Song Of The Psychopath

by Mark Tilbury

  As if sensing Tommy’s reticence, Dean said, ‘Or we could go for a drive to Oxford and see if anything jogs your memory.’

  ‘I don’t see the point when I don’t remember anything.’

  ‘No, Tommy, you think you don’t remember. Why not give it a try? What have you got to lose?’

  Just another piece of my sanity.

  ‘How did you get to Oxford the day you went missing?’

  ‘Bus.’

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘I sat on a bench outside a church somewhere and finished getting pissed.’

  ‘So, that would be a good place to start, wouldn’t it?’

  Tommy relented, just to shut Dean up. Truth was, he wouldn’t be in any fit state to go anywhere the following day apart from the morgue. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Great.’

  Tommy crossed his fingers behind his back. ‘Don’t mean to be rude, mate, but I need to rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Dean treated Tommy to a two-fingered salute. ‘Tomorrow it is.’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Karl Duggan and Number Three stood beneath an oak tree at the bottom of the garden. Number Three was doing his best to be awkward and uncooperative, feigning a bad back and an aching leg.

  ‘You have two choices, Number Three: either dig a hole or occupy one.’

  Three didn’t appear too enamoured by either prospect. ‘But I can’t. It hurts to breathe.’

  Duggan pulled a small handgun from the waistband of his jeans. ‘One more pathetic excuse, and you’ll have no need to breathe. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘But what’s the hole for?’

  ‘That’s none of your concern. Now, shut up and dig.’

  Number Three stabbed a shovel into the ground and started digging as if his life depended on it, which, of course, it did.

  The easy answer to getting rid of Hemmings’ body was to feed it to the fish, but there was no way on earth he’d risk poisoning his precious babies with that vile lump of lard. That would be cruelty beyond reason. No, the bastard could rot in the ground and provide ten years of dietary supplement to the worms.

  Duggan rested his back against the tree. He had a deep love and respect for the natural world. How it all worked in tandem to maintain life and balance. His body seemed to absorb the tree’s energy, rejuvenating his tired muscles and calming his thumping heart.

  He’d once spent a summer’s night lying naked on the bare earth, grounding himself, joined to Mother Nature as if by a huge umbilical cord. He’d felt her vibration, the beat of her heart, the warmth of her love. But the peace had been short-lived. Thinking at first the tingling in his feet and his legs was Mother Nature’s purest form of energy, he’d soon experienced a burning sensation followed by a stinging pain that had made a childhood tumble into a bank of nettles seem like a pleasant experience.

  Scrambling to his feet and flapping at his body, he’d run into the kitchen and discovered the source of this malicious outbreak. Red ants. Some had survived the journey from nest to house, others had fallen off and left his body an angry, blistered mess of swollen sores.

  Nothing in his medicine cabinet had helped to alleviate the pain and irritation. Not even a liberal dose of calamine lotion and a cold saltwater bath. He’d spent the next few days scratching and cursing and vowing to kill every ant in the garden with boiled water.

  Duggan had never exposed his bare skin to the earth again. Sunbathing in the garden from that day on was spent two feet above the ground suspended in a hammock, smothered from head to toe in insect repellent.

  Birds sang in the trees and the bushes surrounding the garden. He loved their sweet melody; such a welcome change from the pointless chatter of people and the jabbering idiot in his head who kept warning of disasters and lengthy prison sentences.

  Number Three stopped digging and leaned on his shovel.

  ‘Who told you to stop?’

  Three gasped and panted as if oxygen was in short supply.

  ‘Answer me, boy.’

  ‘I… can’t… do… it.’

  Duggan walked to the hole and peered in. ‘Can’t or won’t?’

  ‘I can’t. My back’s—’

  Luckily for Three, the conversation was interrupted by Duggan’s phone. He walked back towards the tree and scowled at Bernard Clancy’s name on the screen. Shit. What the hell did he want now?

  Clancy skipped formalities. ‘I’m at your front door, Karl. Would you kindly have the good grace to answer it?’

  ‘I’m busy.’

  ‘I don’t care if you’re about to make a parachute jump over the Himalayas. Answer the fucking door.’

  Duggan distanced his ear from the phone. ‘All right. All right. Give me a minute.’

  After returning Three to his room, Duggan braced himself for the coming storm and opened the front door.

  Clancy didn’t disappoint. He swept into the hallway and marched across the freshly polished floor in muddy boots. ‘Someone’s been asking questions.’

  ‘I thought that’s what people did with politicians.’

  ‘Don’t be trite. I mean awkward questions. The sort that could lose a man his career.’

  Duggan closed the door. Imagined Clancy and Hemmings sharing a hole in the ground for all eternity. He invited Clancy to join him in the lounge.

  Clancy strutted about in front of the fire. ‘This is going from bad to worse.’

  Duggan sat in his leather recliner. Tilted it back and attempted to appear nonchalant. ‘How so, Bernard?’

  ‘I’ve heard it on good authority the boy has been visiting a therapist.’

  Duggan grinned and folded his hands behind his neck. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘What do you mean, is that all? Don’t you understand the implications?’

  ‘Don’t get yourself all worked up. I know about the hypnotist. As yet, it’s revealed nothing important.’

  Clancy stopped pacing and faced Duggan with the air of a disgruntled sergeant major. ‘I beg to differ, Karl. My source claims my name has come up on more than one occasion.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And if it goes any deeper, I’ll have to go to the chief whip and get it taken care of.’

  ‘You’re overreacting, Bernard. Without concrete evidence, it’s all hearsay and nothing else.’

  Clancy’s cheeks flushed. ‘You do realise if I have to go to the chief whip, that’s me buggered forever. He’ll hold it over my head like a vat of burning oil. Use it to procure my vote on anything he so desires.’

  ‘So do as he asks.’

  Clancy snorted. ‘Are you aware of what happened to Sir Clive Atlas?’

  Duggan wasn’t.

  ‘He ended up jumping through so many hoops he lost his bloody mind.’

  All clouds have a silver lining. ‘But you’re much stronger than that, Bernard. The party didn’t appoint you health secretary for nothing. You have an innate ability to remain calm in the face of adversity.’

  ‘That was different,’ Clancy said. ‘It’s one thing destroying the foundations of a proletarian institution, and another altogether being caught in an uncompromising situation with your trousers around you ankles.’

  Duggan stood. ‘Would you like a brandy?’

  ‘I’d like more than alcohol.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘An assurance this will be dealt with.’

  ‘It will.’

  ‘Not from where I’m standing. As far as I can tell, you’re doing little more than hoping for the best. I want it dealt with, and I want it dealt with now!’

  Duggan poured himself a Martini and added a slice of lemon. ‘I’m doing all I can.’

  ‘I want you to get rid of this pesky therapist.’

  Duggan took a slug of his drink. ‘I don’t think that’s wise.’

  ‘And leaving it all up to fate is?’

  ‘But he might have evidence stored somewhere. Killing him might only serve to bring that evidence to light.’

  ‘
According to my source, he’s already asking questions about me.’

  ‘What questions?’

  ‘Like have I ever been convicted of anything. Has there ever been a scandal surrounding my activities. Who I associate with in Westminster.’

  Duggan sighed. ‘And have you got any unwanted skeletons rattling around in the Clancy cupboard?’

  ‘I was caught using the services of a rent boy fifteen years ago.’

  ‘Is that it? Bloody hell, Bernard, I thought that was a prerequisite for becoming a member of parliament.’

  Clancy plonked his bulky frame on the settee. ‘You wouldn’t be so blasé if you’d had to suffer the bloody inquisition following it.’

  Duggan’s mind rummaged for a compromise. He was already stretched to the limit after losing Hemmings to an all-night barbeque. ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll get Bella to register with the therapist. See if she can’t glean any information.’

  Clancy coughed. ‘And how exactly is she going to do that? She can hardly march into his office and demand all the notes and files he has on the boy, can she?’

  ‘Of course not. But she could say she’s related to the boy and wants to know how he’s getting on.’

  Clancy stalled. Tugged on his ear. ‘All well and good, but that still doesn’t alter the fact these psychiatrist types won’t divulge information.’

  ‘Point taken. I’ll formulate a proper plan for Bella to take him out.’

  ‘Yes, well, you’d better make sure it’s watertight. We can’t afford any slip-ups.’

  Duggan looked at the floor as if it was already forming a thin layer of ice. ‘There won’t be.’

  ‘You do realise this could destroy a lot of lives, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Tip many important people over the edge.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘How many members have you got in The Playhouse?’

  None of your fucking business. ‘Around twenty.’

  ‘Jesus damn and Christ. Why did I ever get involved in this folly?’

  Because you’re a corrupt arsehole with a liking for cruelty. ‘I’ve not heard you complain before.’

  ‘That’s because your dumb driver has never lost a boy before.’

  ‘If it satisfies your need for justice, Hemmings has already paid the ultimate price for his stupidity. I was in the process of burying him when you called.’

  ‘I hope you’ve employed a mechanical digger to cater for the lump.’

  Duggan studied Clancy’s bulk and decided the man clearly possessed no mirrors or scales in his house. ‘Is there anything else you wanted?’

  Clancy struggled to his feet, adjusted his tie, and smoothed back his hair. ‘I mean it, Karl. I want this therapist taken out. And I want it done quickly.’

  Duggan showed the MP out. ‘Try not to fret, Bernard. I’ll make sure this is all resolved in the next few weeks.’

  ‘You’d better, Karl. By God, you’d better.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Tommy’s planned suicide didn’t happen; he’d fallen asleep around one a.m. and slept through until mid-morning when Danielle had brought him a cup of tea and a slice of toast.

  ‘Dean’s already here,’ she said, putting his drink on the bedside cabinet.

  ‘Do we have to do this? I’m really not well.’

  Danielle smiled. Flicked back her hair which was now pale green. ‘Yes, you do. It’ll do you good to get out of the house for a while.’

  Tommy sighed. ‘Yeah, under normal circumstances. But I hardly think trying to retrace my steps in Oxford’s gonna do much.’

  ‘Never try, never know.’

  ‘Never try, never get hurt.’

  ‘Come on, Tommy, you’ve really got nothing to lose.’

  ‘That’s what you said about seeing Dr Marks.’

  ‘We learned a fair bit from that.’

  Tommy shrugged. ‘If you say so. Anyway, shouldn’t you be at work?’

  ‘I’ve got three days off in lieu of the Bank Holidays I’ve worked.’

  ‘What about Dean? What does he do?’

  ‘He runs his own cleaning company called Done and Dusted.’

  ‘So, why isn’t he out doing what cleaning companies do?’

  Danielle shrugged. ‘He’s the boss. He gets other people to do the work for him.’

  ‘Not being funny, sis, but don’t you think he’s getting a bit too involved for someone we hardly know?’

  ‘He only wants to help.’

  Tommy stalled, trying to choose the right words to articulate his thoughts. ‘Can I be honest with you?’

  ‘Course.’

  ‘I don’t like him much.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘There something about him, but I can’t put my finger on it.’

  ‘You’re letting your imagination get the better of you. He’s really nice, Tommy. Kind, considerate, and good fun to be with.’

  ‘Maybe, but you never really know what’s going on in someone’s head, do you?’

  ‘True. But that’s all part of new relationships. Taking it slowly. Learning what they’re like. Finding out whether you wanna take it any further.’

  His sister was right. He was being paranoid. But he was suspicious of how Dean had just walked up to her in the supermarket and asked her out. It seemed too forward. Too bold. As if he might have been watching her for a while. Stalking her, even.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll get to like him once you know him a bit better.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘So, are you gonna eat your toast and get your arse downstairs?’

  ‘All right. But don’t blame me if it triggers another flashback.’

  ‘No one’s gonna blame you for anything, Tommy. We’re all trying to help you.’

  He waited for her to leave, put a baggy jumper over his tee-shirt, and donned a pair of combat trousers with an elasticated waistband. His ribs were less painful now, and his arm was improving with each passing day. Not that it mattered. He wouldn’t be around much longer to care.

  He picked up the slice of toast and tossed it in the waste bin. Took a gulp of tea and headed off downstairs.

  Dean was sitting at the table talking to Charlie when Tommy entered the room. No doubt they were hatching a plan to rescue Tommy from his eternal nightmare so they could all live happily ever after. Danielle was standing in the conservatory doorway smoking.

  ‘Hey, Tommy, how’s it going?’ Dean asked. ‘Was beginning to wonder if you’d ever get outta your pit.’

  Thanks for your concern. ‘I’m not feeling well.’

  ‘Nothing a bit of fresh air can’t remedy,’ Charlie said. ‘It’ll do you good to get out of the house for a while.’

  So everyone keeps saying. ‘We’ll see.’

  Dean brushed back his hair with a hand. ‘Danielle’s been telling me about the creep who bit you.’

  There was an overbearing pressure at the bridge of his nose. ‘And?’

  ‘No need to be rude,’ Charlie said. ‘It’s a good thing you’ve remembered a few things.’

  ‘Is it? So, now you know the bastard’s bitten me, and some other fucker tried to throttle me, you reckon I should be grateful?’

  Danielle returned to the lounge and sat at the dining table. ‘Dad’s not saying that, Tommy. He just means—’

  ‘I don’t care what he means. I’m sick and tired of hearing everyone’s opinion on what’s best for me. Why can’t people leave me alone? I don’t wanna go to Oxford. I don’t wanna talk about this shit no more. I just wanna stay in my room.’

  Charlie stood. ‘Calm down, son. It’s all right. No one’s going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do. We only want what’s best for you.’

  Tommy’s eyes watered. Blood trickled from his nose and ran onto his lips. He pointed at Dean. ‘Who the fuck do you think you are?’

  Dean recoiled, eyes wide. ‘You know who I—’

  ‘Stop messing with my head.’


  ‘He’s not,’ Danielle said.

  Tommy stepped back a few feet and stared at Dean, body tense, veins on his neck standing out. ‘Why don’t you just piss off.’

  Dean looked at Danielle. ‘Maybe I should go.’

  She shook her head. ‘No. He doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s having one of his moments.’

  Tommy laughed. ‘You reckon you’re so fuckin’ clever, don’t you, Bella? But you’re not. Your as stupid as mud, and I’m gonna rip your fuckin’ throat out.’

  Dean stood. Moved close to Danielle. ‘What the hell’s wrong with him?’

  She stepped between Dean and her brother.

  Tommy’s nosebleed worsened. It dripped onto the front of his jumper. He poked out his tongue and tasted the blood. Warm and coppery. Just what the doctor ordered. He let it gather in his mouth for a few seconds before spitting it at Danielle.

  A fine red mist sprayed onto the front of her tee-shirt. ‘Tommy,’ she shrieked. ‘Stop it! Stop it right now!’

  Tommy laughed. ‘Why should I? You’ve made my life a fuckin’ misery from the first time I met you.’

  Charlie stood beside his daughter. ‘You and Dean had better leave. Let me deal with it.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Dean said. ‘Honestly, it just took me by surprise.’

  Charlie moved towards his son, hands held out in front of him as if trying to ward off an evil spirit.

  Tommy backed away. Grabbed a steak knife off the dining table. ‘Come near me and I’ll slit your throat.’

  Charlie stopped. Glanced behind him at Danielle. ‘Get out of here. Go!’

  ‘Yeah, get outta here,’ Tommy said. ‘Be a good girl and do as the prick says.’

  ‘It’s me, Tommy. Danielle. Your sister.’

  Tommy sneered. ‘Piss off. I haven’t even got a sister.’ He pointed at Dean. ‘It’s her I want.’

  Danielle glanced at her boyfriend. ‘This is Dean. My boyfriend.’

  ‘Yeah. Course it is. And I’m Little Red Riding Hood.’

  ‘Go call the police,’ Charlie told his daughter.

  Tommy lunged at Charlie with the knife. Missed by a foot. ‘If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m gonna cut out your heart.’