‘And all in Sussex?’
‘Some in Hampshire, sir.’
‘Okay, we’ll come back to the barns. First of all let’s hear about your childhood. Where did you live originally?’
‘London, sir.’
‘Parents?’
‘Never knew my father, sir. They was never married. I mean my parents. My mother died when I was a baby.’
‘What did your father do?’
‘Lorry driver, sir.’
‘So . . .?’
‘Well, sir, when my mother died I went to live with my grannie on the farm near East Marden.’
‘That’s pretty much cut off in the middle of the Downs, isn’t it?’
‘Specially in winter, sir, with the snow.’
‘Go on.’
‘My grandmother works there as a housekeeper, sir. She keeps for Mr Gillis, has her own cottage near the farmhouse.’
‘So you grew up on the farm. Did you enjoy that?’
‘It was all right.’
‘What did this Mr . . . Mr Gillis farm? Sheep?’
‘And cattle.’
‘Do you like animals?’
‘Not much, sir.’
‘What did you like doing on the farm then?’
‘Blowing things up, sir.’
‘I see. And what did you blow up?’
‘Blew up part of a wall once. An old car. A broken trailer.’
‘What did you use to blow up these things?’
‘Gunpowder, sir.’
‘Where on earth did you get gunpowder?’
‘I emptied it out of shotgun cartridges, sir.’
‘Whose? Mr Gillis’s?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Did he know?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Did he give them to you?’
‘No, sir.’
‘You stole them?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And did he find out?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And?’
‘He used to give me a hiding, sir, with a whip. Said it came from South Africa, sir. Called a – can’t remember exactly what it was called, sir.’
‘A sjambok,’ Anne broke in.
He turned to look at her directly for the first time. ‘That’s the word, miss.’
‘This is Dr Vernon,’ Tom said.
‘Sorry, doctor.’
‘All right,’ Tom said. ‘Let’s get onto something else. School. It says in your file that you got seven O levels. You must have been pretty bright, Billy. Did you like school?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Why not, you were doing well?’
‘Dunno, sir.’
‘But the work itself. You must have liked that or you wouldn’t have done well at it.’
‘Yeah. Quite liked it, sir.’
‘And apart from that?’
‘Not sure what you mean, sir.’
‘Well, did you have any friends there?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Enemies? Were you bullied, for instance?’
‘Yes, sir. At the start. But I hit back and they stopped.’
‘Did you make friends after that?’
‘No, sir. I didn’t want no friends.’
‘What about the teachers? How did you get on with them?’
‘If they left me alone I left them alone.’
‘And did they?’
There was a momentary pause. ‘Yes, sir, afterwards.’
‘After what?’
‘After I . . . well, there was one of them, sir. Always picking on me. Couldn’t do nothing right. So I tells him to stop it. And he says don’t be cheeky, he’ll do as he pleases. So I hit him. After that he left me alone.’
‘You hit him? What with, Billy, your fist?’
‘Piece of two-by-four, sir.’
‘You mean you found a piece of wood lying on the ground and picked it up and—’
‘No, sir, took it with me.’
‘So you had planned to have a showdown with him?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Just because he picked on you?’
There was silence.
‘Is that right? Because he picked on you?’ Melville repeated.
‘Not only that, sir.’
‘Go on.’
‘Interfered with me, sir.’
‘Sexually?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘How old were you when you hit him?’
‘Fifteen, I think. But it started when I was a lad, sir.’
‘The teacher interfered with you when you first went to the school? Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What did he want you to do?’
Sweete glanced at Anne. ‘Don’t like to say, sir.’
Anne said, ‘Would you like me to leave, then you can discuss this with Dr Melville?’
Tom said, ‘No, don’t leave. We won’t go into it at the moment if he doesn’t want to, but eventually you must, Billy, you understand that, don’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And Dr Vernon is here to help, just as I am. Anyway, leave the details for the moment. Did you ever report this “interference”?’
‘No, sir.’
‘You just decided to deal with it yourself, is that right?’
‘I told him to stop, sir, and he started picking on me.’
‘So you dealt with him. Tell me, Billy, did anyone interfere with you before the teacher?’
‘Mr Gillis, sir.’
‘The farmer? The one your grandmother keeps house for?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Tom began to tap his pencil lightly on the desk. ‘You never said any of this the first time. Why was that, Billy?’
‘Didn’t like to, sir.’
‘Too embarrassed?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘But this time?’
‘Don’t want to go back to Loxton, sir.’
‘So you’ve decided to tell everything.’
‘Yes, sir, everything.’
‘Okay, Billy, thank you. We’ll talk again later.’
After Sweete had gone Tom began to pace up and down the small room.
‘What do you think?’ he said.
‘I don’t know what to think. I don’t know whether he’s telling the truth or not.’
‘I don’t know either. It’s all a bit glib. I think friend Billy knows how to play the system.’
He threw himself into his chair. ‘He knows the score about Loxton. He’s been there. And believe me it’s a . . . well, you wouldn’t want to end up there. What he could be doing is allowing us to believe that he’s just a little bit psychotic. And then he’s letting us drag the reasons out of him. Now your turn. You play devil’s advocate.’
‘Well, the first thing I’d say is you’re crediting him with a Machiavellian brain.’
‘Oh, he’s bright. Seven O levels. And he’s learned from previous experience. What he wants is to go to Granton which is a relatively free-and-easy psychotherapy unit compared with Loxton.’
‘But he said straight out that that’s what he wants. At least he’s being honest.’
‘Mmmm. But perhaps dishonestly honest. It’s like someone playing quadruple bluff. He says this and this knowing we’ll think that and that. He’s trying to manipulate us.’
‘You can’t blame him for that. You can’t blame him for not wanting to go back to Loxton.’
‘Of course you can’t. My point is he’s showing us what we want to see; telling us what we want to hear. Sexual abuse of kids is the hot favourite at the moment. We’ve no way of checking this at all. May just be a pack of lies.’
‘Lying about something like sexual abuse?’
‘Why not? They lie about everything else. No . . .’ He began to tap his pencil on the desktop again. ‘I think Billy has drawn the curtains on part of his mind so that we can’t see into it. You’ll discover this yourself the more assessments you do. There’s always a secret place in people like Billy wher
e the real personality hides and they only show you what they want you to see.’
She told him about Sweete’s grandmother, Ida Tribe. ‘She’s terrified of him. Wants him put away for keeps.’
‘A lot of relatives do.’
*
Anne drove down into the village of Leckington in the dusk of an autumn evening. It lay in a river valley and mist was gathering in the water meadows. For a moment, when she first saw the village of old brick and flint houses with the smoke from their chimneys rising on the still air, she thought she might be looking at countryside painted by Constable or described by Jane Austen; a never-changing England. It was only when she saw the tv aerials that the twentieth century reasserted itself.
‘Keepers’ stood at the end of the village. It was a small cottage three up and three down set in its own garden of half an acre. The wicket gate was broken and hanging by a single hinge and the brick path leading up to the front door was slippery with moss. There were a couple of half barrels on either side of the door but whatever had been planted in them had long since expired and, like the rest of the garden, they were filled with grasses and nettles.
The curtains were drawn and the lights were on in one of the downstairs rooms. But the moment Anne pressed the doorbell the light went out. She pressed again. She thought she heard a child cry, then silence.
‘Mrs Newman,’ she called through the letter flap.
Silence.
‘Mrs Newman, I’m Dr Vernon from the prison. I’ve been talking with Jason. May I come in?’
Silence.
‘Mrs Newman, I know you’re in the house. I saw the light. Won’t you please let me in so I can tell you how Jason is? At least you can do that much.’
There was a subtext to her words which hinted at the wife’s neglect.
The light came on and a voice from within said, ‘Can you prove who you are?’
Anne pushed her driver’s licence through the letter slot. After a moment the door opened.
The figure standing there was backlit with a halo of gold round her blonde head. Her face had a ghostly beauty.
Anne stepped inside, Margaret Newman closed the door. She was heavily pregnant but the rest of her was so thin as to be almost anorexic. Her beautiful pre-Raphaelite face was hollow-cheeked. She held a child in her arms.
She turned away and led Anne into a sitting-room/kitchen warmed by a large Aga cooker. There the light was stronger.
‘You’ve seen Jason?’ she said.
‘A couple of times. His physical health is all right but I’m worried about his mental state. He misses you dreadfully.’
‘Does he?’
Margaret reached for a packet of cigarettes and lit one. Her hand was shaking violently.
‘Sit down.’
The chairs and sofa, of brown uncut moquette, were covered in toys, bits of clothing and unidentifiable stains. Margaret made as though to clear a space and Anne said, ‘It’s all right, I’ve been sitting all day.’
Margaret turned away, comforting the baby in her arms. ‘I was about to feed her.’
‘Let me hold her. What’s her name?’
‘Julie.’
‘Hello, Julie.’ Anne took her while Margaret began to prepare the feed. ‘She’s lovely. I’ve got a little girl of five.’
Margaret did not respond. Anne thought she was like someone coming out of an anaesthetic, aware of the world but not sharp enough to respond to it.
She took the child back and began to feed her from a tin of baby food.
‘He’s been trying to phone you, but you’re always engaged,’ Anne said.
‘It’s off the hook. The press never let me alone.’
‘Jason’s been hoping you’d come to visit him.’
Margaret swung round. ‘How can I? How can I get there? Don’t you see what my life is like? This bloody place is a worse prison than Jason’s. At least he has someone to talk to. Who is going to look after Julie if I go? I don’t even know if I can take her with me.’
‘Of course you can.’
‘Don’t patronise me!’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t—’
‘I heard your tone of voice. I heard what you said. You blame me, don’t you? Yes, you do.’
‘No I don’t blame you. I don’t even know you, how can I blame you?’
‘Everybody else does. I hear it in the village. In the street. In the shop. That’s his wife, they say. You know, wife of the chap who raped the child. And I can sense what they’re thinking: must be something wrong with her for him to do a thing like that.’
‘It isn’t like that! No one’s proved he raped anyone. He isn’t even charged with that. And it certainly wasn’t a child.’
‘What does she look like?’ The question came like a volley at the net.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Young and pretty, I bet.’
‘She’s young all right. Seventeen, I think. But I don’t know if she’s pretty.’
‘Not like this!’ she pointed to her large stomach. Then she said, ‘He just couldn’t wait!’
Anne said, ‘I know it’s difficult for you but I suppose it’s difficult for Jason, too.’
‘Why are you taking his side?’
‘I’m not taking anyone’s side.’
‘Yes, you are. That’s why you’ve come here.’
‘I’ve come here to try and get you to see him. If you don’t, I feel he might . . . well, he’s in danger of becoming mentally unstable. It’s largely because he misses you and Julie and feels that you’ve rejected him.’
Abruptly Margaret sat down in one of the armchairs and buried her face in the baby’s clothing. When she looked up tears had coursed down her cheeks washing away some of the make-up on the left side exposing mottled yellowy-brown skin. Anne looked more closely and Margaret put up her hand to hide it.
‘What happened?’ Anne said.
‘It’s nothing.’
‘Yes, it is. I’ve seen it often enough before. Jason?’
She nodded.
‘Have you told the police?’
‘No.’
‘Are you going to?’
‘I don’t know. Sometimes I think . . . Why are you asking these questions? You’re not his lawyer.’
‘No I’m not. Do you know the one the court assigned to him has been made redundant?’
‘They wrote to me.’
‘That’s making it even worse for him. He really needs a good lawyer. Do you know anyone?’
‘No. Even if I did we couldn’t afford it!’
There was a moment’s silence then Anne said, ‘Would you like to tell me what happened?’
‘What good would that do?’
‘Something shared. And it might help me understand Jason better.’
Margaret did not reply. Anne studied her. Even with eyes red from weeping she retained her fragile beauty. She lifted the spoon to the child’s lips and against the light Anne could see the bone structure of her hand as though in an X-ray. She said, ‘How did you and Jason meet?’
‘Photographic session. We were modelling for the same clothing manufacturer. I was modelling swimsuits. Jason was modelling tennis gear. He was under contract.’ She stopped.
‘Go on,’ Anne said.
‘He asked me to have a drink with him afterwards. I didn’t really want to. I mean, I knew nothing about tennis. I’d read about his brattish behaviour on the court. Everybody had. But he wasn’t like that when he was being photographed. He was nice. So I thought, why not? I mean he was pretty famous then. We had a drink and he asked me out again. I started going to watch him play. And I realised there were two Jasons. The one on court and the one I knew.’
‘And—’
‘Look, I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Anyway, I’ve got to put Julie to bed.’
Anne knew she had got as far as she was going to get for the first meeting. She said, ‘And I’ve got to put Hilly to bed. But, listen, will you visit Jason? I think it’s vital.’
‘I’ve told you. I can’t. I can’t drive, if you must know.’
‘That’s unusual these days.’
‘That’s why it was so crazy to come here. I said to Jason at the time it was crazy but he said we had no option. The rent’s low. Because the roof leaks. Jesus!’
Anne said, ‘What if I could organise a lift for you?’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘He needs you, Mrs Newman. He’s totally lost.’
‘For God’s sake, so am I! I said I’d think about it.’
‘That’s fine. But how do I get in touch if you keep the phone off the hook?’
‘Phone the shop. They’ll give me a message.’
Chapter Eleven
Like so, he said. One knee on ground. Like sprinter in starting blocks.
Do it, he said.
They did it. Six of them. Six young boys from Jason’s school. No girls. He wouldn’t have girls. The school had said why not three girls and three boys and he had said no.
What could the school do? It was his tournament.
You ballboys, he had said to the six of them. Not ballgirls. Not ballpersons. I teach you. Okay?
Jason had been one of them.
So, okay, like sprinter. Two at net. One each side. So nearest one runs for ball near net. Do not drop ball. If you drop ball you get less money, okay? So, you don’t drop. Not in my tournament.
They watched him carefully. White shirt, long white trousers, white tennis shoes, tanned face, black hair.
This is what some wanted to be. This was a famous tennis player. But he had no name in tennis. Not to them, anyway. The big names were coming tomorrow; from America, from Sweden, from Germany, from Australia. But not from Britain. No big names here.
Hallstrom, Vickers, Benton, Schellberg, Voigt . . .
Five out of the top ten on the computer.
It had taken Lajos more than two years to set up the tournament – the Southern Grass Court Championships sponsored by the South of England Tourist Board. Twenty-five thousand pounds. But it wasn’t the money that brought the best; it was the grass.
Grass meant Wimbledon. All year they had been playing on clay and concrete. Here they could prepare for the Big One; here they could shake off the red dust of Rome and Roland Garros.
But no women, Lajos had said. Okay? And the tourist board had said okay. Men were a stronger draw for tv anyway.
So, now, ballboys.
Now I show you how to throw.
Burn Out (Dr. Anne Vernon Book 1) Page 9
