Burn Out (Dr. Anne Vernon Book 1)

by Alan Scholefield

  She put the food down on the table.

  ‘It was, until we put two and two together. Not that Mother ever tried to hide her affairs. I think she thought of herself a little like a female Augustus John. She was built for polyandry. What about Hilly?’

  ‘What about Hilly?’

  ‘Who was her father?’

  She ate in silence for a minute. She did not like this turn in the conversation. She did not like talking about the past as he had talked about his.

  ‘Paul was an architect. They were building a new wing at the hospital where I was working in casualty, and he used to be on site almost every day. I met him when they brought in one of the building workers who’d been hit by a dumper truck.

  ‘We began to see each other, fell in love, I became pregnant and we were going to be married. Then one day they had another casualty on the building site. A crane toppled and crushed a man. We were warned about it and got things ready while they were raising the crane. Then they brought the man in and it was Paul. We worked on him for a couple of hours but there wasn’t any chance at all – and really he was so badly injured I thanked God. End of story.’

  Tom opened his mouth but she said, ‘Don’t say anything. People never know quite what to say.’

  ‘All right, I won’t. Except for one thing. You don’t talk about it much, do you?’

  ‘How would you know that?’ It was said acidly.

  ‘By the way you reacted. The way you told it.’

  ‘You’re right. I don’t.’

  ‘You should. I don’t mean go round like the Ancient Mariner, but I don’t think you should hide it and preserve it.’

  She was suddenly angry. ‘It’s all I have to preserve!’

  ‘Sorry. It’s none of my business.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘But you see what you’re doing, don’t you? You’re doing a Jason.’

  She got to her feet and began to clear the table. ‘That’s nonsense.’ But she knew it wasn’t nonsense.

  He rose to help. ‘I’ll do it,’ she said.

  ‘I’m quite domesticated.’

  He washed while she dried and put away. ‘Is there anyone current?’

  ‘Yes. He was good to me after Paul died. Like your mother I needed someone to help me cope. He took over.’

  ‘Love or gratitude?’

  ‘That’s the lot,’ she said, indicating the dishes. She did not reply to his question. Tension had been growing between them and they hardly spoke. She told herself it stemmed from talking about Paul’s death. She’d been irrationally angry and knew it. She was glad when he excused himself and left.

  There was a message on her machine from Clive but she decided to leave the return call until the following day. She got into the bath and lay back and tried to relax but the conversation went over and over in her head. He had originally said he didn’t think coming to the house was a good idea. He’d been right. She was worried about him being a complication, a really genuine complication which she would have to handle.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘Your hands are too big, old fruit, old bean. Okay for holding a tennis racquet but—’

  ‘Don’t call me that, Billy.’

  ‘Don’t call you what?’

  ‘What you just called me.’

  ‘What d’you want me to call you?’

  ‘Jason.’

  ‘Say please.’

  It was late afternoon and they were in the cell. They no longer watched tv with the other remand prisoners.

  ‘Please.’

  ‘That’s nice. Let me show you again, Jason.’

  He poured the tobacco onto the white cigarette paper and deftly rolled it. Then he licked it and gave it to him.

  ‘You still got my lighter?’

  ‘Your lighter? I thought you gave it to me.’

  ‘Gave it to you? Come on.’

  ‘You said—’

  Billy was suddenly harsh. ‘Listen, Jason, I’ve had that lighter for years. I’m not going to give it away, am I? It’s precious. Sentimental value. You can borrow it for today but only for today. Then we’ll see.’ He paused, waiting for a response. ‘Well? What do you say?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘It depends on you. Understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Jason lit his cigarette. He was sitting on his bunk, Billy on a chair facing him.

  ‘So?’ Billy said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Listen, you come in all upset and you don’t say nothing. I thought you were my friend.’ He moved to sit beside Jason. ‘You are, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What do friends do?’

  ‘Support each other.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They tell each other things. That’s what they do. Things that are too heavy for them. They get them off their chests by telling them to friends. It helps, Jason, it really does.’

  Abruptly Jason said, ‘They’re trying to push me into Loxton. They don’t give a shit about me. All they want is to get rid of me.’

  Billy waited. After a few moments he said, ‘Go on, Jason.’

  And out it came in a rush: everything Jason had never meant to say. It was like vomiting. Afterwards he was shaky and sweating, but he felt better. Billy waited, watching. He took Jason’s hand and held it. Softly, he said, ‘I told you so. Didn’t I tell you? You got no friends except me. You know that now, don’t you?’

  Jason nodded.

  ‘Say it.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Say, yes I know it.’

  ‘Yes I know it.’

  ‘Okay, Jason, I’m your friend, I’ll look after you but you got to be truthful with me. You understand?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Well then I got to know, did you do it?’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Did you do the kids?’

  Jason flung the hand away. ‘You bastard, you said you were my friend, now—’

  ‘Listen . . . listen . . . don’t get so upset. We’re all of us in the nick. Why? ’Cause we done bad things, okay? We’ve all done bad things. I don’t give a shit what you done. But you got to get it out. It’s choking you. I spoke about secrets. Remember that?’

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘If we keep secrets bottled up they’re going to do us harm. So I’m going to make a deal with you. You tell me yours and I’m going to tell you mine. That way we’ll be true friends.’

  ‘I already know yours. You burn down barns.’

  Billy laughed. ‘You think that’s all? I got real secrets, old mate. You don’t know about the thieving. You don’t know why I took Rule 43. I mean, you don’t ask to be segregated because you burn down barns. No one’s going to cut you up in here for doing that. No, Jason, I got lots of secrets. But so have you. And they got to come out.’ He paused and took Jason’s hand again. ‘Who loves you, baby?’

  Jason got up and went to the window. Billy followed and put his arm around his waist.

  ‘Jason. Who loves you? Who’s the only one who loves you?’

  ‘You do.’

  ‘That’s right. Me. I’m your friend. So all right, your wife accuses you of doing in two kids.’

  ‘Not only that.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She says that I . . . I . . . my own daughter . . . She says . . .’

  ‘Do it, Jason.’

  Jason looked at the cigarette for a moment then pressed the glowing coal to his arm. A wisp of smoke rose up and there was the sudden smell of a barbecue.

  ‘Better?’

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘Listen, I want to tell you something. You’re like a little kid in here, you react like a kid. You can’t look after yourself but – look at me, Jason – right in the eyes – you listening?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I’ll look after you. You leave things to me. Okay?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Give me your hand. Come and sit down. We’ll t
alk a bit.’

  They talked – at least Jason did – for nearly four hours. He talked and talked. Most of his life spilled out: his childhood, his tennis career, the Lloyds crash, Margaret, his arrest. When it was done he felt weak and soft; and he was filled with an irrational gratitude to Billy. Not only that, but he felt like a child again; gentle, defenceless, the way he dimly remembered feeling before he became a tiger.

  They sat together on his bunk and by the time he was finished the cell was thick with smoke.

  ‘Tiger?’ Billy said. ‘They called you Tiger? I better watch out then, hadn’t I?’

  He put an arm round Jason’s shoulder. ‘A really big tiger. But a tiger who can’t look after himself. Are you still a tiger, Jason?’

  ‘Not any more.’

  ‘You’re more like a lamb, aren’t you? And I’m more like the tiger, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And they wrote all those things about you? About bad behaviour and swearing at the umpires and all that?’

  ‘I’m not proud of it.’

  Billy shook his head. ‘Amazing. You must have been like another person. A tiger with a sore head.’ He giggled. ‘Shall I call you Tiger?’

  ‘You sound like my father.’

  ‘You must have really hated him.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘There’s one thing you didn’t tell me.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Did you do in the two little girls?’

  Jason began to cry then.

  *

  The following morning after sick parade Tom called Anne into his office and waved her to a chair. Les Foley was already seated.

  ‘I wanted you to hear what Les has got to say.’

  Les wasn’t smiling now. He said, ‘It’s about Newman, doc. There’s something going on between him and Billy Sweete.’

  She frowned. ‘You mean sexually?’

  ‘I don’t know about that but I wouldn’t be surprised. Happens all the time in the nick. No, it’s more like a . . . an . . .’

  ‘Association?’ Tom said.

  ‘That’s it, doc. More like an association. Emotional if you like. A kind of dependency.’

  ‘How do you know?’ she asked.

  ‘We hear things. Info’s the most valuable thing in the nick after drugs and snout. The place is always a hive of rumours, some true and some false. It’s what keeps people going. Little bits of information that are arranged in big pictures. Some of the information’s wrong so the big picture’s wrong, but some of it’s right, and I believe this is right. Came from two separate quarters. The first was a prisoner who was cleaning near their cell; second was the chap in the cell next door.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ Anne asked.

  ‘He’s got to Newman, doc. My information is that Newman’s been crying a lot. And they don’t mix with the other remand prisoners. They keep to themselves, which is unusual. Sweete’s been through it all before. Knows the ropes; knows how to play the system. But he’s a right bully. I’ve seen his type often enough. They do it for pleasure, like a cat plays with a mouse. They like to see how far they can go in breaking someone down.’

  Tom said, ‘Okay, Les, thanks. When does he go up for remand again?’

  ‘Couple of days. I’ll check. I’m not sure they don’t go up on the same day.’ He went out.

  Tom rose and began pacing. ‘Have you ever heard of the Stockholm syndrome?’

  ‘Sounds like an old spy thriller with Paul Newman.’

  He smiled. ‘Yes, it does rather. But it’s common jargon in the prison service and in the anti-terrorist and hostage branch of the Ministry of Defence. About twenty years ago there was a bank robbery in Stockholm and a series of hostages were taken by the robbers. There was a siege. By the end of it the hostages had empathised with the robbers.’

  ‘I think I’ve seen a movie like that except it was set in New York.’

  ‘Sweete could be manipulating him in a similar way; hard, then soft. Finally the victim becomes the “friend” of the victimiser . . .’

  ‘And Jason has no other friends, or doesn’t think he has, so he’s even more susceptible.’

  ‘Right. Everyone’s dropped Jason – except you of course, and by now he thinks you’ve changed sides or perhaps never were on his side but only pretended to be.’

  ‘And the only person who seems to be his friend is Billy Sweete?’

  ‘That makes sense, doesn’t it? After all they’re banged up together. Alone a lot of the time. Why not? Can’t you see the beginnings of paranoia?’

  ‘There’s something that I’ve been meaning to check. Why has Sweete taken Rule 43? Arson and masturbation aren’t likely to get him attacked by other prisoners are they?’

  ‘He’s got a juvenile record. Exposing himself. That sort of information gets round the nick like one of his barn fires.’

  ‘What about splitting them up?’ she said.

  ‘If you agree, I think we should let them go up for remand. If Les is right it’s the same day. Then when they get back we could bring Jason into the hospital where we can monitor him. It’s a natural break in the relationship. Then perhaps he’ll transfer back to you or one of us.’

  ‘Provided we can show we’re on his side.’

  She rose and he turned towards her. ‘Thank you for last night,’ he said formally. ‘I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn.’

  ‘We all have skeletons of one kind or another. It’s just that I’m not used to talking about mine.’

  *

  Hilly was on holiday and went to an afternoon playgroup when her grandfather was unavailable. And he seemed, to Anne, more and more unavailable these days. What with his own work and the investigations he was making on her behalf, she realised that she was putting an extra burden on her father by expecting him to take over Hilly and the house in her absence. But what else could she do?

  She picked up Hilly after work and did a little shopping. She was opening the door of the house when the phone rang. She remembered then, with a feeling of guilt, that she had not returned Clive’s call.

  But the voice on the other end was not his.

  ‘Who?’ she said.

  The line was poor and the voice sounded as though it was coming via outer space, which in a way it was.

  The man spoke again.

  ‘I can’t hear you. Can you speak up?’

  Then she caught the word ‘judge’.

  ‘I’m afraid you must have the wrong number. This is Kingstown one-oh-four-two. What number did you wa—’

  ‘Mizannie?’ the voice said.

  And then she knew.

  ‘Watch! Is that really you?’

  ‘Yes, yes, it is I, Watch.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I am spikkin from the Holiday Inn.’

  ‘In Maseru?’

  ‘Yes . . . yes . . .’

  The loved voice of her childhood swept over her. She smiled as she visualised his thin, prim, old-maidish face. She asked how he was.

  ‘No good, no good. Too much expenses. Where is Judge Henry?’

  ‘Watch, he’s not here. But he’ll be in any minute. Let me get him to call you. You’re not sick, are you?’

  ‘No. I am not eh-sick.’

  ‘Can you tell me what it is then?’

  ‘I must eh-talk to Judge Henry. My money is running out.’

  ‘All right. Have you got a phone?’

  ‘No. I be here tomorrow this time.’

  ‘Yes, but what’s the number?’

  The line went dead and as it did so her father opened the front door.

  ‘Watch!’ he said, when she told him. ‘Damn! How did he sound? Was he all right? I’ll have a try now. He mightn’t have left the hotel yet. I remember it. Big place overlooking the Orange River. They’ve got a gambling area, roulette, blackjack. I don’t know what it’s like now but when I was staying there the place was full of white South Africans who’d come across the border to gamble and pick
up black women. In those days both were crimes in their own country.’

  He got through to international directory inquiries and in a matter of minutes was talking to the receptionist at the Holiday Inn in the capital of Lesotho. Anne picked up the other phone.

  ‘. . . Smallish, elderly man,’ her father was saying. ‘He’s just phoned from there. He may still be in the foyer.’

  ‘You mean Mr Watchman Molapo?’

  ‘Yes, yes . . .’

  ‘I think he has just gone into the gaming rooms.’

  ‘Can you give him a message, please. Tell him Henry Vernon called. Tell him I’m home and he can reverse the charges.’

  Anne was bathing Hilly when the phone rang. Her father spoke for nearly twenty minutes and was pouring himself a whisky with shaking hands when she came downstairs.

  ‘Well?’ she said.

  ‘Poor old chap’s broke. He says his sister’s family has milked him dry. He’s been paying for their children’s education out of his savings. But I don’t think he’s telling the whole story. Once when I was there I found him at the blackjack tables. He’d lost almost a month’s wages. I wonder . . . Anyway, I’ll send him some money.’ He paused. ‘What he really wants is to come here.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He says he’s fed up with Lesotho. He says there’s too much violence and too much corruption.’

  ‘And he wants to come here?’

  ‘It may not always seem like it, but this country is a paradise compared to some. And Lesotho’s one of the poorest in the world.’

  ‘Anyway, it’s out of the question.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I mean what would he do all day? And we’d feel responsible for him the whole time.’

  ‘That’s why I’m sending him some money. But it was horrible saying no. We were together for almost forty years. I know him better than I know you or Hilly.’

  Anne began to make supper. She could see that her father was upset and changed the subject. He had been up to London that day and she said, ‘Tell me about Stegman.’

  ‘I don’t feel like talking about him just now and I don’t feel like supper. I’m going downstairs and I’m going to have another drink. When you’re ready, come down. I’ll tell you then.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Tennis World was off the M4 motorway near Newbury in Berkshire. Henry had discovered in his researches that this corridor along the motorway between London and Bristol was the home of hi-tech in England and when he arrived at the tennis complex he saw that it fitted aptly into its surroundings.