The interior of the house was in disarray; dirty dishes and cutlery were stacked in the sink, along with burnt pans and discarded half-cooked meals. Empty wine bottles and dirty glasses were left in the downstairs rooms. A fire had been lit in one room, the grate piled high with burnt newspapers and the ashes spilling out onto the polished wood floor and fireside rug. It appeared that Lena had moved from one room to another downstairs; blankets and pillows were abandoned on sofas beside trays of biscuits and dirty coffee cups. The bedrooms were in the same condition; the master suite had clothes heaped across the floor; dirty bath towels, some soaking wet, were left in every bathroom, and only Amy’s bedroom remained in immaculate condition. Lena’s office was a mass of documents scattered over the floor and tumbling out of the wastebasket, while rotting food was left on her desk. Laundry baskets were stacked with dirty clothes and bed linen, some with bloodstains, and it seemed that the cleanliness of the entire massive house had been neglected.
A discovery in the cellar proved to be very relevant. In a small wooden crate, resting in blotting paper and wrapped in wet tissues, were more poisonous mushrooms. Close by on a small table was a granite mortar and pestle, which contained the remnants of crushed mushrooms. Aware of the danger of inhaling deadly spores in a confined space, the forensic botanist immediately had the area cordoned off and insisted no one was to go in without full protective clothing and mask.
Reid was in his office back at Richmond when Jackson stormed in, looking flustered.
‘What’s been happening? You should have called me, kept me updated.’
‘Well I have been rather busy, sir, what with the arrest of Lena Fulford and the discovery of poisonous mushrooms growing in her garden and the cellar of her house.’
Jackson exhaled noisily. ‘The original search of the house when her daughter went missing was a total cockup. So missing the mushrooms is down to you, not me.’
‘At the time, sir, I was investigating Amy as a missing person – poisoning people was not in the equation and even the sniffer dogs were looking for a possible body, not mushrooms.’
‘Did she kill her daughter?’ Jackson growled.
The question threw Reid and he took a moment to think about it. ‘I don’t know, but considering this latest outcome I have even stronger doubts that Marcus Fulford murdered his daughter, or even sexually abused her.’
‘What about the fucking incriminating evidence against him? The maroon sweater, the watch, how long before she was declared missing – he could have killed her and in retrospect so could her psychotic mother. They could even have done it together and disposed of her body between them.’
Reid hated the way the bullish man’s voice grated on his nerves. He did not truthfully believe that Lena would have killed her daughter, but he had to take on board what Jackson was implying and consider her aggressive alter might be responsible.
‘I think, sir, we need to wait for Professor Cornwall to talk with Lena Fulford. She’s at the secure unit and he is talking with her now, and will hopefully soon start the hypnotherapy sessions. Rest assured, sir, I will keep you updated.’
‘Fucking brilliant, we wait for this trick cyclist to “TALK” to a woman we believe – correction, you and Cornwall believe – wrote that bloody journal. If she is suspected of murdering three people she should be interviewed at the police station and fucking charged with murder, then let a jury decide whether she is guilty or not. I suggest when Cornwall’s finished farting about you bring her back here for questioning, or I will go and get her from the nuthouse myself.’
‘I still think we would be wise to wait to hear from Professor Cornwall,’ Reid persisted.
‘I am not waiting – do you realize if this ever got leaked to the press it would create a media frenzy, far and above what we already had to deal with?’
It was at this moment Reid’s desk phone rang, and he snatched it up, grateful for a reason to deflect Jackson’s anger.
Professor Cornwall was on the line and Reid told him DCI Jackson was in his office and he’d put the call onto speaker.
‘I’ve had a long talk with Mrs Fulford and she’s currently resting in the therapy room, having taken a mild sedative,’ the professor began.
Jackson leaned in towards the speakerphone. ‘What did she say? Did she kill her daughter and-?’
‘I haven’t got anywhere near that far yet, DCI Jackson. I can however tell you that she understood that she may be suffering from something more than a bipolar illness, and she has agreed to undergo the hypnotherapy treatment.’
Reid felt relieved. ‘Thank you, Professor, that is very positive news.’
‘When will you start and how long will it take?’ an impatient Jackson asked.
‘When I feel she is ready,’ Cornwall replied smoothly, ‘and it will certainly take more than one session to uncover all of her multiple personalities. I will firstly have to attempt to take her back to the beginning of her childhood trauma and this alone will be a very highly charged and emotional session. Everything will be recorded onto a DVD and you are both welcome to watch the procedure via the large monitor in the next room.’
Jackson sucked in his breath and shook his head. ‘Very well, Professor Cornwall, as long as your methods get results. What sort of time frame are we looking at? I want her back in police custody to interview and charge her.’
Cornwall sighed with disdain. ‘As I just said, it’s impossible to say how many treatments Mrs Fulford will require at this stage. I will let you know when I think she’s ready to be interviewed by police.’
‘This is a murder investigation and I make the decisions about her, not you, Professor Cornwall!’
‘Let me remind you, DCI Jackson, that Lena Fulford has been sectioned and detained under the Mental Health Act and I am her appointed psychiatrist.’
‘So fucking what!’ Jackson bellowed, leaving Reid disgusted at the way he spoke to Cornwall, who remained totally calm.
‘So that means I alone decide if and when she should be released to police custody for an interview. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a patient to attend to,’ he replied with an air of aloofness and ended the call.
‘Who the hell does that jumped-up little prick Cornwall think he is? This bloody shambles is a waste of taxpayers’ money and all your fault, Reid. Having that woman sectioned was a bad move – you should have just nicked her for murder then interviewed and charged her. The judge would have banged her up for life anyway and done us all a ruddy favour.’
Jackson slammed the door hard as he left the room. Reid smiled to himself; he didn’t care what Jackson thought as he knew he’d done the right thing and Cornwall would decide when and if Lena was fit to be formally interviewed.
In the tastefully furnished therapy room Lena was sitting flicking through a Vogue magazine. She smiled at Cornwall as he came back in, closing the magazine and placing it neatly in line with the others on the coffee table. She frowned, tapping the edges until she was satisfied it was perfectly straight. As she turned to him, he noticed she had the most extraordinary eyes, thick lashes, and her skin was flawless – she really was a very beautiful woman. He had not tricked her, or made any promises; he had been kindly and intuitive, as he had explained that he believed he could help her, and that he knew she needed to find peace.
She said, ‘Thank you very much’, adding she was tired and closed her eyes, her hands holding onto her clutch bag, like a child with a comfort toy. When she was settled, her bag would be taken from her and the contents checked and kept in a locked cabinet. Cornwall decided it would be best to let her rest for the time being and showed her the room she would be staying in while at the ‘Guesthouse’, as Miss Jordan had put it. Lena was very appreciative and seemed to really like the room.