Gaslighting (DP, DIC03)

by Will Patching

  ‘Huh.’ Judy could tell the consultant was losing interest in his patient, now that Colin had insisted on leaving the hospital. The consultant’s attitude told her he had better things to do than convince a recalcitrant patient to stay in overnight, especially one with medical training, even though he was too polite to say so. Immediately after Jack had left the room, the consultant had burst in just as she had begun berating her husband. She had plenty more to say but the consultant had asked her to wait outside, and Judy had been pacing the corridor for twenty minutes, then she glimpsed Colin dressing for the second time when the door opened so she collared the doctor on his way out. ‘You don’t know my husband. He needs to rest and he won’t if you let him leave.’

  ‘Sorry. It really is out of my hands.’ He gave her a supercilious smile, insinuating she might be to blame for his ailments. ‘You can take it up with him, but as I say, he needs less stress, not more. Don’t nag the poor man.’

  He strolled away, unaware that Judy’s eyes were planting stilettos in his back.

  Bastard!

  She opened the door and got a sheepish grin from her husband.

  ‘He said I’m okay, my love, although you’ll have to push me to the exit in that thing.’ Doc nodded towards a wheelchair in the corner of the room, but before she could protest he said, ‘Hospital policy. That’s all. No need to worry. I’m fine.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me? About all the tests you’ve been having?’

  ‘I didn’t want to worry you.’

  ‘Worry me? I thought you’d died earlier! And then – while trying to get the insurance company to pay for this room – I discover you’ve been having heart problems and had not told me!’

  ‘Well, they were just tests and–’

  ‘You said you had mildly elevated blood pressure. Now I discover you’ve been having angina too and that you were being checked out for bypass surgery!’

  ‘No – they were talking about a stent but they said it’s not–’

  ‘A stent? To expand your coronary arteries because they think you’re a candidate for a heart attack.’

  ‘Please listen to me, sweetheart–’

  ‘You treat me like I’m made of bone china. I’m not. Yes, I do still have occasional down periods.’ Worse than that – suicidal thoughts had visited her on many occasions since he had rescued her in France. ‘But you have to stop lying to me. I can’t stand it!’

  ‘The tests have confirmed–’

  ‘Colin. Promise me. You will tell me everything from now on.’

  ‘I’m trying to! The tests results from my visit here last week. I don’t need an operation. I’ve been given some medication for cholesterol and new blood pressure tablets too. The consultant told me off, said I should get fit to keep my heart healthy, that I should avoid getting overstressed – and to have regular check-ups. That’s it. It’s great news. If I’d told you before, you’d have worried unnecessarily.’

  ‘You have to promise me.’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘Good. Now tell me what you know about the cat, the dog and why our boat blew up today. You and Jack have been thick as thieves, and I’m not having it any more. What the hell is going on?’

  ***

  Billy focused his binoculars on the house, the windows and patio doors again, but there was no movement inside. Two hours passed with him sitting, gloating, occasionally filming with his smartphone as the firemen finished exploring the burnt-out wreck, piling the contents on the dock before inspecting, photographing and bagging some items. The two officers aboard the boat called a colleague to inspect what was left of the fuel tank, and a lot of pointing and nodding ensued. The third officer then got on his radio, gesticulating urgently as he spoke. Billy assumed this was the boss.

  Thirty minutes later, he was not at all surprised to see a police car arrive. Two uniformed coppers, and one plain clothes detective. Not that his shirt could be described as plain. The garish multicoloured pattern would look more at home on a beach. Billy raised the binoculars for a closer look.

  Him?

  The detective who had flashed his warrant card and threatened Billy after the car incident last night. Obviously a mate of Powers, then…

  The detective had a long chat with the senior fire officer as his colleagues surrounded the boat and dock with crime scene tape. They also took numerous photographs before leaving, though the detective remained in the garden, crouching over the items strewn on the dock. Then he looked up, eyes scanning the river.

  The bank opposite.

  Shit!

  Billy, sat astride his branch, the binoculars to his eyes, could see the man looking directly at him. The distance was the length of a football pitch, so there was no chance he’d be recognised.

  But he had no poncho… And he was wearing his neon riding kit.

  Time to go.

  A grumble from Billy’s insides reminded him he’d not eaten since brunch either, so he dropped to the ground, and released his bike from the nearby birch tree with one stroke from his bolt cutters. He would leave the tool here and pick it up another time, he decided.

  As he mounted his bike, he felt deflated, had thought he’d still be overjoyed, was surprised that his euphoria had been so short-lived.

  You did well today, Billy boy.

  I wanted to watch. To witness the explosion.

  His uncle’s voice didn’t have its normal effect on his mood. Today was such a let-down, even though he’d achieved his desired outcome.

  Or had he?

  Billy’s disappointment stemmed from a niggling concern that Powers might not have been on board when the boat exploded. Without seeing the bastard burn before his own eyes, the possibility had been screwing itself ever further into his brain since he’d first confirmed the smoke was pouring from the man’s boat.

  Was he still a virgin?

  Did I really murder a man for the first time today?

  There was no reassuring voice in answer to that question.

  With anger and frustration powering him along, Billy sped into Pangbourne village for a fish and chip supper to load up on carbs and fat. He took the paper wrapped delicacy to the river bank and sat contemplating his plans for the coming days, tossing the occasional chip for the swans as dusk settled around him.

  The food revived his flagging spirits. It wasn’t so bad. He had plenty more mayhem in mind to celebrate his birthday week.

  Starting with that thieving git, Maddox.

  ***

  Jack peered across the Thames at the charred remains of Doc’s boat, more comfortable now having changed out of his damp clothes. The house was still unlocked when he’d returned, thanks to their hasty departure to hospital. His conversations with the fire officers merely confirmed his suspicions that this was no accident. Right now, the burnt-out hulk across the river fuelled the rage welling up inside him.

  With one last glance to check he was following the line of sight from the garden to the trees behind him, he set off to find the oak where the yellow man had been watching him. Jack had seen the fluorescent shirt a few seconds before the person wearing it bounced down the branches then disappeared into the undergrowth, so he didn’t expect to find anyone or anything still in the area, but was drawn to the spot. He had driven from Doc’s house to the footbridge near the weir and then jogged along the towpath opposite, almost deserted now as dusk settled around him.

  The ground vegetation was shaded by the canopy above, and in the half light, Jack stumbled a few times as the brambles and shrubs clawed at his legs. He should have brought a torch, but that was in the car. He normally used the light from his phone – the one that was underwater thanks to his dive into the river to save his daughter.

  There were several oak trees which could have been yellow shirt’s lookout post, but as Jack circled around the third possibility he had identified, he spotted a dull metallic object on the ground nearby.

  Bolt cutters?

  And a severed cable with a lock atta
ched.

  Jack had no gloves with him, no evidence bags, had not been prepared to find these items, had come here out of curiosity, for something to do, to keep busy, not expecting to discover anything significant. With a sigh, he turned and jogged through the undergrowth, ignoring the thorns tearing at his shins, managing to keep upright despite tripping over roots and fallen branches as he made clumsy progress trying to find the towpath. Once back at his car, he opened the boot, grabbed what he needed and returned to the site using his torch to light the way as darkness descended.

  After bagging the tool and the cable lock, he shone the torch at the branches above, stepping back to view the spot where he thought he had seen the man in yellow. It had been his plan to climb up and sit there himself, but that was not going to happen.

  Only a monkey could get up there without a ladder.

  Or an ultra-fit young man. One who seemed to levitate before kicking a chauffeur in the head…

  With the two items in his left hand, the torch in his right, Jack started for the towpath, but noticed something odd about the undergrowth nearby. As he peered at the object he realised it was a military style camouflage poncho, torn and discarded as useless. A third evidence bag joined the others and Jack carried his three prizes back to the river bank.

  Tomorrow, he would ask Charlie to arrange for some officers to do a thorough inspection. Jack sensed the yellow man had something to do with Felix’s death – surely a deliberate homicide. He and Doc could hopefully convince Charlie to follow up straight away, rather than waiting on the full report from the fire officers.

  Across the water, he saw headlights as a car arrived at Doc’s house, and assumed it was Judy returning alone after insisting her husband stayed in hospital. It was a shame, but their conversation with Charlie would have to wait until morning.

  Forty minutes later, he too pulled up outside the house, but this time had to ring the bell to gain entry. To his surprise, Doc opened the door and waved him inside without a word. Jack could see curiosity in Doc’s eyes at the sight of the evidence bags in his arms.

  ‘I think you’ve got a stalker, mate… Surprised to see you home. Where’s the missus?’

  They entered the lounge with Doc still silent until he sat in his armchair, pensive as he watched Jack dump the bags on the coffee table.

  ‘She’s having a shower then going to bed. And I’m wiped out so I’ll be joining her shortly. I had to tell her, Jack.’

  ‘Tell her what?’ Jack dropped into the armchair opposite Doc, and ran his hand through his hair, trying hard not to sound as pissed off as he felt.

  ‘Everything.’ Doc explained that he had been impelled to come clean, had told Judy about their increasing level of suspicion since the cat had appeared. A difficult conversation during their ride home by taxi. He pointed at the items Jack had brought with him. ‘Where did that lot come from? And what do you mean? A stalker?’

  ‘Someone was watching the house, after the explosion. From a tree opposite. Have you ever noticed anyone watching you from there before?’

  ‘No… Never. Are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah. He was dressed like a lemon, bright yellow. Seemed a bit odd, so I assumed it was just someone passing, let curiosity get the better of them. Then I found this lot.’

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘Camouflage. Whoever was up in that tree had planned to wear this, but it’s ruined. Found it ripped, caught up in the brambles. Along with these bolt cutters and this cable lock.’ Jack tossed the bag with the lock into Doc’s lap. ‘I thought it was well weird, until I had a closer look.’

  ‘This is for a bike.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ No further words were needed.

  ‘There’s a broken key jammed in it.’ Doc dropped the bag on the table, and pointed to another. ‘Hence the bolt cutters.’

  ‘Yeah. Looked to me like the bike had been padlocked to a nearby tree, in a clear patch, well away from the thorns. Then lemon boy climbed into a big oak overlooking this place.’

  ‘My stalker…’

  ‘Yup. But I couldn’t understand the bolt cutters at first, just assumed someone nicked the bike while he was up in the branches. Then I saw that key stuck inside the lock.’ Jack leaned forward, scowling as he prodded at the bag with his index finger. ‘The bike’s owner cut the cable…’

  ‘And no one takes bolt cutters on their bike rides just in case the lock jams.’

  ‘Exactly. To release his bike, I reckon he had to go and buy these, or fetch ’em from somewhere. While dressed in yellow cycling kit. Tomorrow, I’ll have the local bobbies on his arse so fast he won’t know what hit him.’ He paused, thinking he had to ask Doc, was sure he knew the answer, but dreaded hearing the wrong one. The chief fire officer had raised the issue when Jack had arrived earlier. He tried not to sound accusatory as he said, ‘One thing though. The fire officers need to know.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The boat. Did you make any modifications to it?’

  ‘No.’ Doc shook his head, emphatic in his denial. Jack sighed with relief as his friend asked, ‘Why would I?’

  ‘No extra cabling or anything like that?’ Jack could see Doc was being truthful, his head still vigorously denying any modifications. He had to press for more confirmation, to be sure, though kept his tone lighter now that the worst possible explanation for Felix’s death seemed unlikely. ‘No wiring for some new electrical device you fitted yourself? Radio, TV, clock, electrical fan? Nothing?’

  ‘Nothing. Why?’

  ‘The stainless steel fuel tank blew up–’

  ‘Definitely not the bilge?’

  ‘Nope. They said they recovered most of the tank, but the upper part’s still in the water. They reckon they’re one hundred percent sure that’s where it started.’

  ‘So, do they know how?’

  ‘Nah. But they said it looked like some idiot had blocked the vent too.’ Jack saw Doc bridle at the implied insult, tried to smile to relieve the sting, but was in no mood for this, and could feel his lips warp in a way that was hardly reassuring. Too bad. ‘Maybe unknowingly, doing some work on the boat.’ He paused, then asked, ‘You didn’t, did you?’

  ‘Of course not. You know me, Jack! I do very little other than fill it up with petrol and clean it occasionally. I always take it to the boat yard for any maintenance or if I need something fitted.’

  ‘In that case, I’ll get on to Charlie first thing. Hopefully, by then the fire officers will have a full report for her too. This is a murder scene, my friend. There’s no doubt about it as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘No. And not much doubt in my mind about who’s responsible.’ Doc shuddered. ‘Poor Felix… But I was the target. It was me he was after.’

  ‘Oh, yes indeed. And I’d bet my life’s wages that lemon boy is Billy bloody Leech.’

  ***

  When Billy arrived home a few minutes before midnight, the house was in darkness, so his mother must have sunk several Martinis as usual while waiting for him. All night, she had been badgering him with numerous messages to his phone, each using different words, but all repeating the same demand with varying degrees of forcefulness and anger:

  Come home right now. I need to talk to you.

  No chance. Much better to let the ugly sow stew in some alcohol – with benefits – collapse unconscious in a drunken heap, and forget whatever it was that was bugging her. Situation normal.

  Only it wasn’t.

  Where is she?

  This was most peculiar. The pattern for the last couple of years had been the same. His mother would be snoring on the sofa, with the TV blaring, and Billy would help her to bed. Or carry her, depending on how much she had drunk.

  No sign of her in the kitchen, either. Billy opened the fridge and drank milk from a carton, then popped it back inside just as he spotted the empty vodka and gin bottles – one of each on the kitchen worktop.

  He sniggered at the sight. So, she must be pissed out of her mind again, and suitably dru
gged. Somehow, she had managed to get herself to bed – an unusual achievement since he had upped her dosage over the last few months. She could be halfway up the stairs again, collapsed there, like the last time she made the effort. That was entirely possible, too.

  With his bike shoes in his hand he climbed to her room without a sound. She had even managed to turn off the light herself. After placing his shoes on the carpet, he pushed open the door and crept inside, but some animal instinct within him stayed his hand as he went to switch it back on.

  No need.

  The light from his phone would provide sufficient illumination for the brief task he had in mind. Then he realised what was different tonight.

  She’s not snoring…

  Again, his acute feral senses thrust a warning at him, but his confidence was such that he ignored it. Having spotted the two empty bottles, both of which had been half full when he left the house, and with the amount of Temazepam he had dropped in them, he was certain she would be nigh on comatose.

  Using the backlight from his phone to view her face he pulled her right hand from under the pillow and went to scrub the nails across her cheek.

  ‘Billy?’ His mother clutched at his hand, her grip firm, and her other reached for the bedside lamp, the brightness startling him even more than her unexpected wakefulness. ‘What the hell are you doing in my room? What time is it? And where were you tonight?’

  A flick of his wrist released her grip as she sat up, and he stepped back a pace from the bed. He curled his lip at her, trying to recover from the shock, determined not to let her see his moment of weakness while his mind raced for a viable explanation.

  ‘I was just checking on you.’

  His mother, her face twisted in anger and agitation, frowned at him, her lips tight as she replied.

  ‘Really? I seriously doubt that. Now – tell me the truth. What are you doing in here?’

  Go on the attack, Billy boy…

  That always worked.