Seeing Doc like this sent an irrational and unexpected tremor of fear through Jack. The hairs on his forearm jumped to attention, as if static electricity was emanating from the psychiatrist’s brain, affecting Jack’s follicles, dragging the fine filaments upright. He went to speak, but before he could, a name croaked forth from Doc’s lips – one he had not heard his pal utter for several years.
‘Leech.’
That unexpected word discharged the strange aura surrounding Doc, and Jack wondered if he had imagined its presence. Perhaps age was finally catching up with them both. An over-active imagination was not one of the many failings Jack would admit to, yet, right now, he had an ominous feeling that Doc was channelling something weird.
Evil.
‘Peter Leech? Or his brother, Shaun?’ Jack was on firmer ground now, but he still hadn’t made a connection with the dead cat, pinned to Doc’s door. ‘What’ve they got to do with the thing in that bin bag – other than the fact they’re all dead, though the Leech boys’ll be even more decomposed than that rotting moggy?’
‘Peter was blamed for doing the same thing, when he was a small boy. Shaun was the guilty party, but the younger lad was caught red-handed, hammer in hand, the cat wailing in agony… Don’t you remember?’
A vague recollection blossomed into a fully-fledged memory as Doc spoke, and Jack immediately rattled off the reasons why today’s little escapade was different, but Doc interrupted him, impatient now.
‘Of course, I know all that! Think about it – the cat was posed here, at night, and fixed to the door with a staple gun. Easily muffled, no banging, no animal squealing in agony, otherwise I’d have woken up and caught the perpetrator in the act. This is not about torture. Or mimicking the exact details from all those years ago. It’s a message, a crude and effective one at that.’
‘You’re doing it again, mate. Reaching.’ Jack was automatically sceptical, but simultaneously couldn’t shake the sensation that things had changed fundamentally, that their conversation had opened a door – one he was inexplicably reluctant to step through. They had worked together, on and off, for almost three decades, and during that time, Doc’s frequent mental leaps had regularly taken him by surprise.
And Doc’s accompanying insights were rarely wrong.
As that last thought occurred to Jack, a lone gust of wind caught the bin bag. The sudden movement and rustling noise made him step back. Fearful.
Christ! I’m bloody jumpy today!
He tried to make a joke of his reaction, though he was still unsettled by it.
‘Blimey. You sure that cat’s dead, mate? Maybe it just needs a bath!’
Doc’s impassive face did not crack a smile, or anything else to suggest he had heard, though when he spoke, his voice was firm, determined. Certain.
‘Leech. You know the family lives less than six miles from here?’
‘What? The wife and the kid? They moved out here too? Where, exactly?’
Doc had relocated from his multi-million-pound home in central London soon after his arrival back from France, having found Judy there after months of searching for her. She could not face returning to his old home – it held too many painful memories – so Doc had sold up and moved to this magnificent country pile near Pangbourne. An idyllic location, with a stunning brick and timber Tudor home, beautiful ornamental gardens that extended down to the River Thames at the rear, with its own wooden jetty where Doc’s forty-foot motor cruiser was moored alongside. It would be easy to feel jealous, but that was definitely not one of Jack’s character traits. And Doc was generous too – Jack was just starting two weeks’ holiday, the first proper break he’d had for years, and would be taking the boat tomorrow for ten nights of leisurely river cruising.
‘Suzie Leech’s parents have lived on Bucklebury Common since she was a teenager.’
‘What? Where that Middleton lass comes from? The one who married prince what’s-his-face?’
‘They have a house on the very same road, Jack… More importantly, Suzie Leech has been seeing Dickie for treatment and–’
‘Prof Maddox? Is he coming today? Did you invite him?’
‘Yes, but–’
‘He’s a psychiatrist… What treatment? Did she go loopy? I wouldn’t be surprised after what happened to her. Having her eye gouged out and half her face turned into mincemeat. And her poor little kid, he’d have been a basket case too, after all he went through that night.’
‘No, she wasn’t being treated for mental illness or PTSD. She was seeing him in his clinic, in Harley Street. She’s had dozens of operations since that horrendous night. Facial reconstruction and extensive plastic surgery.’
‘I thought the Prof gave up wielding a scalpel.’
‘He did but he still personally oversees the team performing the most complex, difficult or interesting cases. And Mrs Leech certainly falls into all three of those categories.’
‘So, what has she got to do with this?’ Jack used the tip of his foot to delicately nudge the bag at their feet, in an effort to overcome his earlier superstition. ‘Your putrid pussy cat.’
‘I’m not even sure her presence has any bearing on what happened here last night.’ Jack sensed Doc was not sharing the whole truth, that he was indeed sure there was some sort of connection, and his next words sort of confirmed it. ‘The lad, Billy. He knows all about his family history. Details, Jack. Way more than he should.’
‘And you think he did this? How old is he? Fifteen? Sixteen? Why on earth would he? I doubt he even knows who you are, or that you’re living round here…’ Then another question occurred to Jack. ‘And how do you know what he’s found out about the Leech brothers’ escapades?’
Doc’s eyes had that introspective look again, his brow furrowing this time, as if he was firing questions into his own mind, searching for answers himself. Several seconds passed with the only movement coming from another gust of wind rattling the leaves in the trees, once again animating the bag on the ground between them.
‘I wanted to help him… But I’m beginning to think I may have made a very big mistake.’
***
His mother might have been ugly, but Mr Smith, his most recent home tutor, wasn’t much better looking than the dopey bitch. Like a deformed bulldog. The pug-faced features. Slobber foaming on his jowls. A vile specimen of humanity, but he was serving his purpose. Well, had been…
‘You want me to make a kilo? You’re off your head, kiddo. It’s bloody dangerous, mixing and cooking such highly volatile chemicals. Do it yourself. Brilliant student like you, should be no problem. Or are you worried you’ll blow yourself up?’
‘I don’t have all the facilities – you do. And I need the enhanced ANFO, made to those specs, and much more of the oxy powder than the tiny amount you mixed for me the last few times.’
‘It’s not going to happen!’
Billy snatched the single sheet of paper from Smith’s hands, crumpled it and tossed it in the bin by his desk, then sank into an armchair opposite the man who was supposed to be teaching him advanced chemistry and physics for the next three hours.
Now that was not going to happen. Billy had other plans.
He had selected this individual himself, having dismissed the previous teachers his mother and Nana had foisted on him. And it was not so much for his specific skill sets, although his multi-disciplinary educational credentials were most impressive. Much more important to Billy was the man’s personal history.
His criminal past.
‘Sometimes, Smiffy, I think you forget yourself. And why you’re here.’
‘And you’re taking the piss, Billy. I know you like to pretend you’re some sort of Machiavellian adult masquerading as a young teenager, but the truth is, that’s all you are.’ Smith’s face flushed almost purple as he crouched forward, perched on the edge of the sofa, glaring, barking at Billy. Not that anyone was likely to hear – the study was in a separate brick-built outbuilding that used to be the neighbours’ sta
ble. ‘Just a spoilt little rich kid who thinks he’s in control.’
‘Perhaps you need a little reminder of why you’re here. Roland.’ Billy twitched a finger on his remote control and the high definition screen covering the top half of the end wall illuminated, then a video started playing. A young boy’s moans, mixed with Smith’s panting grunts, immediately filled the room, blasting through the Bose sound system.
‘Oh, shut it off, for chrissakes!’ The deformed bulldog’s head shook furiously and a few gobs of spittle sprayed from his lips as he yelled. ‘Enough, already!’
The child’s naked body and the disturbing images showing precisely what Smith had been doing to him were seamlessly replaced with a video documentary explaining the physics of flight, paused on a frame with a lecturer scrawling on a whiteboard.
Billy sucked a little air through his teeth and across his tongue, aware that his mouth would be curling in apparent disgust, as if those few seconds of film had affected him. They had not, other than to reassure him that Smith would do exactly what he was told. The tutor shrank back into his sofa, giving the impression he wanted to melt into the cushions, to be invisible. Or anywhere but here.
Perfect.
‘So, you’ll do it, then?’
‘Sometimes, I think I’d rather take my chances with the police…’ Smith tried to sound menacing, threw himself forward again, grabbed a cushion, and wrung it with a vicious twist. ‘Or just throttle you right now.’
‘You like threatening kids, don’t you? Hurting little boys too.’ Billy was a big, strapping lad, but Smith was an inch or so taller, and probably twenty kilos heavier. Much of that extra weight was flab – not that it mattered. Billy didn’t feel the slightest bit threatened by the big man’s bluster. ‘You could try it. At best, you’ll be arrested for molesting me – like you were for that other poor innocent child we were just listening to.’ He couldn’t stop the snigger accompanying the words he’d emphasised. ‘At worst, I might have to explain to the police why my paedophile tutor was found lying unconscious on the study floor.’
‘Jesus Christ, kid! You are so full of shit. You talk like you’ve stepped out of a gangster movie. How old are you – really?’ Smith rubbed at his forehead with the heel of both hands as he spoke, not expecting an answer. ‘Yeah. I’ll sort it out. When do you want it?’
‘I need it tonight.’
‘It’ll take me all day to source the chemicals and then do what I need. You can’t rush a job like this.’
‘You’d better poke off and get on with it then. Class is cancelled today. If anyone asks, we were here, together until lunchtime. Just make sure my mother and grandmother don’t see you leave… Sir.’
Smiffy shot upright and towered over him. For a nanosecond, Billy thought the man was going to attack him, that the threat had not been an idle one. His body automatically tensed for the assault that didn’t come. A sliver of satisfaction gleamed in Smith’s eyes as he mistook the reaction for a flinch.
‘Be careful, kiddo. You might just’ve bitten off more than you can chew.’
‘Tick, tock, tick, tock. You’re wasting time. You should get moving.’
The gleam flickered as Smith hesitated, then extinguished as he nodded to himself before leaving without another word.
***
Doc watched as Jack put the finishing touches to his temporary gazebo while muttering about the weather.
‘No rain forecast but you never can tell. We’ll set up the grub and booze on a table under this canopy…’ Jack paused from his efforts for a moment, glanced at Doc and then asked, ‘So, how’s Judy? I assume you can still talk to me about her problems.’
They were on safe ground now. After helping Jack haul a couple of cases of booze, several carrier bags full of meat and pre-prepared salad into the house, his friend had finally stopped huffing about doctor patient confidentiality and Hippocratic oaths getting in the way of their professional relationship. Doc was relieved at the change of subject.
‘Still mixed. She has good days and bad days. She was doing so well, but just recently… I don’t know.’ Doc did not need to explain more as Jack was well aware that Judy’s mother’s death had hit her hard, then losing her son less than a year later almost destroyed her. She lost the will to live. ‘Getting back to normal’s not an easy task for anyone recovering from the depths of suicidal depression.’
‘She still blame you for that? Josh and her mum dying?’ Jack finished hammering a peg into the ground, tightened a guy line and, satisfied with his handiwork, eyeballed Doc. ‘Or does she blame me?’
Maybe this was not such safe ground, Doc thought. Jack, ever the detective, had clearly sensed some animosity from Judy, something that had been building within her over the last year or two. With a twinge of guilt, Doc realised he had been subconsciously encouraging the shift in her attitude, directing her negativity away from himself, and on to his friend. He tried to justify his complicity as he answered.
‘It’s not so much that she blames you, Jack. More that she won’t allow me to get involved in your active cases again. She’s fine with us working together on the TV series, but she gets pretty irate whenever you try to drag me back into consulting for the Met again.’
‘So… what? I can’t even ask for your advice now? Is that why you’ve been so offhand with me lately, when I’ve called about my investigations?’ Jack’s voice took on a petulant note as he tossed the rubber mallet to the floor in disgust, then pursed his lips and turned away. His voice was almost back to normal as he added, ‘Did you clean the barbie, or have I got to do that too?’
‘Jack. Wait.’ Jack had started striding towards the Aga-sized contraption that Doc had cleaned and prepared the night before, currently concealed under its vinyl weather protector, standing in its permanent location on the patio.
‘What?’ Jack stopped and turned to face Doc. ‘Did you? Clean it?’
‘Of course, I did. Listen. Judy has no problem with us being pals. It’s the profiling she has an issue with.’ Jack’s face was doubtful. Unconvinced. ‘Her exact words were: You can have a beer with him, invite him for a barbecue, consult with him for your TV series and books. But that’s it! You almost died twice doing that job, working with Jack and I can’t lose another person I love…’
‘So, she does blame me.’ Jack had his hands on his hips, his head shaking at the injustice of it all.
‘Well, she has sort of shifted her thinking.’ Doc didn’t add that he had encouraged the shift. ‘It’s a form of transference. She’d been blaming me for all the bad things that’ve happened over recent years, but she’s largely replaced me with you in that role… Sorry, Jack.’
‘Oh, great. Well that explains why she’s a bit frosty on occasion.’ He shrugged, a resigned smile on his face accompanying his words. ‘I’m just glad you two are getting on so well now. You had a tough couple of years when you first got back together. I promise I won’t bring up any current cases this time. Okay?’ He chortled and slapped a hand on Doc’s shoulder. ‘Well, not within her earshot. Fair enough?’
Doc was relieved to hear his pal making a joke of it, but Judy really had been upset and distressed at the thought of him being sucked into helping Jack hunt the worst sort of killers again. Her emotions had taken them both on a vicious roller-coaster since he had found her, lying in a coma in a Parisian hospital bed several weeks after she had thrown herself from a bridge into the Seine river. Doc had thought he had lost her, and spent many days by her side, willing her to wake up, clutching her hand as if he could somehow transmit his own life force into her. A lung infection had seen the life drain out of her, and her body, wasted away from months of neglect, had almost succumbed.
‘It’s been a tough time for her, but we’re through the worst. And I’m retired. Officially and forever. No more active cases for me. So, let’s get on with preparing for your guests – we’ve got an hour or so. Judy should be back soon, too.’
They strolled together to the patio and Doc
hoiked the cover off the gleaming Weber Genesis gas powered grill, then folded it as Jack stood admiring the device in its full glory.
‘I love this thing, but I reckon it cost almost as much as Sally’s car!’ It was an exaggeration, but Jack’s consulting income from Doc’s TV series had allowed him to treat his daughter to a second-hand Peugeot cabriolet as a gift when she graduated from university – and buy a brand-new Jaguar XK for himself. ‘This barbie’s a beaut. Four burners under that grill, a side burner for veggies, a Dutch oven, spit roaster, pizza stone and waffle iron. I’ll bet you’ve not used half that stuff, mate!’
That was true, but more importantly, Jack’s good humour was back. Doc grinned, pleased that their brief spat over his reluctance to share confidential details on the Leech boy, and the confirmation that Judy had redirected her animosity towards Jack, had not spoilt his celebratory mood. That was about to change.
As Doc tucked the folded vinyl cover into the stainless-steel cupboard under the grill, Jack hoisted the hood and immediately dropped it back in place with a clang that made Doc’s ears ring.
‘Jesus fucking wept! I thought you said you’d cleaned this last night!’
‘I did.’ Doc stood, wondering what had got into Jack, having seen him jump back after slamming the grill hood, as if electrocuted by it, his face chalk white. ‘What is it?’
Doc grabbed the handle and opened the grill, stunned by what he saw inside, his mind jumping to conclusions even as Jack murmured behind him, his breath now hot on Doc’s neck.
‘The Leech brothers again? What the bloody hell’s going on, Doc?’
***
After Smiffy left, Billy sat, meditating for a few minutes, emptying his mind. Then he took some time to assess his plans, trying to decide whether he could control the man long enough to achieve all the things he had set out to do this week. Tonight, he would ask his guru for advice.
Energised by that thought, he jabbed the remote control again to play the documentary, jumped up, stripped off his jeans, socks and tee shirt, and padded across the room to the door at the opposite end of the study. He left the film playing even though he could already recite it in its entirety should he ever need to, then he entered the other half of the building before shutting the door on the droning presenter.
Gaslighting: A British Crime Thriller (Doc Powers & D.I. Carver Investigate Book 3) Page 3