag, and without looking through it, simply dumped it in his case. Now unless you can provide any hard evidence to the contrary, or can disprove his alibi, I suggest you release my client immediately.’