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

by Will Patching

  Suzie leaned back, away from his snapping voice, but kept her hands on his back and arm. She would not – could not – let her son allow Smith to get away with what he had done.

  ‘I’ve called them already–’

  Billy leapt from his chair, sending it spinning backwards so hard that it dented the fridge door. His arm flailed, causing Suzie to fall. She ended up sprawled on her back, staring up at his livid, crimson face. He seemed possessed. Even his eyes had changed colour – demonic, glowing, almost emerald green now, rather than a beautiful turquoise. It was a trick of the light – at least, that was what she would tell herself later.

  ‘What did you say to them?’

  ‘Nothing… I just asked a detective to call me back. I thought–’

  ‘Just shut your ugly, stupid mouth… Now, you listen to me.’ Billy dropped to his knees, beside her, a fist raised above her face, malicious intent emanating from his. His other hand grabbed the front of her blouse and yanked it, lifting her head clear of the ground, then he leaned in to whisper in her ear. ‘I… Love… Smiffy.’

  Suzie was beyond words. There was not much worse that he could say or do to her. The term Stockholm Syndrome came into her head. Smith had indoctrinated her son.

  He doesn’t mean it.

  ‘Please, Billy. He’s been using you–’

  ‘You know nothing! He’s been more of a father to me than my old man ever was. More of a parent to me than you’ve ever been. I love him more than I ever loved you.’ A blade flashed, sprouting from his fist.

  A flick-knife?

  She tried to utter something, but fear froze her tongue.

  ‘I should take your other fucking eye out. How dare you look at my private photo collection?’

  ‘Nooooo! Please…’ Suzie managed to push back the terror engulfing her. She had to put her own fears aside, had to help him. This wasn’t her son speaking. ‘We must talk about this.’

  ‘Talk? I’ve got nothing to say to you except this.’ He dropped her head to the tiles, and lightning flashed inside her skull. ‘I swear, I will fucking kill you if you come between us.’

  ‘Billy. Stop.’ She pushed herself into a sitting position as he went to open the back door. ‘I won’t tell the police. Not yet… Let’s discuss this.’ Her voice desperate, pleading. ‘And the drugs… The LSD. I know what you’ve been doing to us–’

  ‘You really have no fucking clue. You’re such a moron.’ He shook his head, as if weary at having to explain things to inferior beings, like his mother. ‘My dad hated you. And just like him, I can’t stand being in the same room as you.’ He turned to leave, then shocked her even more with his parting comment, yelled at her with sheer vitriol in his voice. ‘Poor old Gramps, he hated being stuck in this place with you whingeing females. Told me he’d had enough, that he’d rather fucking kill himself than be with you and that senile old bat upstairs. If it had been me, I wouldn’t have committed suicide… I’d have killed the pair of you instead.’

  The door slammed behind him, splitting the glass pane with a crack like a shotgun blast.

  Suzie’s fingers rubbed at her scalp and she managed to get herself upright, though swayed from side to side, had to steady herself before lowering her buttocks on to a chair.

  ‘Susan? What on earth’s going on?’

  Oh, God, no. Please tell me she didn’t hear what he just said.

  Her mother, pale and ghostly in her satin nightgown, stood in the kitchen doorway, fingers clutching her crucifix, staring at the back door.

  Thankfully, Suzie managed to bundle all the photos into the envelope while her mother stood transfixed. She went to help her back to bed, hoping beyond hope that the poor woman had not been witness to all that had just occurred. The doorbell saved her from having to explain.

  ‘You go back to bed, and I’ll get that. I’ll bring you some warm milk later, and we can talk about it then.

  Nana, dazed and silent, nodded. Suzie was torn between spending some time with her mother, to help her get over the shock, and opening the front door. At least the latter would allow her time to regroup, to think things through.

  Mum will have to wait.

  Suzie reached for the latch, wondering who might be calling this evening. She hoped it might be Smith, as she would dearly like to tear him a new arsehole.

  She swung open the door and was surprised to see a man she immediately recognised. He had been beside Professor Maddox when that policeman shouted at her, after Billy attacked the Bentley on Saturday. Perhaps he was a policeman too, could even be the one who had left his card.

  ‘Mrs Leech… I hope you don’t mind me calling on you, but DCI Carver sent me. He said you left him a message but he’s been unavoidably detained.’

  ‘Oh, yes… I… erm.’ Suzie wasn’t ready for a visit from a policeman, but maybe talking over at least some of her concerns would be for the best. She opened the door a little wider, and said, ‘Are you a colleague? From the police?’

  ‘Well, yes and no. My name’s Doctor Colin Powers.’ The curly headed man with boyish looks, despite being clearly middle aged, held out his hand and gave her a firm handshake. A genuine smile creased his face, and warmth shone from his chocolate brown eyes. ‘I’m a Forensic Psychiatrist. That hopefully means I have a deep understanding of criminal minds. I met your husband seven years ago. And his brother.’

  Suzie’s fingers went to her cheek. She was not wearing her disguise, had no scarf, no dark glasses to cower behind. This lovely man had not given the slightest indication he had seen her ugliness, had not averted his eyes from her deformities like most other people.

  ‘Please come in, Doctor.’

  ‘I’d prefer it if you call me Doc. Everybody else does.’ Even his tone was reassuring, calm and professional. Relief washed through Suzie. She was sure she could trust this person, she thought, as he said, ‘I’d like to speak with you about your son, Billy.’

  ***

  Billy wheeled his bike around the side of the house, his temper now fully under control, congratulating himself on how well he had handled the nasty surprise waiting for him in the kitchen. He had seen Nana arrive in the hallway from the corner of his eye, so had added the falsehood about Gramps’ suicide for her benefit. Short of sticking his actual knife into both of them – something he had often dreamed of doing – he would have to make do with verbal daggers instead.

  As he reached the corner of the house, he spotted the Aston Martin in the driveway. There was only one man he knew with a car like that.

  Her greedy bastard lawyer.

  Billy had seen it and admired it, parked outside the man’s flashy Reading offices earlier in the year. He paused, just in time to hear a deep voice murmur before his mother let the man into their home.

  What’s she doing with her lawyer?

  Maybe she had come up with some plan to undermine his wealth, his independent funds, his investments. She was still trustee, would be for two more years, so he was sure the man’s arrival had something to do with him. That could cause some problems…

  Billy wondered if he should just set the fuse on the bomb in the cellar and blow the lot of them up right this minute.

  His bloody mother, breaking into his room like that. Just like Smiffy, she too had grown a proper man-sized pair of balls in the last few days, though it had been gratifying to see sheer terror on her face when he waggled the knife under her nose.

  That must’ve brought back memories.

  And the look of shock when he told her he loved Smiffy – that was just too funny for words.

  Silly cow!

  Would she tell anyone? Her lawyer? The police? Would they start looking for Smiffy tonight?

  That could bugger things right up…

  But Billy was doubtful she would say anything to anyone until he had spoken to her again – he had certainly put the frighteners on her. In some ways, it was a good thing she had discovered the photos. Her concerns for her abused boy might help, especially with her lawyer
’s unexpected visit.

  What else could it be about? The Bentley and that old fart of a driver?

  Probably.

  Better to stick to the plan, and worry about his mother later, when he had sorted out tonight’s mayhem.

  Billy swung a leg over his saddle and pedalled the short distance to where he had parked Smiffy’s car earlier this evening, in a clearing, well out of sight of the roads that cut across Bucklebury Common. He had planned to arrive after dark, but it was not yet dusk, with the late summer evening throwing long shadows from the trees. No problem, he could wait here and then drive into town to complete tonight’s mission right on schedule.

  After removing the front wheel from his bike and popping the dismantled vehicle in the rear of the Volvo, he stripped out of his cycling outfit. Next, he dressed in the clothes he had taken from his tutor, adding some padding around his waist to ensure he matched the bigger man’s stature. As he stuffed the bike gear into the bag and hid it in the base of a hollow tree, he wondered about the jacket, thinking it was totally unsuitable for his needs. Unfortunately, Smiffy was not a fan of hoodies – at least, Billy had never seen him wear one. The tutor did own a parka with a fur-trimmed hood, but that was at his home and was not suitable for a summer night’s outing.

  What to do?

  Billy had Smith’s house key as it was attached to the car keys. He would head there shortly after dark, collect what he needed and then drive into London.

  With his mind now set, he settled into the driver’s seat of the Volvo and spent the next forty minutes texting his throwaway phone using Smiffy’s mobile, and replying from his own. Once satisfied he had created the narrative he needed, he tugged both batteries from the devices to disable them completely, started the engine, turned on the sidelights and drove off into the gathering dusk.

  ***

  The call from Jack had come just as Doc had been serving dinner and he had seen Judy’s disappointment and anger when he told her he had to leave. Well, she wanted the boy caught too, so should not be complaining about it.

  Jack was still at Reading Police Station. His boss was on her way, and there was a distinct possibility he would be suspended the moment she arrived. Doc had taken Hammond, the injured detective, for a check-up at the hospital while the other one took Jack into informal custody. It had taken all Doc’s persuasive powers to calm everyone down after Jack had erupted, and convince the other officers not to arrest his friend, given the circumstances.

  So, when Jack had called to say Mrs Leech had left a frantic message for him, Doc had not wanted to wait, but had volunteered to see the woman immediately.

  When she opened the door, Doc thought she looked ill. It was not the puffy cheek with the inflamed scratch marks that gave that impression, more the shock he could see in her face, something more appropriate for the aftermath of bereavement. He hoped she hadn’t just had some bad news about a relative or similar, and was glad that she invited him in and offered him a drink as they reached the lounge.

  ‘No, I’m good thank you.’ He was hungry, having teased his stomach with the aroma of curry, but put all thought of food and drink aside. He sat in the armchair opposite hers.

  ‘The detective from London left a note for me to call. Was it about the car and that poor man Billy assaulted on Saturday?’

  ‘Not really, Mrs Leech. Er… I don’t know if Billy told you but he came to see me about two and a half years ago.’

  ‘No. Why? Was it to do with his father?’

  ‘Yes.’ Doc explained how Billy had approached him and why.

  ‘You’re saying he’s worried he may be a psychopath too?’ Her hand started stroking her cheek as she spoke, and Doc could read in her expression and mannerisms her subconscious worries about the very same possibility.

  ‘That was what we discussed, but I assured him that his future was down to him, the decisions he makes, the actions he takes.’ Doc smiled, trying to reassure her, despite his own concerns about her son. ‘Genetic influences do not control how we turn out, or how our personalities evolve.’ He couldn’t tell her that her son had declared his own genes superior in their last session together, nor his remarks about hers being inferior…

  ‘But why did that detective call round? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Well, we think your son may have made some poor choices and I’d like to talk with you about his behaviour. Firstly, I’d like to understand what happened at school. Why he was expelled, as there are no records of that and he didn’t mention it when I met with him.’

  ‘You know he didn’t speak for three years?’

  ‘I do. And I’m aware of the trauma he experienced that prompted his muteness.’

  ‘At school, they thought he was a freak.’

  ‘He was bullied?’

  ‘Yes. Almost up until the time he started talking again. About a year or so before then, his grandfather encouraged him to learn kung fu. For self-defence. Even set up a dojo for him in our annex.’

  ‘Billy’s father was a karate instructor, if I remember correctly.’

  ‘That’s right…’ She shrugged, glanced away, as if some awful memory had surfaced. Then she focused back on Doc. ‘But they didn’t get on at all, so Billy never learned as a little boy. His grandfather arranged private lessons, and I think my son was motivated to learn, thanks to the treatment he’d been receiving at school. He was also growing, developing greater physical strength.’ She shook her head as she added, ‘I thought the discipline would be a good thing.’

  ‘It wasn’t?’

  ‘Well, he was expelled after attacking the three pupils who had made his life hell.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘They’d been doing dreadful things to him…’ She rubbed the back of her neck and scalp with her hand, as if she was tender there. When she noticed Doc watching, she pulled her hand away, guiltily. When she spoke again, there was an apology in her voice. ‘We didn’t know how bad it had got. Billy wasn’t speaking, would only communicate with a pad and pen, and even then, told us very little.’

  ‘I heard that three boys ended up in hospital.’

  ‘Really? You know about that? The school said they would keep it all hush hush.’

  Protecting their reputation…

  ‘I don’t know the details. I’d like to.’

  ‘Billy attacked two of them, individually, one afternoon. The first in the showers after a football match. He shattered his knee with a vicious kick. The second, in the music practice room. He crushed the boy’s fingers using a baseball bat. Billy went straight there after crippling the first lad.’

  ‘Sending them both to the hospital emergency room… And the third boy you mentioned?’

  ‘The other lad, well, he was badly burnt, though that could’ve been an accident. He was doing chemistry experiments that afternoon, when something blew up in his face.’ The woman’s eyes seemed to swivel independently of each other, with a disconcerting lag as they searched Doc’s face for reassurance. She went on, her voice low, mildly embarrassed by the things she was saying. ‘Billy was suspected of tampering with the chemicals, but nothing was proven, and he didn’t admit to doing anything. He just laughed when he was questioned.’

  Laughed...

  Yet more evidence that the boy was showing psychopathic tendencies, even at such a young age.

  ‘This was the day he started talking again?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He was expelled, but there was no legal action. Why not?’

  ‘All four of them were expelled…’

  ‘For Billy to get away with such grievous injuries to fellow pupils, there must have been some compelling evidence that the boys had done something as bad to him. Correct?’

  ‘Yes.’ Mrs Leech hesitated for a beat, then went to a drawer and pulled out a USB stick. She returned with her tablet computer, plugged the device in for Doc to view the contents. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen, making us some tea. I can’t bear to watch that again.’

&nb
sp; She left Doc to view the single movie file alone, and he tapped the screen to set it running.

  The person holding the video camera was following Billy across some common land, and Doc heard the excited, high pitched voices of pubescent lads, laughing and jeering at him as he made his way through the woods. Billy started to jog away from them, his face full of fear as he glanced back at the source of the noise.

  He was slower than the pursuing boys, and the one with the video was at the rear as two others, maybe a couple of years older than Billy, sprinted to catch him. One of them rugby tackled him to the floor, then both started pummelling him as he lay there, his hands over his head, curled in a foetal position trying to protect himself.

  When the lad with the video camera arrived – presumably using his mobile phone – the others stood up and sent a few kicks at Billy’s head just for good measure. The video lurched, then refocussed as a plastic bag was tossed to the ground beside Billy and the ‘director’s’ disembodied voice commanded him to eat the contents.

  Billy sobbed, but said nothing, just sat up and opened the bag as the boys started chanting, their excitement mounting:

  ‘Dogshit! Dogshit! Dogshit! Eat it! Eat it! Eat it!’

  Billy, clearly accustomed to this treatment, did as he was bid, gagging as he forced the filth into his mouth, tears streaming down his face.

  Even before he finished, he puked, and the boys laughed and left him. The movie faded to black then another appeared. This time none of the boys were in uniform, but all four of them were on the common again. Billy was already on the ground, cowering, crying, his face a picture of misery. The same two boys from the first video had hold of him and, one was undoing Billy’s jeans while the other pinioned his arms. Doc watched with horror as they pulled his pants to his ankles and rolled him over.

  Jesus Christ!

  The video compilation contained more clips of vile abuse – another thirty minutes – but Doc soon stopped viewing. He had seen enough. He turned off the device and Mrs Leech appeared a moment later, carrying a tray with a teapot, two mugs and a plate of biscuits. It seemed surreal to Doc after what he had just seen. To be sitting here, like this.