‘They raped him with a Coke bottle…’ Kids, maybe twelve to fourteen years of age, taking bullying to an extreme. ‘And filmed themselves doing it! Where did you get this, Mrs Leech?’
‘Billy gave it to us… My father and I were called to the school after the attack in the gym and music room.’ She sat and poured them each a cup of tea, her hands shaking. ‘Those vile kids had shown him the video clips many times since. Billy managed to get hold of the boy’s phone with it on… Copied it to prove what had happened to him.’
‘But he told no one?’
‘No. They’d been threatening him with all sorts, and assumed he had no proof anyway. It was their word against his.’
‘And when he had the proof, stolen from that boy’s phone, he opted to deliver his own form of punishment?’
Of course he did…
‘Yes. The lad whose knee he ruined.’ She was clearly angry with the boy as she spoke, but Doc also detected concern for the degree of violence her own child had delivered. ‘He was being scouted by a professional football team. The lad with the shattered fingers… He was in the school band, a talented guitarist. Neither boy recovered from their injuries well enough to continue either pursuit, at least, not to the same level.’
‘And the chemistry student?’
‘His face was burnt, and I doubt he plays with chemicals much these days.’
‘And the school covered it all up.’ This was just incredible to Doc. Was it about money – the potential lost revenue for a private school if word got out? He didn’t doubt it.
‘Yes. As you can imagine, the other boys’ parents initially wanted to involve the police. Until they saw the video. For everyone’s sake, the whole nasty mess was swept under the carpet… They got what they deserved.’
Doc was more concerned with what it told him about Billy’s character. The fact that he had taken the evidence of the other lads’ crimes and chosen to administer his own form of punishment, despite their seniority in years, and clear advantage in size. It must have taken a major mindset shift for him to go from cowering bullied boy to avenging thug.
‘How long was it, after the events in these videos, that Billy exacted his revenge?’
‘Billy never speaks to me about it, but my father eventually found out from him. Roughly a year passed, and in that time Billy became obsessed with learning kung fu. It gave him confidence, and not long after he started taking lessons he began fighting back. So, the bully boys started picking on someone less able to defend themselves.’
‘And when he was ready, he attacked them at school, with extreme violence Then used the proof he’d obtained to make sure he wasn’t punished. He started speaking again that day, to explain his deeds… He’s a very clever lad.’
Manipulative, scheming.
Psychopathic.
‘I do worry about him. I’ve not been a good mother. I’ve not been there for him…’ She told Doc about her own troubles, admitting to an alcohol problem too, then about a discovery she had made earlier that day. Billy’s shrine to his uncle.
‘May I see? His bedroom?’
‘If you wish. I’m afraid I ripped the poster of his uncle off the wall. I couldn’t bear to look at it.’ Doc was glad of that. A larger than life photograph of Peter Leech was not something he would relish seeing – he too had bad memories involving that particular psychopath. ‘I’ll take my mother some supper and leave you to it. Just go to the attic at the top of the stairs and you’ll find Billy’s bedroom there.’
‘It’s getting dark. When will he be back?’
‘I’m not sure. We had a bit of an argument immediately before you arrived.’ So, it wasn’t bereavement, Doc realised. It was her own son that had made her look so shocked and drained when he arrived. She seemed better for their chat, and added with a resigned shrug, ‘He may stay with a friend. He does that sometimes…’
Doc was sure Billy had no friends close enough for a sleepover, could hear the lie in her voice too, but chose not to pursue it right now. He left her, and made his way to Billy’s bedroom, intrigued by what he might discover there.
***
Suzie waited for the microwave to do its job on the glass of milk she had poured for her mother, and let her mind return to the events from earlier this evening. She could still barely comprehend what had happened, how Billy had threatened her. Or his declaration of love for a paedophile teacher. And all this, on top of his dreadful misdeeds, the drugs he had fed them, the lies, the Chinese whispers sown between Nana and herself.
She also had a suspicion that her mother’s tumble down the stairs was not an accident either. Her conversation with Doctor Powers had merely reinforced her concerns about her son’s potential for harming others, and their discussion about the events surrounding his expulsion from school had crystallised the worst fears in her mind. Billy had demonstrated a viciousness in that premeditated attack on his fellow pupils, always justified in her mind by the terrible way they had treated him.
Now, it occurred to her that he was possibly even more damaged than she could ever have imagined. More like his father and uncle than she wanted to acknowledge.
Those thoughts had almost reached the tip of her tongue while sitting with that nice man in the lounge. Doctor Powers seemed so personable, so interested in her and her son. A skilled listener, who probably perceived far more than he let on. That was the impression he gave, and if it was false, it was an effective one. She’d wanted to tell him everything, the full extent of her concerns, to share with him her findings after her trip to the clinic this morning, but had curbed her tongue, still thinking she must speak with her boy first. To be fair to him. To let him tell her his side of the story.
The microwave pinged its readiness, so she put the glass of milk on the tray and went to her mother’s room. Nana seemed to be in a trance, sitting in bed, staring into space. The glow she had carried all day, her joy of life, so recently re-established, was gone, replaced by sunken cheeks and pale skin.
‘Mum? Are you okay?’ Suzie placed the tray on the bedside table and perched on the edge of the bed. ‘I brought your milk and some biscuits… Mum?’
‘Could he really say those things, Susan...?’ Her mother’s eyes snapped into focus, drilling into Suzie’s face as she asked. Pleaded. ‘My wonderful Gerald? I thought we were so happy together.’
Billy Liar.
The thought sparked others, including doubts about so many things he had said over the months and years since his grandfather died.
‘Billy was just upset, Mum. I’m sorry to say, I think he’s been telling us both a lot of tall tales lately.’ She took her mother’s hands in hers and added, ‘He lied about Lakeside. I think he’s been saying things designed to make us fight.’
‘Why? He’s such a good boy.’ Nana had never fully comprehended the degree of evil that Suzie had witnessed in the boy’s father and uncle, so had no benchmark to compare what was happening to them at Billy’s hands. ‘I think you’re confused, my love.’
Suzie gave up. The man clomping around in Billy’s room might be able to convince her mother otherwise, but Suzie had no desire to introduce the two of them.
‘We’ll talk some more tomorrow. I’ve got a house guest. You get some sleep and we’ll have another lunch outing tomorrow, if you feel up to it.’ A gentle kiss on the cheek, then, ‘Goodnight, Mum.’
With the door pulled to behind her, Suzie remained in the hallway for a few minutes, thinking through many of the events that had occurred under this roof in the years since her father had died, wondering what effect his death had on her boy.
His suicide.
And Billy had been sitting with his grandfather’s body…
As if he hadn’t seen enough death and misery.
Since then, the family home had become less and less of a refuge, and more like a prison, where Suzie had been tortured and tormented, day after day.
At Billy’s hands.
She didn’t want to think about it, just wan
ted to get today over with, and would talk with her boy in the morning. Meanwhile, she would ask Doctor Powers to leave, and went up the last flight of stairs to tell him she needed to sleep.
He was sitting on Billy’s bed, reading something that looked like a journal, and beside him he had another book he must have found in Billy’s bedside drawers – the bottom one was still open. He looked up as she entered the room, a deep frown on his features, one of concern and puzzlement.
‘I see someone broke open his drawers.’
‘Guilty as charged.’ She joined him on the bed and looked at what he had laid there. An ancient dog-eared copy of a book with a title that made her shudder – The Anarchist Cookbook – the pages covered in tiny script, Billy’s neat handwriting.
‘From the tatty remnants glued to the wall, I assume that’s where you tore the poster down.’ She nodded, wondering why this might be important. ‘The black candles on the shelf? Is he into the occult?’
‘To be honest, I don’t think I have the slightest clue what goes on in his head.’ I haven’t for years. She gave him a helpless shrug, too drained of reserves to think straight. ‘I can tell you this, though. My son’s a scientist, an opinionated atheist who sneers at me and my mother for praying.’
‘Well, I’m thinking about something my friend Dickie Maddox suggested the other night–’
‘The Professor’s hardly met my boy, never spoken to him other than polite greetings and so on.’
‘It’s a theory. That’s all. It’s quite possible that Billy’s experiencing visions of his uncle, with auditory hallucinations. It happens when our subconscious and conscious minds overlap, blurring reality.’ His kindly eyes seemed to turn inwards, fearful of something, then the moment passed. She probably imagined it. He went on, ‘I’ve some personal experience of this myself.’
‘He thinks his uncle’s alive?’ The very thought was idiotic.
‘I doubt that, at least not in the sense that you’re thinking. But his uncle may well seem alive to Billy. Some people would call these visions spirits or ghosts, as they can appear to be as real as you and I, sitting here in this room. A trick of the mind. His lucid–’
‘I’m sorry, Doctor. I’m too exhausted to even begin to think about that. I need to get some sleep. Perhaps I can call you tomorrow. I’d like you to meet my son too.’
‘Of course. And I’d certainly like to speak with Billy. Please forgive me, it’s late, and I should be long gone. May I take these items?’
Suzie knew her son would go ballistic if he found out, as he was sure to, but after tonight’s performance, she was determined to re-establish her authority over him.
Please God, if it’s not too late already…
‘By all means. Is that a diary?’
‘Of sorts. Billy records his dreams, but he uses some sort of rudimentary code to disguise the truth from any random reader, from what I can gather.’ He bundled the books together, stood ready to go, but dithered, as if he had something important to say. Something he was reluctant to tell her. She stayed seated on the bed, waiting for him to speak. ‘I’m… I’m sorry. I’m very concerned about Billy, Mrs Leech. His obsession with serial killers is unhealthy in such a young person, to say the least. With your family history, with Billy’s experiences, I’m worried he might harm himself… Or others.’
Suzie swallowed hard, trying not to show her own fears. Didn’t want to acknowledge the truth of what he said. She stood and went to the door, expecting him to follow.
‘Well let’s hope not.’
‘Mrs Leech.’ He had not moved. She turned back to him, and the light behind his head seemed to shine around him like a halo against the matt black background of the sloping walls. The sight made her heart shift gears, and she put hand to her chest, wondering if he was an angel, sent to help her. ‘Please tell me the truth. Has he ever hurt you? Tried to hurt you?’
‘No. Of course not!’ Suzie heard the crack in her voice as it lifted an octave with the lie. She wanted to tell him, but her maternal instincts demanded that she speak with her son again before sharing her fears with strangers – no matter how much this one might seem like a gift from God.
‘Threatened you?’
‘No more than any teenage boy.’ One holding a knife to your face… ‘When grounded or whatever. Now, I really need to sleep.’
He stood there unmoving, his brown eyes assessing her, stripping bare the untruths, she was sure, but then he nodded, and followed her down the stairs. As she held open the front door for him to pass, he stopped and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. An angel’s feather, landing on bare skin.
‘Goodnight, Mrs Leech. Please take care. I promise you, I will do my best to help Billy. But I meant what I said. He may be a danger to the people around him. And that includes you.’
***
By the time Billy reached his tutor’s home, he was totally at ease driving the old Volvo. It was a sedate vehicle with an automatic gearbox, and nothing like the cars he had taken joyriding on numerous other occasions. His preference was for something sportier, stolen for the thrill of roaring down country lanes before destroying the vehicle in an explosive burst of flame. But for tonight’s expedition, Billy had a different conflagration in mind.
Smiffy’s road on a residential estate in a seedy part of Reading was not particularly well lit, so Billy was confident he could pass for the older man if a neighbour spotted him. There was no one on the street as he took the few paces from the car to the front door and let himself in, and he kept his head down just in case someone was nosing at him through their net curtains.
The parka was hanging in the hallway, but Billy decided to check out the man’s bedroom to see if he could find something more suitable for tonight. The place was dingy and cramped, a two-bedroom semi-detached that smelt damp. Its only redeeming feature was the long rear garden with the workshop cum laboratory at the end of it, but the house was a mess.
A cursory inspection of the contents of the wardrobe revealed nothing suitable for Billy’s purpose – he would have to make do with the parka and a scarf he found in a drawer. He flopped himself on to the bed, thinking he might doze for a couple of hours before heading into London, but he was too excited by the prospect of tonight’s adventure. He spent an hour trying to meditate, inviting his guru in, failing badly, and so hopped off the bed to get on with his final preparations.
Smiffy owned two large metal jerrycans, stored in a corner of his lab, and Billy hoped at least one of them contained petrol. He was disappointed to find only diesel in them, though both were almost empty. The rest of the fuel had probably been used during the preparation of the sack of ANFO, the explosive compound sitting in Billy’s cellar, alongside his tutor – ammonium nitrate fertiliser moistened with fuel oil, plus several bespoke ingredients to add a bit of oomph…
Billy chuckled as he pulled on some surgical gloves, taken from Smiffy’s locker containing a stock of protective clothing, before tipping the remaining diesel down the drain. Petrol was what he needed tonight, along with a few screw lid glass containers. He took the jerrycans into the house and had a look in the kitchen for a decent sized bottle.
Perfect.
Three large green bottles of Perrier water, with one half empty, were in the rack inside the fridge door.
Covered in Smiffy’s fingerprints…
Billy had studied a lot of crime reports and unlike most arsonists, knew that Her Majesty’s Fingerprint Officers were able to lift fingermarks from the charred remains of almost any items left at the scene.
He grabbed the Perrier bottles, emptied their contents into the sink, selected a cotton tea towel from a rack, tucked the items under his arm and headed to the hallway with the jerrycans in his hands. Time to go.
A quick check from the front room window to see if anyone was out and about confirmed the street was deserted. With the grandfather clock in the lounge striking midnight, Billy decided to make his move, and expected to arrive at his destination sometime ar
ound two o’clock in the morning. Earlier than his usual witching hour, but close enough – he could not wait any longer or he would burst from the anticipation.
Once again, his phone had a dozen messages from his mother, demanding he return home immediately, telling him she was not angry with him, that she loved him, but that Smith ‘must be reported’ for his criminal actions.
‘Must be reported!’
With some satisfaction, Billy noted the future tense, and let himself out of Smith’s house.
***
Tuesday: Immolation
‘Finally!’ Doc rattled his car keys at Jack, ignoring the uniformed sergeant escorting the errant detective to the waiting area in the foyer of Reading Police Station. ‘It’s after midnight. What have they been doing with you for all this time? Let’s get you home, eh?’
Jack looked worse than Doc felt – more rumpled, frazzled and frustrated, with dark patches beneath his eyes from lack of sleep, stress and tension.
‘Yeah. I’m cream crackered, mate.’ Jack shrugged off the sergeant’s guiding hand as he was silently passed into Doc’s care. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
Once through the revolving doors and in the relatively fresh air outside, Jack paused, closed his eyes and breathed deeply, shaking his head at what had been happening to him. Doc was impatient, just to get them both back home.
‘Come on, Jack. Let’s get out of here. The car’s around the back.’
Jack opened his eyes, gave Doc a sardonic grin, then said, ‘I think I’ve now got the record for the shortest promotion to, and demotion from, Detective Chief Inspector. I’m plain old DI Carver again. Oh, well. Such is life.’
The Aston Martin flashed its lights and beeped a welcome to the two humans, both weary, both groaning as they folded themselves into their seats. The distinctive new car smell gave Doc a minor thrill – the vehicle had only been his for a fortnight and he was still enjoying the flush of new ownership. Jack, usually a sports car enthusiast, didn’t even seem to notice, even though he had only been for a brief spin in it the day Doc had taken delivery.
Gaslighting: A British Crime Thriller (Doc Powers & D.I. Carver Investigate Book 3) Page 25
