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

by Will Patching

No. She’s just tired from her run.

  ‘Why didn’t you say anything when you got back from the hospital, before the party? We could’ve shared the news with everyone then.’

  Her violet eyes shied away from his again, her answer ambiguous. ‘I wasn’t sure… I mean, wasn’t sure I wanted anyone else to know – just you and me for now.’

  ‘Oops, sorry. I told Jack and he’s out buying champagne!’

  ‘What were you doing cleaning the barbecue again?’ The abrupt change of subject and tone startled Doc, and he felt his face flush. Guilt glowing red. ‘You cleaned it on Friday evening. And what’s in that bag?’

  ‘Oh, erm… I came out to remove the leaking gas pipe and take it to the garden centre, but found a dead dog under the vinyl.’ It was a half-truth. ‘I wrapped it up and decided to spray the grill with cleaning fluid in case it contaminated anything. The animal was in a bit of a state. Diseased I think.’

  Judy pursed her lips and viewed him with suspicion for a few beats. Doc could almost hear her thinking, What aren’t you telling me? He kept quiet.

  She nodded to herself, blew him a kiss and said, ‘I’m going for a shower. You smell of dead dog… You should come up and join me.’ A wink. ‘Celebrate properly.’ She turned, waggled her butt at him while grinning over her shoulder and then jogged inside.

  Doc, his face splitting in a toothy grin, and with all unpleasant thoughts tossed from his mind, chucked the bag in the bin and trotted after her.

  ***

  ‘I believe you have a gentleman here by the name of Huw Jones.’ Jack thrust his warrant card at the receptionist at the BUPA hospital on the outskirts of Reading. ‘I’d like to speak to him, or have you discharged him already?’

  ‘Er, no, he’s still here, though will be leaving shortly.’ She punched a few buttons on her computer and then said, ‘Second floor, room eight. The lift is that way.’

  Jack strolled along the corridor, feeling underdressed. When on police business he usually wore a jacket and a clip-on tie, but his holiday attire didn’t include formal wear. Summer shirts, with short sleeves, designed to be worn open at the neck, were all he had in his suitcase at Doc’s home. As he punched the call button, the lift doors opened and he saw his outfit in the mirror on the back wall.

  Hawaii Five-Oh.

  He chuckled at the thought and was still grinning when he knocked and entered room eight. Jonesy was half dressed, buttoning his shirt, and he smiled back as Jack greeted him.

  ‘So, how’re you doing, matey? We’ve been a bit worried about you. How’s your bonce?’

  ‘I’m all good. Just some bruising, a sore neck from whiplash, but nothing to worry about. A bit of mild concussion they reckoned last night but the doc checked me over this morning and I’m good to go.’

  Jack leaned against the door, taking in the black eye that had sprouted from Billy’s kick to the man’s temple. ‘That’s quite a shiner you’ve got there, Huw. Do you want to press charges?’

  Jonesy pulled on his jacket, tightened his tie, grabbed his carrier bag of belongings and grimaced as he shook his head.

  ‘Ow. My neck!’ He held the bag up for Jack’s benefit and said, ‘The boss bought me some toiletries and stuff. He’s a lovely man. And he asked me not to. So, no. I don’t want to press charges.’

  ‘How are you getting home?’

  ‘Taxi. Why?’

  ‘Nah. I’ll take you. We can chat in the car. As long as you don’t live in Cornwall or somewhere similar!’

  ‘That’s kind. Slough, so not too far. But you won’t change my mind, Detective. Professor Maddox has given me the week off, and a bonus for my discomfort. He didn’t insist, but did ask me to respect his wishes. Left it up to me… And I’ve made up my mind. Fair enough?’

  ‘Sure.’ Jack hid his disappointment at the man’s decisive tone. ‘Come on then.’ He wasn’t about to give in that easily, though.

  The car nosed out of the car park and Jack headed the few miles to the M4 motorway, cruising through light Sunday traffic, relieved that the journey would not take long. He didn’t want to be late for his lunch date with Charlie – she’d be gone if he was, of that he was certain.

  ‘Why’s the prof so adamant he doesn’t want you pressing charges? I can’t believe it’s just about money and his precious client – the boy’s mum.’

  ‘You should ask him, Detective. He’s your pal.’

  ‘I’m asking you. What do you think?’

  Jonesy stared out of the passenger window, wordlessly. Jack waited. The power of silence. Uncomfortable seconds ticked by and then Jonesy muttered, ‘I s’pose it’ll do no harm.’ Then more strongly. ‘Between you and me – okay?’

  ‘Sure. Mum’s the word, Huw.’

  ‘I drove Mrs Leech home one time. From the clinic.’

  ‘From Harley Street? That’s a bit unusual, isn’t it? Or do you often chauffeur patients around in his Bentley?

  ‘Highly unusual.’ Jonesy remained silent again, and Jack could almost hear the cogs turning in the man’s brain, waited for him to continue as they sped east on the motorway. ‘Her son was supposed to pick her up at lunch time, had booked a cab to take them both home, but there were complications with her surgery that morning. She was late, but he wouldn’t wait for her. Just stormed out of reception when they told him it’d be at least another hour before she’d be discharged.’

  ‘Okay. And Dickie told you to take her home? That was very chivalrous of him.’

  ‘He’s very generous, and thoughtful. She needed to be accompanied, but a private ambulance wasn’t necessary. I was doing nothing anyway, just waiting, so I drove the hundred-mile round trip, there and back. Mrs Leech was really grateful.’

  ‘I still don’t get it.’ Jack turned off the motorway and followed signs for Slough. ‘Tell me where I need to turn to get you home, mate. And explain why this has anything to do with why you aren’t pressing charges. That kid’s a menace…’

  ‘He’s just had a tough life, Detective. It’s not surprising he’s gone off the rails a little.’ Jonesy huffed, then added, ‘When I got to their house, I helped Mrs Leech from the car. I was at her door when I heard the Bentley wheels spin as it shot out of her drive. I’d left the engine running.’

  ‘What happened? Are you saying the little brat nicked your boss’s motor?’

  ‘It was just a joyride.’

  ‘When was this – how long ago?’

  ‘Almost two years. I ran after the vehicle, but it does nought to sixty in five seconds, so I had no chance. He roared off down the lane, burning rubber. Turns out he’s done it before.’

  ‘Nicking cars?’

  ‘Joyriding… His mother was having hysterics, babbling on about him driving off in her car. Boy’s done it quite a few times over the years. I was fuming, wanted to call the police. The car was barely a week old… Cost two hundred grand plus change. Professor Maddox gets a new one every couple of years, and that trip to their home was the furthest it had been since delivery.’

  ‘But you didn’t? Call the police.’

  ‘No… Turn here, and then next left. Number thirty-two.’

  ‘Why not? And what happened to the car?’

  ‘He brought it back, ten minutes later. Said he always fancied owning a Mulsanne and thanked me for letting him take it for a test drive. Cheeky bugger… In the time he’d been gone, I managed to calm his mother and she begged me not to tell anyone. She ripped the bandages off her face, showed me… Told me what had happened to them both… I was shocked, still worried about the car, then he pulled up outside. No harm done. It’s not the lad’s fault he’s a bit wild, and it was just a prank.’

  ‘The idiot could’ve killed someone.’

  ‘Maybe, though he had been taught to drive as a young kid. His grandfather took him go-karting, and later gave the boy lessons on some local farmland. Nothing illegal in that.’

  ‘You feel sorry for him?’

  ‘Both of them. That poor woman doesn’t need me maki
ng her life even more of a misery than it already is. If the professor hadn’t asked, I still wouldn’t be pressing charges, Detective. Mrs Leech doesn’t deserve any more aggro in her life than she already has. Thanks for the lift.’

  ‘You’re welcome, mate.’

  Jack pulled in to the kerb, and Jonesy hopped out of the car and left him thinking about the woman’s fate. Was he being unfair on her? And was his suspicion about young Billy a hangover from his previous investigations involving the boy’s uncle?

  And the sins of his father…

  Jack’s fingers tapped the steering wheel as he sat outside Jonesy’s house, deep in thought, reviewing all he’d heard and seen since arriving at Doc’s the previous morning. He had been determined to pursue the boy, to punish him, but now he was not so sure. All their ‘evidence’ was entirely circumstantial, though the pets at Doc’s place certainly pointed to some link with the Leech family.

  Well, let’s see what Charlie has to say. If there’s nothing else, I’ll forget about Billy Leech, bugger off on me holidays and try to make the best of it.

  With his mind now made up, Jack found some rock music on his radio, cranked up the volume and sang along to Sympathy for the Devil – an old Rolling Stones track and one of his all-time favourites. By the time the Jag reached the M4, he’d found himself thinking about Charlie, hoping she’d have nothing for him, that he could just relax and enjoy her company over a leisurely lunch.

  But as the car began heading west, an ominous feeling crept up his spine, a reminder of his premonition from the day before. Just beyond Reading he spotted the signpost for Chapel Row and Bucklebury Common, by which time the sense of foreboding, the discomfiting conviction that something terrible was about to happen, had gripped his soul again. By the time he parked outside the Bladebone pub, he was convinced Charlie would have some very bad news for him.

  She did.

  ***

  ‘How are you feeling now, Mum? I’ll cook us both some proper breakfast when you get out. We’ll get you dressed and out in the sun. How does that sound?’

  Nana held a giant smoothie, a banana based fruit concoction, and sucked at it greedily through a straw as she soaked in the bath. Suzie could see her perk up as the sugar hit her bloodstream. The warm water had added colour to her cheeks, and she began to talk less haltingly as her brain absorbed the nutrients.

  ‘I’d like that. I feel so much better… But everything is such a blur, lately.’

  ‘Did you enjoy the lasagne I made yesterday?’

  ‘I think so. I don’t remember eating much… Why didn’t you tell me?’

  Suzie felt her neck redden, certain her mother was referring to what she’d seen written on the mirror.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘About the baby.’ Bony fingers intertwined with Suzie’s right hand, and her mother looked at her with pity in her eyes. She certainly wasn’t angry. ‘You should’ve told me.’

  ‘Is that why you wrote on the mirror?’

  ‘What? I didn’t… Did I?’

  ‘Yes, Mum. You don’t remember?’

  ‘No. When? What did I write? And why would I write on a mirror?’

  Thankfully her mother must have blotted out the events of last night, although that was worrying. Dementia could well be taking hold.

  ‘You must’ve been upset, Mum. How did you find out?’

  ‘About your abortion? You did have one, didn’t you?’

  ‘I did. When I was in hospital, while they were… After what Shaun’s brother did to my face.’

  ‘It was Shaun’s baby?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ The familiar prick of tears left Suzie speechless for a second, this time for a life she had destroyed. ‘Y-yes… I couldn’t bear the thought of his flesh and blood growing inside me again. Not after all the dreadful things I discovered about him – and his lunatic brother.’

  ‘I can understand that, sweetie. You should’ve let me know. I was here for you, you know that.’

  That was the truth, but Suzie had been ashamed, and in a fragile state of mind when she first arrived at her parents’ home, only recently discharged from hospital, her face a complete mess still. It required more strength than she possessed at the time, to come clean about everything that had transpired.

  ‘And I can understand why you were so incensed, enough to write that message on the mirror, Mum.’

  ‘I wasn’t angry. I was sad when I found out.’ Her mother’s fingers tightened on hers. ‘Sad for your loss and even more so that you didn’t feel able to tell me.’

  A niggling suspicion was now worming its way into Suzie’s mind as she repeated her earlier question.

  ‘How did you find out? It’s been seven years…’

  ‘I don’t remember. I’m confused… It felt like I was in a dream. Shaun was whispering to me. It sounded like Billy, but surely, he doesn’t know. Does he? Did you tell your son and not your mother?’

  ‘Why on earth would I?’ The suspicion was taking on more solid form now, and Suzie could feel another idea growing inside her. The unpalatable thought that Billy was turning into his father.

  Or worse.

  ‘I don’t know. He’s such a lovely boy. Always so keen to help me.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  Suzie was racking her brains, thinking back through the haze of recent years, wondering how Billy might have discovered her secret. She still had some papers from back then, bundled in boxes in the cellar, untouched by her since being delivered from their London home. All the memories from that time and the years before were sealed, and stored away, forgotten.

  Had her devious boy been digging around in there? Had he found some documents from the hospital, tucked in one of the files? Her release notes perhaps, with some indication about the termination? She would go and look through the boxes herself later. And if he had…

  Anger clamped down on her scalp, as if a metal band had been strapped round her skull and tightened.

  Billy had been foul to her for years, but was he capable of trying to turn his grandmother against her?

  Given the range of crimes her husband had committed while pretending to be a normal family man, and considering how she had been fooled for two decades by his superficial charm, it seemed fair to assume that his son may well be similarly duplicitous.

  The boy’s grandmother was convinced he was an angel, but when he spoke to Suzie about her, he was dismissive, harsh and unsympathetic. And over recent months, he had been getting even more impatient with her. What had he said yesterday? That she was a useless old bat who should kill herself.

  Christ. I’ve been so blind! Again…

  ‘I’d like to get out now. I’d love to feel some sunshine on these old bones, and spend a day in the garden. It’s been so long that I’ve been stuck in this room. Help me out, love?’

  Suzie took a bath towel from the shelf and held it as her mother stood, then wrapped her in it.

  ‘Let’s get you dressed and I’ll help you downstairs.’

  Five minutes later, they walked through the kitchen, arm in arm, Nana leaning on Suzie for support, and then stepped out into the back garden. After she had settled her mother on to a lounge chair, and tucked her up with a blanket despite the mid-morning sun, Suzie went to make them all some brunch. Not that she knew whether Billy would reappear, but she would cook enough for him anyway, just as she did every Sunday morning.

  It was strange for her to be cooking without any stimulants or depressants in her system, and as she prepared their mid-morning feast, almost on autopilot, it became clear to her that she had been going through the motions for years now. Surviving, just doing as little as she needed to, to get through each day. The result? The increasing distance between her and her mother just as widowhood drained the life from the ageing matriarch.

  And Billy had willingly filled the gap.

  Until today, it had not occurred to her that this had been happening, let alone the possibility that he might be manipulating them both.
r />   Was he really that bad?

  Maybe it was an overreaction. But now that her suspicions had been roused, another uncomfortable conclusion about him started to form.

  ‘Is that my breakfast? I hope so, I’m starving.’ Her son was behind her and she flinched as she heard his voice, murmured just behind her ear. ‘You smell like a swimming pool. Chlorine. I hope you haven’t ruined my grub with your stinky mitts.’

  She plated up his food – bacon, eggs, mushrooms, grilled tomatoes and waffles – and shoved it at his hard belly, feeling the edge of the china meet solid muscle.

  ‘Just sit down and eat.’

  It was an effort not to shout at him, to throw her suspicions into his smug face. Thankfully, he took the plate and plopped himself onto a chair at the kitchen table and started wolfing his food without another word. The noisy chomping, the smacking of lips, the slurping at his milk, made her want to slap him. He knew how much it annoyed her – another unsavoury habit he’d developed in the last few years.

  Better to ignore him, so she busied herself serving two plates more, and arranged them on a large tray with some orange juice in two small glasses.

  ‘Leave that. I’ll take it up to her. I’m almost done. She’s probably seen enough of your repulsive moosh today. I’ll sit with her for a while too.’

  Suzie turned and held the tray ready to take outside, and felt an uninvited sense of satisfaction as his eyes widened at sight of the two meals.

  ‘Don’t you worry your pretty little head. We’ll be eating together, in the garden. And we’ll be talking, so I don’t want you interrupting us. My mum and I, well, we have a bit of catching up to do. Wouldn’t you agree, son?’

  His open mouth, wordless for a change, gave her an immense kick. Then she realised how pathetic she was being, jousting with her teenage boy. Kinder words were heading to her lips, when he verbally stabbed her again.

  ‘She hates you. You really upset her the night before last. Yelling about all that stuff.’

  ‘What are you talking about? I haven’t been yelling.’

  Have I?

  ‘Before I helped you to bed. You started ranting on about how you hated your life. That my dad had ruined it. You kept on about how you’d lost his baby – my little brother or sister – while you were in hospital. Then you laughed – cackled about it, just as I tucked you up in bed.’