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

by Will Patching

  ‘No… You’re lying.’ She couldn’t be sure. She remembered nothing of that night. A total blank from soon after serving dinner.

  ‘Why would I lie? You shocked me though, and Nana could hear you shouting and laughing about it too. You’re really callous and cruel, aren’t you? Huh. You admitted it.’

  Suzie could hear a rushing noise in her ears, a throbbing inside her brain, as her heart went into overdrive. That bloody smirk again. He was waiting for her to ask. She wanted to run out of the kitchen, but could not. Her feet, nailed to the floor.

  ‘Admitted what?’ The words tumbled out, caustic on her tongue, and she knew with certainty and horror what he was going to say next.

  ‘You had an abortion. You chose to murder my unborn sibling. Couldn’t stand the thought of having another little Leech inside you.’ His eyes were gleaming, triumphant and confident. ‘Nana went out of her mind about it. Told me not to mention anything to you. You were well pissed. Off your head. I’m not surprised you don’t remember.’ He snorted and stood up to leave. ‘Why don’t you go and have that nice confidential chat with her about it, eh? As if I care. I’m going out on my bike, anyway.’

  He pushed past her and went to his room as she remained stock still, eyes closed, trying to calm herself with little success.

  Come on. Get moving.

  With the tray rattling, she plodded across the lawn to her mother, sat beside her on a second sun lounger, and placed their cold breakfast on the low table between them.

  There was no point asking her mother to confirm his story, though that niggling doubt about it all persisted. Along with another unlikely explanation.

  The thoughts began to coalesce into something almost tangible, but her mind wasn’t quite ready to process all the ramifications just yet. She and Nana chewed in silence, both comfortable in each other’s company, Suzie noting that there was nothing wrong with her mother’s appetite, going by the speed at which she ploughed through her plate of food.

  Billy, now resplendent in tight fitting fluorescent lycra, his muscles bulging, wheeled his powder blue Bianchi Specialissima Limited Edition bike across the lawn – six kilos of high tech machinery, a top of the range model that cost Suzie just shy of ten thousand pounds. He hadn’t even said ‘Thank you’ when she bought it for his birthday.

  Paid for it.

  He’d actually ordered it, three months early, too.

  ‘I’m off. See you later, Nana.’ He simply ignored his mother, just as he had with her instruction not to disturb them.

  ‘Where’s your helmet, Billy?’

  ‘Only idiots need them, Nana. I won’t fall off, and cars give cyclists more room when driving past if the rider isn’t wearing one.’

  Whether it was true or not was irrelevant to Suzie – his supercilious attitude made her want to slap some sense into him, but his grandmother just chirped back, ‘Bye love. Have fun.’

  He turned on a winning smile for his grandmother’s benefit, then mounted his bike.

  ‘Billy.’

  ‘What?’ He locked the clips on the underside of his cycling shoes into the pedals as he spoke, then balanced on them, standing upright instead of sitting on the saddle, holding the machine with the brakes. A surly scowl aimed at his mother, telegraphing his impatience to be away.

  ‘You and I need to talk. Tonight. You said I couldn’t smell what you could this morning. Maybe you were right. I realise why now… My nose was overcome by the smell of your bullshit.’

  The bike wobbled, and she thought he had lost balance, but he recovered and scorched her with eyes burning bright. For the first time in her life, she felt real menace in the air around him before he regained control of both his bike and face, then cycled away, whistling cheerfully.

  ***

  The Thames towpath was busy near Pangbourne. A sunny Sunday afternoon brought out the weekend crowds but Billy, confident in his proficiency, continued cycling fast, weaving through the pedestrians and their dogs before swerving round a young couple pushing a buggy.

  ‘Oi! Slow down you idiot! This is a public footpath, not the Tour de France!’

  With his fluorescent yellow outfit, Billy could easily have been competing, but it wasn’t a trophy driving his thighs and calves, it was the anticipation of what he was about to witness, mingled with fury at his mother’s parting comments.

  Her whole attitude had changed, literally overnight, and he could see no reason why. Perhaps his little altercation involving the Bentley had finally shaken her up, and she was trying to be a proper mother again.

  No chance!

  She had been like this before. Several times, he’d seen her, flushing her ‘medication’ down the toilet while crying her eyes out, praying, promising God she’d be a better mother and take care of him and Nana.

  As if.

  It never lasted a whole day, or even a whole night. He always kept a store of drugs for her, and on those occasions she had thrown hers down the loo, he had left some by her bed after visiting her while she slept. He would sort her out again tonight, but avoid her in the meantime. He had more important things on his mind.

  Thankfully, the crowds had thinned out to a few random hikers by the time he reached his destination. Once they were out of sight Billy jumped off the bike and swung it on to his shoulder before jogging into the undergrowth for a few hundred metres, certain he was not visible from his target’s home.

  A lightweight DPM poncho, tucked in a pouch under the saddle, was one of just two specialist items he carried today, and now, he pulled the camouflaged garment over his neon attire, locked the bike to the base of a nearby birch tree, then leapt up to grasp the lowest branch of an ancient oak towering above him. Using his momentum, he swung his body up and over, with his knees arresting the motion as he landed on the top of the branch. A similar manoeuvre hoisted him another couple of metres further into the canopy. Then, with sinuous movements he almost slithered up the tree until he was at roof height of the luxury property on the opposite side of the river.

  From the pouch in the back of his cycling shirt he plucked the military grade compact binoculars and unclipped the lens covers while sitting in his regular spot, a natural platform created by the main trunk trifurcating. Billy’s legs dangled either side of one near horizontal branch while his back rested comfortably against the two that continued skywards.

  From his vantage point, he could see beyond the cruiser into the manicured gardens, and all the way to the picture windows and patio doors of the Powers residence. Despite the bright sunshine, reflections from the glass on this, the south facing side of the property, rarely impaired his view inside the house, and today was no exception.

  It was almost lunchtime, and soon enough, Powers began making his way to the boat. Billy felt a thrill as the bastard responsible for killing two of his relatives stepped aboard the cruiser. There was a slim chance Powers would spot it – the lead trailing along the side of the boat furthest from the dock, terminating half way up the transom, just above the bathing platform at the stern. It was a risk Billy was prepared to take.

  Not much choice, really.

  During last night’s witching hour, he had borrowed his mother’s car, with the canoe still in place, and driven to a deserted spot on the river bank, then paddled for fifteen minutes to pull alongside the boat he was now viewing through his binoculars. His tutor had bought two duplicate filler caps – at Billy’s insistence – despite being completely in the dark regarding what they were to be used for… Just two of the many things Billy had made Smith purchase or manufacture for him since the teacher had become his pet some two years prior.

  Haha. You idiot Smiffy.

  The spare had been used to test how difficult it would be to remove the lock barrel, and Billy had been relieved when his tungsten drill bit had made short work of the insides, releasing the mechanism. That same rechargeable Black & Decker tool, muffled with some padded material, had achieved a similar result when Billy had duplicated the process aboard
the boat during this morning’s witching hour.

  He whistled with relief as Powers bumbled past the newly installed items and went to the cabin. The short length of cable that Billy had soldered to the filler cap was covered with white tape, matching the hull, and then disappeared through a hole into the engine compartment. Billy had drilled out that hatch door lock too, and knew this was the other potential flaw in his plan. Having watched Powers prepare for his regular Sunday lunch trips on numerous occasions, Billy was comfortable that the odds were in his favour, confident that the various minor modifications he’d made were unlikely to be discovered until it was too late.

  Go on, Powers. Turn the ignition key for me.

  The foliage rustled around him, moved by a breeze blowing from the river, but he had not noticed until now. Suddenly, Billy felt his uncle’s presence, as if his guru had decided to join him at the last minute, sitting behind him, breathing down his acolyte’s neck, he was that close. There were no words of encouragement though – just an overwhelming sense of excitement and impatience, waiting for the show to begin. Then the man’s wife appeared on the patio, calling to her husband. Her words were indistinct but Billy saw Powers jump off the boat and head inside.

  Bollocks.

  Billy scanned the windows and saw they had a guest in Powers’ study – the same room where he and the psychiatrist had spent their few sessions together – fiddling with the computer. The binoculars tracked across to the kitchen where Mrs Powers was putting out plates and bowls of food on the table.

  No… Of all the summer Sundays for them to decide to eat at home, and they go and choose this one!

  Billy’s plan for today was ruined. His mother’s attitude, Nana recovering her senses while being fed untainted food, and now this. He could barely contain himself as he swung through the branches to the ground, then ripped off his poncho, shredding the thin material in his rage. He thrust his key into the bike lock, and in response to a violent twist of his wrist, the metal sheared before the mechanism opened. Billy was left standing in the undergrowth, with half a key and a bike he couldn’t use.

  He bellowed in frustrated disbelief.

  ‘FUCK!’

  Billy had been anticipating this day for months. And now there was a very good chance someone would discover the booby trap he had spent so many hours creating.

  Quaking with rage, he stomped through the undergrowth, and pulled his flick-knife from his pouch. The blade shot out and he swiped a thumb across the edge. The sight of his blood only further incensed him. He swore to himself, then vowed he would stick the blade into the first living creature to cross his path.

  ***

  Judy felt great. Doc was an attentive lover, and his joy at discovering he would be a father had given him extra stamina this morning. There was no doubt he was besotted with her, though she knew it was undeserved.

  When he’d tracked her down in Paris, found her at death’s door, then helped her get well again, their relationship was still unconsummated, had remained that way until almost four years after they first started seeing each other. He had waited patiently for her to feel passionate enough, human enough, to make love to him. In France, he had been like a faithful hound at her side, guiding her back from her depression to a life worth living.

  He was desperate to start a family before it was ‘too late’ for him. His first wife died in a car accident, along with his unborn son. Unlike Judy, the experience left him hankering for a child – preferably more than one. She had acquiesced, for his sake.

  Well, not really.

  She had pretended to acquiesce. While he assumed they were trying for a baby, she was still taking her contraceptives, but didn’t have the heart to tell him. Or explain why.

  Then forgetfulness and fate had sparked a life in her belly. A life she had not wanted in there. One she was not mentally prepared for.

  Judy caressed her midriff as she thought how close she had come to destroying that precious being within her. Lying on the hospital bed, yesterday morning, staring at the ceiling through the tears, waiting for the nurse to inject her before the doctor came and sucked the contents of her womb into the contraption beside her.

  Doc’s face had loomed above her, her imagination painting on it something akin to the joy she had seen on his soppy chops this morning. She couldn’t let them do it, couldn’t go through with it.

  When the nurse arrived, syringe in hand, Judy was already getting dressed, her frenzied fingers fumbling with her buttons in her haste to escape. Then she spent two hours wandering round Reading’s riverside mall, unseeing, wondering if she had made the right decision.

  This morning, she knew. She had. She would be a good mother, again.

  A glance in the bedroom mirror confirmed she was still bearing that after sex glow, and she grinned at her reflection. With a determined stride, she made her way downstairs, and thought she heard Colin pottering in his study, so poked her head round the door to see if he wanted some lunch – her stomach was rumbling. A man she didn’t recognise was sitting at Colin’s desk, fiddling with his computer.

  ‘What are you doing here? Who are you?’

  ‘Oh, hi! I’m Sam. I’m a… a friend of Jack’s. You must be Mrs Powers.’ He smiled and gestured to the screen. ‘I’m a computer specialist, and your husband’s been having some issues, so they asked me to pop by and take a look.’

  ‘Hmm. Okay. You can call me Judy. If you need anything I’ll be making lunch.’ Judy backed out of the doorway and went to the kitchen, her good mood slipping away with this latest unexplained occurrence. She pulled a bowl of salad from the fridge, along with some left-over sausages and ribs from the day before, then slammed the door with her foot and banged the crockery on the worktop in disgust.

  I’m not bloody stupid.

  She’d planned to quiz Colin about the charred dog she had seen him bundle into that plastic sack. And why he thought it necessary to sterilize the entire barbecue while she was out for her run. It was obvious the dog had been inside the grill, not underneath it, and she could see her husband’s guilt writ large when he first spotted her.

  Rumbled.

  Then he lied about it. It had become a habit, not that she was a shining beacon of honesty in their marriage. Today though, Judy had more than an inkling that Colin was trying to protect her from whatever was going on.

  A cat, on the door. A dead dog – obviously named Houdini, as it had managed to crawl inside a grill with a heavy steel lid that she could barely lift. And now a ‘computer technician’ working on a Sunday. One who might as well have had policeman tattooed on his forehead.

  No. She wasn’t stupid, and she would have it out with Colin later, when their guests had gone.

  And where is he?

  She went to the patio, called to him, and saw his head come up in the boat’s cockpit as he heard her shout, a cheery grin greeting her.

  ‘Lunch is ready. Are you coming?’

  ‘I’m on my way. Tiger!’

  ‘Humpf.’ Judy turned her back on him, but his comment brought forth a sly smile and tickled her into a good mood again. She went back to the study and said to Sam, ‘We’re about to eat – nothing fancy, some cold meat and salad but you’re welcome to join us… Officer.’

  Another one, with the same look Colin was wearing earlier. The same look Jack had yesterday morning when the pair of them lied about a leaking barbecue.

  Rumbled.

  Sometimes, Judy thought she would make a better detective than Jack…

  ***

  ‘Why do you tell him so much? He’s only a child still, no matter how old he looks, or how much he behaves like an adult.’

  ‘I’m sure I didn’t say anything to him about the abortion, Mum.’ The degree of conviction in Suzie’s voice said otherwise. ‘He said I was shouting about it. I don’t believe it.’

  ‘You have been drunk a lot, lately. It’s been getting worse ever since you came here. I can understand why, but you’re still young. Forty-five is
no age. Don’t give up so easily.’

  The two of them were reclining, soaking up the sun’s rays, holding hands as they relaxed.

  ‘I’m trying, Mum.’ Suzie craved the taste of codeine linctus, though she had not touched any today. Or booze. Her body was reacting, and that metal band around her temple, the one she had blamed on Billy, was still tightening. It felt like her head might fracture and then split open under the pressure. ‘It’s really difficult sometimes.’

  All the time.

  ‘It’s been so long since we’ve had a good natter. Years… I missed you, love.’

  Suzie squeezed her mother’s hand in response. She would not give in to the urge, would fight through whatever withdrawal symptoms she suffered. Penance for allowing herself to get in such a state.

  ‘Me too, Mum.’

  ‘I know I haven’t been myself lately, either… You won’t ever put me in that place, though, will you?’ Nana rolled on to her side and propped herself on an elbow to better view her daughter’s face, her own desperate, pleading. ‘Promise me, Susan.’

  ‘You know I wouldn’t.’ Suzie mirrored her mother’s posture so that they faced each other.

  ‘Billy told me. You went to Lakeside, spoke to them about me, got the brochures. Please don’t lie to me.’

  A trickle of cold fear rippled down Suzie’s spine. Admittedly, she’d been off her head for years, suffering frequent memory lapses, but on this occasion, she was one hundred percent certain. Forgetting a trip to the geriatric home, driving there and back by car, talking to the staff, checking out the facilities?

  No way.

  Suzie only ever forgot events in the evenings, between serving dinner and bedtime, when she consumed way too much alcohol in her nightly quest for oblivion – usually successfully. And listening to Nana’s trembling voice, she knew this supposed trip to Lakeside geriatric care home was a fabrication conjured into existence by her son.

  Billy Liar…