Gaslighting (DP, DIC03)

by Will Patching

  As the car drove away, the feral part of Doc’s brain once again stirred into life, and the ominous sense he’d had on finding the cat pinned to his front door, then the remains of the dog in his barbecue, delivered a surge of adrenalin and a sickening lurch in the pit of his belly.

  ‘Was that Billy Leech? The little boy, from all those years ago?’ Jack glanced from Doc to Dickie, his head alternating between the two of them, shaking in disbelief. ‘What’s his problem with your motor, Dickie? And your chauffeur? Are you alright, mate?’

  ‘I’m okay, sir.’ The chauffeur’s dazed look told a different story. He tried to laugh it off. ‘That kid, he’s a regular Bruce Lee. Kicked me in the head, he did!’

  ‘What happened, Huw?’ Dickie’s rich voice rumbled reassuringly. ‘We’ll get you to the hospital for a check-up.’ As his driver started to baulk, Dickie became insistent. Employee or not, Doc could tell there was no arguing with him. ‘We’ll order a cab now.’ At that, Doc pulled out his phone and made the call. Dickie added, ‘Meanwhile, let’s get you inside. You can tell us all about it.’

  They made their way into the lounge, Jack found their drinks for them, and offered the chauffeur a ‘stiff one’, but Dickie stopped him.

  ‘Not a good idea, Jack. Water would be best. How long before the cab gets here, Doc?’

  ‘Ten minutes, maybe. What about your car?’

  ‘My PA will sort it tomorrow. If it’s okay with you, I’ll just leave it outside for the night. First I want to ensure Huw’s been taken care of.’ While the chauffeur sat on the sofa Dickie checked his eyes and inspected the bruising on his temple.

  ‘I’m really alright, sir. It’s nothing… Their car just swerved to a halt. I was having forty winks, sitting in the driver’s seat, and although I heard it, I didn’t think anything of it. I had my hat over my eyes, resting, waiting for you, Professor.’ Despite his bravado, the chauffeur’s hands were palsied, the ice in his glass rattling an accompaniment to his explanation. Doc could see he was in shock, and thought the blow to his head had been more powerful than the man would admit. ‘Then I heard an almighty clattering as the lad went loopy. He was smashing his oar on the grill and bonnet, denting it, scratching the paint. I hopped out a bit smartish, but it happened so quick.’ He offered his boss an apologetic smile.

  ‘Go on, Huw. It’s only a bloody car. Tell us about the boy.’

  ‘Well, I was shouting at him to stop, but he was in such a rage, swearing, ranting about you, sir. I went to grab the oar off him, but he just seemed to… levitate. He flew into the air, spinning and kicking. Next thing I knew, I was flat on me arse. Then he smashed the oar to pieces battering the headlights. His mother had hold of him by then, trying to haul him to their car. Then you arrived. That’s it, sir.’

  Rage.

  Doc had seen it too. There was uncontrolled fury driving the boy. So, what had Dickie Maddox done to upset him? He was about to ask, when Jack intervened.

  ‘What was he yelling?’

  The chauffeur seemed unsure whether to say, but Dickie placed a reassuring hand on his arm and nodded for him to continue.

  ‘He was swearing about you, Professor. Claiming you were ripping his mother off. Milking her, he said, charging her for unnecessary surgery… He said you’d failed her, but wouldn’t admit it, that you deliberately kept her coming back for more. That’s all I can remember.’

  Doc and Jack exchanged a glance as a cab pulled up outside, but Dickie was unfazed by the entire episode.

  ‘I’ll take him to the BUPA hospital in Reading, make sure things are fine, then pop back before heading into town. We can catch up on our conversation then, if that’s alright with you fellows?’

  Doc nodded and walked them to the cab, all the while processing the implications of the things he had seen and heard today. As the vehicle disappeared, an unwelcome image crystallised before his eyes.

  The look Billy had given them from the passenger seat of his mother’s car.

  More than just rage.

  Doc’s stomach churned again as he relived the moment.

  An overwhelming sense of hatred had been emanating from the boy.

  But why?

  ***

  ‘Sometimes I despair of you, Billy.’ Suzie Leech mopped tears from her eyes with her sleeve as she drove away from the site of her son’s latest indiscretion. ‘I encouraged you to learn martial arts to instil some discipline and control into you. You could’ve killed that man.’

  ‘Don’t exaggerate. I used just enough power to disable him, that’s all. He attacked me!’ Billy sent a sulking stare in her direction with his comment, then scoffed at her. ‘Anyway, if I’d wanted to kill the idiot, I could’ve.’

  ‘For chrissakes. That’s the second time you’ve damaged the Professor’s car. I hope for your sake neither he nor his driver press charges this time.’

  ‘They won’t.’

  ‘Oh really. You’re so bloody sure of that, are you? Did you forget that the audience for today’s little tantrum included a police officer?’

  ‘So what? Maddox won’t do anything to spoil a good thing. To him you’re just a cash cow.’ Billy sneered as he added, ‘Mooooooo!’

  Suzie pulled the car to the side of the road, stopped the engine and rounded on her son. ‘Don’t you dare be so bloody rude. I’ve had enough of your attitude, young man. I’m still your mother. Just remember that.’

  ‘Pah! What are you going to do about it? Ground me again?’ He snorted. ‘That worked well last time, didn’t it? You ended up so pissed and off your head with morphine I could’ve been anywhere. Doing anything… Maybe I was. Hahaha!’

  ‘God! You can be so… nasty. You were never like this when you were younger.’

  Suzie swallowed and tried to calm herself, but could not stop her lower lip from trembling. More tears dribbled to her cheeks. It was all so unfair, how her life had plunged out of control, from middle class bliss to this. And how could she blame her son, given the terrible trauma he had endured too?

  A jerky sigh shuddered from her and she decided she should get home as quickly as possible. She needed a drink. In her haste to get under way again she stalled the engine as the clutch slipped from beneath her shoe.

  ‘You really are useless, aren’t you? I can drive better than you, but I can’t even take my test for another year. Anyone should be allowed to drive at any age, as long as they can prove they’re capable… And you obviously aren’t.’

  Suzie eased the clutch up this time, a smooth take off that had them safely on their way. She’d been holding her breath during the manoeuvre without realising, and let it out as soon as she did.

  ‘You’d better hope that policeman doesn’t make trouble for you, though I’m beginning to think it might be better if he did. That poor driver really didn’t deserve to be kicked in the head like that.’

  ‘Oh, shut up. Just chuck some money at the pleb. That’ll sort it.’

  ‘You sound just like your father. As if no one else matters. Only you and what you want. Thinking money will solve any problem, no matter what you do.’

  ‘Haha! Well it will, won’t it? You should know that after what happened before.’

  What was he on about, now? Was he referring to the previous occasion when he had smashed the Bentley’s windscreen, and she had reimbursed Professor Maddox for the damage? She had been about to leave the Caduceus Clinic when Billy had arrived to meet her after his shopping trip to some of the nearby boutiques. When he saw the total on the bill she had just paid he went wild.

  Earlier that day, when they had arrived at the Harley Street clinic, Billy had admired the Professor’s car parked on the street outside, replete with its personalised number plate – MD1. When he realised that each of her numerous operations were costing tens of thousands of pounds he leapt on the bonnet before slamming his boot through the glass. Maddox had been magnanimous, as he was aware of their family history, and had graciously accepted a cheque without demanding any compensation for
the inconvenience Billy had caused.

  ‘I’m keeping tally, you know?’ Suzie pulled in to her mother’s driveway, and stopped in front of the garage and workshop attached to the side of the house. ‘You will repay everything you’ve cost me over the years. Every last penny you’ve wasted through your misbehaviour, young man. With interest.’

  Billy was almost out of the door as she finished delivering her threat, but paused and turned his head back towards her, snarling at her. ‘Cost you? Don’t give me that bullshit. It’s dad’s money. He earned it, not you. And it’s as much mine as yours. It’s you that’s squandering it, not me.’

  With that, he slammed the door on her startled face, and disappeared round the back of the house, heading for his study room. Suzie considered calling after him, to assert herself in some small way, to make him come and unload the canoe, but she was just too weary, too disheartened to bother.

  He exhausted her, physically and mentally, she realised now. Each time they spoke, another slice of her soul was carved away and lost forever.

  She let her forehead drop to the steering wheel and sat there, weeping for her lost little boy – and his tormented mother.

  ***

  Doc re-entered his lounge and Jack piped up immediately, clearly wondering if he had missed out on something.

  ‘What was Dickie on about? What conversation?’

  Drunk or sober, Jack’s detective radar didn’t miss much. Doc couldn’t help but grin at him. His current look was like a determined terrier, a dog with a bone – one he wouldn’t let go.

  ‘I was about to tell him what happened this morning before all that commotion erupted.’

  ‘Repairing that Bentley’s gonna cost him an arm and a leg – more than I earn in half a year I should think.’ Jack pulled a face, sucked at his lower lip for a few seconds, pensive, then went on. ‘And I don’t care what he says. I want to talk to his driver. Alone. He can press charges, even if Dickie won’t. I can understand him not wanting to upset a patient over some damage to his motor, but that kid… He’s a nutter. Dangerous. Just like his uncle – and his old man. Needs sorting.’

  Doc, weary now, dropped into his armchair and Jack sat opposite, both lost in thought, sipping at their drinks. Then Doc decided to drop his bombshell, ready for Jack to explode too once he’d heard what had happened.

  ‘He came to see me not long after we moved in here.’ Jack’s head cocked in question as Doc continued. ‘I didn’t know who he was, he just turned up on the doorstep one weekend. I’d only seen him briefly, that one time, some four or five years before that afternoon. I didn’t recognise him.’

  ‘So, what did he want, then?’

  ‘He said he wanted my advice. Asked me how much I charged for counselling.’

  ‘Counselling. You don’t do that. And how did he find you? And why on earth would he choose you?’

  ‘He’d seen my TV series. Read all my books. Knew I’d been at their house, the night his father died. Said he wanted to talk about genetics and psychopathy.’

  ‘Oh… He thinks he’s a psycho too? Worried it runs in his blood? I wouldn’t be surprised. We see a lot of that – bad families with crime in their DNA.’

  ‘That’s what I assumed he wanted. When I told him I don’t do counselling, that I could effect an introduction to a specialist, someone who helped young people like him, he said I owed him, that he wanted to talk to me and no one else.’

  ‘Owed him? Owed him what? You should’ve told him to piss off!’

  ‘It was weird, but he was insistent, and he had an air about him. A confidence, a maturity that I’d never seen in a pubescent lad before. Precocious, and intelligent. Conversed like an adult. And I’ll admit, I was intrigued… Fascinated, in fact.’

  ‘You said yes.’ Jack tutted. ‘You can be such a soft touch sometimes.’ Jack swirled whisky round his glass and sniffed at it appreciatively, took a mouthful, then said, ‘And what did he mean – you owed him?’

  ‘He blames me for his father’s death.’

  ‘You? Blimey. That’s a turn up for the books. How did he come to that conclusion?’

  ‘He said that I should never have allowed his uncle to be released, that everything bad that happened to his family since then was therefore all down to me. And all he wanted was a few individual sessions to talk things through, to help him and his mother recover.’

  ‘Mmm. I suppose he has a point…’ A final sip of the whisky had Jack smacking his lips for more, then he took his lower one between his teeth for a second before asking, ‘So what aren’t you telling me, Doc? I can read it in your eyes. Stop holding back. Tell me, and then I’ll get us another drink.’

  Doc let go a sigh, and then lifted his shoulders a fraction, acknowledging his own stupidity.

  ‘I let him into my house. I let him into my life. I should’ve known better, but I thought I was studying him.’ Doc swirled the last of his drink around the glass, then threw the wine to the back of his throat.

  ‘I thought you wanted to help him? Not treat him like a bleedin lab specimen.’ Jack stood and took both empty glasses to the drinks cabinet, poured more and returned to his seat.

  ‘That too. Of course.’ Doc took his glass and stared at the red liquid for a moment, pondering his stupidity. ‘At the time, it sparked an idea for a new book, maybe even a TV series. On children who kill.’

  ‘What. The old nature versus nurture thing. You thought little boy Leech might help you with that… So, what happened?’

  ‘Over the next two months I saw him once a fortnight. Four sixty-minute sessions in all. Our final meeting was, well, difficult, to say the least.’

  ‘Okay. I think you need to tell me about it. And don’t give me that old nonsense about confidentiality.’

  ‘I will get to that, but it wasn’t until this morning that I began to suspect why he’d really come to see me.’

  ‘Eh? So, he wasn’t worried about his psycho genes, then?’ Like a puzzled mutt, Jack leaned his head to one side, aware he was missing something important, keen to understand. ‘I’m getting a bit confused now. Come on, spit it out, mate.’

  ‘Some time later, I started having problems with my MacBook, so I took it to the Apple store.’ It may have sounded to Jack like Doc was changing the subject, but he wasn’t. He ignored Jack’s exasperated look and continued filling in the background. ‘After what happened to me before, being hacked through the internet, I’ve been paranoid and have armour-plated security preventing anyone breaking into my system since then.’

  The drink had not affected Jack’s detective skills. ‘Ah! You reckon Billy Leech managed to hack your MacBook, did he? How?’

  ‘I can’t be sure about any of this, Jack. The problem arose more than a year after our sessions together. According to the technician, someone had loaded a keylogger onto my Mac.

  ‘Keylogger? Is that like a virus? Malware?’

  ‘Yes, but I think they call it spyware… It doesn’t affect your system, it just lurks in the background, recording all the keys you type during each and every session you use the infected computer.’ With an eyebrow lift and spread hands, Doc explained. ‘I had no idea but, apparently, it had been there so long it was eating the memory, storing so much information, and that’s what caused the system to keep freezing and locking the screen.’

  ‘Okay, so it was jammed up with too much info.’

  ‘Precisely. The technician cleaned it off for me and I honestly thought there was no harm done.’ So stupid. Complacent. ‘My firewall, and other security would never allow someone to get into my system remotely, or send information from my laptop over the internet without my authority. I soon forgot about it.’

  ‘So how did this keylogging thing get on to your computer in the first place?’

  ‘According to the technician, whoever did this must have had physical access to my computer.’ It was so obvious, with hindsight. ‘Apparently, a USB stick with the spy program on it could’ve been plugged in while my MacBook wa
s unattended. It would take maybe a minute at most to infect my device before being removed. No sign of any tampering whatsoever.’

  ‘The little bastard loaded something on to your laptop, while he was here, in the house?’

  ‘That’s what I’ve surmised.’

  ‘I’ll collar the bloody scrote.’ A gulp of scotch, then Jack bounced out of his chair for more, outraged. ‘After his little escapade today, and now this…’

  ‘Jack, please don’t overreact.’ He hadn’t heard the worst yet. ‘I have no proof it was him, though at the time, I did wonder who it could be. My cleaner? My gardener? Any workmen in the home? A friend or acquaintance I’ve invited in? Maybe someone at the TV studios when the MacBook was on my desk, left unattended while I was out of the room. But now… After today’s events, well, I’m certain it was him. Billy Leech.’

  ‘You think the cat and the dog business this morning was down to him?’ Jack squinted at Doc as he sat down again, thinking it through. ‘He found your records from the Leech brothers’ affair, and decided to mess with you, imitating some of the things they did as kids! What the hell for? And after all this time?’ Doc could see Jack’s detective mind working through the implications. ‘And what else did he get from your computer? Anything important?’

  ‘The question is not: What did he get? Jack…. It’s: What didn’t he get?’

  ‘Hang on…’ The full import of Doc’s security lapse finally sank in, and Jack sprang to his feet as he realised. ‘He accessed your confidential files? The records of all the stuff we’ve worked on? For each of your TV series? The official documents? The crime scene photos, court records, interviews with witnesses, interrogations, all the work we did on those unsolved cases? That too? You are fucking kidding me!’

  ‘Worse than that, my friend… The keylogger could’ve recorded any passwords I’ve been using. All of them, in fact… All changed since the technician cleaned the spyware from my device, of course. And because nothing bad had happened, either before or since the discovery, I assumed the person who loaded the spyware had failed to achieve his objective. With only half his task completed – compromising my MacBook – I thought my online security system had prevented the spyware from accessing the internet and transmitting whatever it recorded.’