Gaslighting: A British Crime Thriller (Doc Powers & D.I. Carver Investigate Book 3)

by Will Patching

  ‘And now?’ Jack was up again, drink forgotten, unable to remain coiled in his seat.

  ‘If it really was Billy Leech, well, he may have taken a copy of all my keystrokes on the Mac between our first and last sessions, using the same USB stick to steal the information. I’m beginning to think that young man may have accessed everything I’d stored digitally, here or in the cloud, at the time of our last meeting together.’

  ‘Everything?’ Thunderstruck. Stock still, staring down at Doc.

  ‘Uh-huh. Everything. My private and personal emails. My old client files. Records of every criminal enquiry I’ve ever been involved in. Including the Leech affair – which was probably his reason for coming here in the first place.’

  Doc had never seen Jack’s chin literally hang open before, with such a dumbfounded look of shock and horror. There was little else to add and he braced himself for the torrent of verbal abuse he was sure he was about to receive.

  ‘Sorry, Jack. I probably should’ve told you at the time…’

  ***

  ‘Are you okay, my love?’ Doc’s head appeared round the bedroom door, a quizzical expression furrowing his forehead.

  ‘Mmm. I’m fine. I didn’t sleep so well last night. Sorry I left the party early.’ Judy was sitting up in bed, sure there was more to her husband’s question than his superficial concern for her wellbeing. ‘What was all the shouting about? Outside? Earlier? It woke me up. And what was Jack shouting about just now?’

  She had managed to doze, though in truth, she had retreated to her bedroom not through tiredness – entertaining Jack’s colleagues had been sucking the life out of her. She always seemed to be playing a role in life these days. The real Judy had departed the planet long ago, leaving just an actress performing all the parts she was expected to play.

  ‘Oh, it was nothing. A car swerved into the drive and Dickie’s Bentley came off a bit the worse for wear. No harm done really, though he’s taking his chauffeur to the hospital for a check-up. Jonesy banged his head and was a bit shaken up… Do you need anything? I’ll be downstairs, chatting with Jack for a while.’

  ‘No, I’m going to read, and just relax here. I feel a little washed out.’ She forced a grin and added a half-truth. Why not? Doc was lying to her again, she was sure of that. ‘Entertaining takes it out of me. You know.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be downstairs if you need me. Sorry if we’ve been a bit raucous. We’re still celebrating.’ He gave her a cheeky grin and added, ‘I may be a little drunk already!’

  Judy had guessed as much. She almost blurted out her secret, but he blew her a kiss and pushed the door to before she could say another word.

  Although it was early, she wanted to sleep again. To dream of happier times. For an hour or so she tossed and turned, unable to relax, knowing she had a decision to make. She heard low voices from downstairs as she switched on her light and saw the time. Eleven o’clock. It sounded like the Professor must be back from taking his driver, Mr Jones, to the hospital.

  Maybe the Royal Berks, too?

  The place where her first husband had died. Not that she cared that much for him at the time. It was also the very same hospital she had visited three hours before her hairdressing appointment this morning.

  At the abortion clinic.

  Judy had never been particularly religious, though her family was Catholic and so she had the usual range of taboos drummed into her at an early age.

  Suicide was bad enough.

  But abortion?

  Murdering an unborn child.

  A mercy killing, in her mind.

  The thought that Colin might discover her secret, would somehow find out about her pregnancy, had been worrying her for weeks. He would never agree to an abortion, so she had not told him when she’d first realised, recognising the symptoms from when Josh had made his presence known to her. The sickness and tiredness she was now experiencing for the second time in her life…

  It was partly her own carelessness that had led to the dilemma. Forgetting a few of her contraceptive pills had not seemed such a big deal at the time. She regretted those foolish memory lapses now, though.

  Well. What to do.

  She had to tell him. To let him know. Judy finally made up her mind – for better or for worse.

  She opened her bedside drawer and pulled out the envelope stamped with the logo of the Royal Berkshire Hospital in Reading, took a long look at the contents, then sealed it, scrawled Colin across the front of it, and left it on the pillow beside her.

  With her conscience clear over a decision irrevocably taken, Judy lay her head on her own pillow. For the first time in the five weeks since discovering she was pregnant, she drifted off into the embrace of untroubled sleep.

  ***

  ‘How’s your man, Jonesy?’

  Jack felt wrung out and stressed after all Doc had told him earlier, and he was now determined to see the Leech boy punished for assault, no matter what Dickie had to say about it. First thing in the morning he would get to work on finding out everything he could about the psycho kid. Sunday or not, he knew some of the local coppers and would reach out to them before he took Doc’s boat for his vacation. His daughter and her fiancé weren’t due to arrive until the late afternoon, so Jack reckoned he would have plenty of time to do some digging before they all departed on their river cruise.

  ‘He’s going to be fit as a flea in a day or two. No fracture, though I was concerned for a while. Just mild concussion. No harm done, really, other than a rather devastating blow to his pride.’ Dickie chortled as Doc followed him into the lounge. ‘Jones served in the Welsh Guards, though that was over two decades ago. Still, I can just imagine how he feels.’

  Doc also had a little laugh about it, though Jack could see no humour in the situation at all. His mood had gone from exultant when he’d first arrived, looking forward to celebrating with all his colleagues and friends today, to apprehensive and disturbed with the discovery of the animal remains in the barbie, then mildly inebriated as the party got under way. He was pissed off about his boss putting a dampener on things, and then Doc had shared his thoughts about the Leech brat. Furious barely covered it.

  After coming clean, Doc had wisely excused himself to check on Judy, retreating in the face of Jack’s invective, blasted at him before he departed. By the time Doc returned, Jack was no longer on the ceiling, but his fuse was about as short as it had ever been. Even chucking a few more glasses of whisky down his neck had done nothing to lighten his mood. If anything, it had sharpened his sense that bad things were in motion, he could feel the evil swirling in the ether around them as they talked. Jack’s premonition from this morning, when Doc showed him the dead cat, was now firmly lodged in his brain, an unshakeable presence demanding his attention.

  And his gut told him the Leech boy was at the centre of it all.

  ‘Would you like to stay the night, Dickie? We’ve plenty of room and Jack’s not going anywhere until tomorrow evening. No need to grab another cab tonight. Let’s just relax and talk through today’s events. Jack and I have some things to share with you. Unless you have to be away?’

  ‘That’s so kind of you, Colin. I’ll take you up on that. I found another bottle of this excellent scotch in my car too.’ He handed a Harrods carrier bag containing a fancy box to Doc, grinning. ‘I also keep an overnight bag in the boot – carry it at all times. You never know when your luck might change.’ Professor Maddox, suave and sophisticated ladies man and confirmed bachelor, winked as he added, ‘So how about another drink for your guest, then?’

  Jack and Dickie settled into the lounge suite while Doc filled their glasses, still within earshot as Jack asked, ‘What can you tell us about that little performance by the Leech boy tonight, Dickie? He’s a wild one.’

  ‘It’s a sad story, and I know Doc’s familiar with it all. The family history.’

  ‘We’re both aware of all that. I’m more interested in why Billy Leech holds a grudge against you. Is it rea
lly about money, and you overcharging his mother?’ Dickie looked taken aback at Jack’s tone and blunt question. Interrogation. Jack softened his voice. ‘Well, according to the boy, of course.’

  ‘There’s rather more to it, as you rightly suspect, Jack. Thanks, Colin.’ Dickie took the glass from Doc, who then flopped into his armchair, saying nothing, just waiting to hear some explanation for the attack on the Bentley and its driver. ‘The boy’s written to me, a few times over the last couple of years.’

  ‘Wrote what?’ Jack leaned forward and in his eagerness to hear more, almost dropped his glass on the coffee table in front of him, slopping whisky as it clattered on the surface. A glance between his two friends suggested he might not be fully compos mentis. ‘I’m not pissed, you two. I’m pissed off! What did he say in these letters?’

  ‘Emails. The first one told me his mother was abusing painkillers, and that it was down to me, that she had become addicted after my staff started treating her. In truth, Susan Leech was already showing signs of substance abuse when the clinic first took her on to rebuild her face.’

  ‘So why treat her then? Loads of operations, loads of pain medication? Sounds well dodgy to me.’

  Jack couldn’t help the edge in his voice, and could see Dickie bristling, but Doc interrupted, smoothing things between them.

  ‘I assume Dickie thought that addressing the root cause of her drug abuse would help the woman. Correct?’

  Dickie nodded, continued. ‘Of course. We also monitored her progress, and were very careful with the medication we prescribed, both in terms of the opiate content and the levels. I can’t divulge more, but let me assure you, Jack, we’re not in the business of creating junkies.’

  ‘You said that was the first email?’

  ‘Uh-huh. The second was more ominous in tone, though I dismissed it out of hand.’ Dickie let a disdainful snort loose. ‘He threatened to sue me. Said he would take legal advice unless the clinic desisted from treating his mother. Told me I was killing the poor woman… A boy of what, fourteen, fifteen, threatening me with a law suit. Hah!’

  ‘Did you reply?’ Doc had his eyes closed as he asked. Jack had suspected he was nodding off. No chance.

  ‘I ignored the first one, though did inform his mother in the hope she might undertake some effective parental action and stop him. She clearly failed. The second email, I gave to my solicitor to deal with. I thought a formal letter from him would shut the boy up. It didn’t.’

  ‘The third email? What did that say?’

  ‘Not much. Just a few words in all.’ Dickie took a sip of his whisky, speaking matter-of-factly, unperturbed as he shared Billy’s final emailed threat. ‘You POS. You’ll be sorry.’

  ‘Piece of shit? Charming little bleeder. When was all this?’

  ‘That latest was maybe four months ago. Or three. I’m not sure. I hadn’t given it much thought. Until tonight. It was around that time he first had a go at my car.’

  ‘What? He smashed it up before tonight, then?’

  ‘Yes… The windscreen last time. And a few scuffs on the top of the bonnet.’

  ‘Did you report any of this to the police?’

  ‘Oh, come off it, Jack. He’s just a disturbed lad with a very damaged mother. For the sake of a few quid and some silly emails, I was hardly likely to bother the Met’s finest, was I?’

  ‘You could’ve had a word with me about it. Why didn’t you?’

  ‘I assumed it was nothing serious. I didn’t think it worth bothering with. Mrs Leech paid for the damage, and no doubt will do so for tonight’s fiasco too. It’s not as if the boy’s any sort of serious threat. He’s just an angry young man.’ Dickie’s puzzled frown dissolved into one of concern as he searched their faces. ‘What on earth is going on? And why are you both looking at me like that?’

  ***

  Billy Leech could hear his mother moving around in her bedroom beneath his. Her thumping footfall echoing on the bare floorboards as she hauled her fat arse around the room, doing God knows what.

  She should be unconscious by now.

  It was after ten o’clock, and by this time of night his mother had usually quaffed several gin and vodka cocktails, usually supplemented by drugs, including that linctus she liked to guzzle down, too. Stupid bitch thought the stuff was harmless, but codeine is converted to morphine in the gut. The over-the-counter medicine she was consuming in mega quantities was highly addictive.

  Billy sniggered as he thought about it. He was the one who had ordered her most recent supplies using her credit card and an internet connection. The local pharmacy had refused to serve her after she became a regular for what was supposed to be a medicament to help people with a persistent dry cough – something she clearly lacked. Billy had been doing the ‘chivalrous’ thing ever since, on several occasions ordering enough to last a normal person a year. She’d get through the latest batch in a month or less.

  What she didn’t realise was that she was also being dosed up on Temazepam, as was Nana. Billy had ordered a supply of that drug too, using the same online pharmacies – ones that weren’t too fussy about the legal requirements demanding a doctor’s prescription. The capsules were easy to open, and the powder dissolved in vodka and gin almost as quickly as it did in Nana’s milk.

  Perhaps his mother was becoming resistant to the sleeping tablets. He might have to find a new drug to knock her out. He’d have a little chat with Smiffy about that, too.

  And why hadn’t the bastard called?

  Billy poked around in his bedside drawer and pulled out his pay-as-you-go mobile phone. A cheap throwaway he had bought specifically for communicating with his tutor. He jabbed the speed-dial for the only contact in the memory, and spoke as soon as he heard the ringtone cease.

  ‘Where are you? Have you sorted out what I need, or not?’

  The echo on the line was all he heard for some seconds, then a heavy sigh from Smith.

  ‘I’ve not been able to get all the chemicals I need. You should’ve told me what you needed sooner.’

  ‘Don’t mess me about, Smiffy. I need that compound and–’

  ‘Tomorrow. I will have what you asked for ready for you by this time tomorrow. Now leave me be.’

  Billy was about to speak but the line went dead.

  The bastard would pay for that.

  He’d been very useful so far, but he was reaching his expiry date.

  ‘Best before – Wednesday this week!’ Billy let a secret smile twitch his lips at the thought. He had so many things coming together in the next few days, it sent a thrill through his belly just thinking about it all.

  The planning had started in earnest over two years ago, all with his sixteenth birthday as the end date for putting his world to rights. One of Billy’s proudest wins had been conning that fool Powers into letting him into his study, then stupidly leaving him alone on numerous occasions to make them both drinks during their ‘therapy’ sessions.

  Therapy?

  What a joke that was. Billy had been keen to meet the man who he felt was responsible for the death of his father and uncle. Had read all his books, watched his entire TV series, even checked out the man’s scientific papers harking back to his PhD. A treatise on identifying criminal psychopaths.

  On first arriving at his grandparents’ home, Billy had been kept in the dark about his family’s murky past, but over the subsequent years he had gradually learnt more and more about what had happened. An uncle who Billy had been led to believe did not exist had entered his life one night, and, initially, the young boy had seen the man as an ogre, even had nightmares involving him.

  Bad enough, but his worst dreams were about his father, who would regularly appear, the top half of his head missing, blasted off by a shotgun cartridge fired up through the roof of his mouth, yet still able to shout and rant, to bully his ‘pathetic’ son.

  Billy sat up on the edge of the bed, his bare feet on the sheepskin rug, wiggling his toes in the fur. He concentrated on the sen
sations he could feel in his soles, the undersides of his toes, the tickling of the woollen strands on sensitive skin.

  ‘I am not dreaming. I’m awake. When I sleep, I will dream. When I dream, I will know I’m dreaming. When I wake, I will remember my dreams.’

  Every day, Billy repeated these words, either aloud or mentally, and had been doing so ever since he had first discovered the possibility of controlling his subconscious while he slept. He dropped the phone back in the drawer on top of his dream diary, the record he kept of each night’s adventures – another part of the ritual he had used to train himself.

  At first, it had been purely to tame the nightmares involving his father, to be able to push the hideous images away, to replace them with happy thoughts. As time went by and he became more proficient, he began to experience a wondrous new universe.

  One that included his dead uncle.

  Billy had a scientific bent, and some years ago would have pooh-poohed the idea of communicating with a dead relative, but now, he was less sceptical.

  Uncle Peter had taken on a new life of his own, in Billy’s dreamscapes.

  Reality no longer had such sharp edges, such a definite boundary between the physical world and the spiritual. Billy had studied some recent theories from respected physicists, suggesting our universe is merely a hologram, a projection, one our combined consciousness creates. To him, the idea had more merit than an all-powerful god, and a devil burning the unworthy in the fires of hell.

  No, much more likely that we create our own reality.

  Billy was certainly creating his.

  Finding Smith had been a real bonus. And that was down to the idiot, Powers. Billy had only been interested in his family history, but was amazed by the treasure trove he had obtained from the psychiatrist’s laptop. Among the numerous files and correspondence were some interesting emails. One correspondent immediately caught Billy’s eye.