‘Look at her.’ Doc followed Jack’s gaze and saw Sally prancing on the bow of the boat while Felix was pottering in the cabin. ‘I love her to bits, but it’s frustrating. You have no say over who they end up with.’
‘You sound like you’d prefer an arranged marriage. Taliban Jack! Haha! Your face!’ Doc laughed at his pal, who snorted in disgust at the joke.
‘Listen. That guy’s a bloody parasite. I had to bail them out recently, maxed out their credit cards. I did it for Sally, of course, but I told him to get a full-time job. Mind you, I don’t hold out much hope… Stop laughing at me!’ Doc didn’t. ‘You’ll understand if you end up with a daughter.’
‘The stereo doesn’t work.’ Felix held up a CD as he called out. ‘She wants me to put this on so we can get a selfie video of us doing our own special Titanic on your boat, Doc.’
‘Turn the ignition on. It’ll work then.’ Doc shouted back at him. ‘I’m just opening the champagne, so don’t be long if you want some.’
Jack scoffed, then pointed a finger at his throat through his open mouth, pretending to gag. Doc didn’t know if he meant their Titanic foolishness or Felix being an idiot for not having thought of turning the boat key to switch the power on – until he added, ‘Muppet! See what I mean about him?’
‘Give him a chance… Right. Judy’s coming, I’ll pop the cork.’
Doc pulled the bottle from the bucket and started to undo the foil, thinking how wonderful today had been, and how much he loved his wife and his friend, thankful he was so blessed.
The feeling was short-lived.
The explosion ripped through the air, and an orange and green fireball erupted from the stern of the boat. Almost immediately, the sound Doc had heard during his vision earlier today – a pig being tortured with a knife – assailed his ears again, only this time it was not in his imagination. The fireball engulfed his boat from behind the cabin, but Sally, who had been standing on the bow with her arms outstretched, had disappeared behind the curtain of flames. Doc knew the noise he could hear was Felix being roasted alive.
Jack was racing across the lawn before Doc had properly registered what had happened, then he too made a dash to see what they could do for the two young lovers. Jack dived into the water just in front of the boat, and Doc made a grab for the lifesaving ring from the post on his private dock and flung it out to Jack who was just diving under, looking for Sally who was still nowhere to be seen.
The fire extinguishers were inside the boat’s cockpit and cabin, but the flames were roaring and Doc couldn’t get aboard. Felix’s screams gradually subsided to muffled squealing and groaning from the bottom of the cockpit, then nothing.
Doc turned to run back to the house, and saw Judy was on her way with the two small fire extinguishers they kept in the kitchen, horror on her face, but no sign of panic. He ran past her and said, ‘You use those, my love. I’ll fetch the big one from the garage.’
With his heart racing and stuttering, Doc slowed and paced himself, noting the sharp stitch-like pain, only it was in the centre of his chest.
Surely, it was too late for Felix anyway. But why had the boat exploded like that? And what had happened to the fire suppression system in the engine room – it should have activated immediately on sensing a flame down there. It was just one of the safety features that came as standard, features that had convinced him a petrol engine on a boat was safe enough, even with the danger of a leak causing heavier than air explosive fumes to settle in the bottom of the hull, just waiting for a spark to appear.
Doc clutched at his chest again and leaned on the garage wall as angina repeatedly stabbed at his heart, but after a few breaths he managed to hoist the extinguisher to his shoulder and stagger back to the burning wreck.
Judy and Jack were kneeling on the dock next to Sally’s saturated body, with Jack frantically giving chest compression as Judy tried to kiss the life back into his daughter. Doc, struggling to breathe himself, and overcome by grief, shock, guilt and despair, tumbled to the ground as everything turned a murky grey before fading to suffocating black.
***
Billy jogged along the towpath, the pedal inserts in his shoes clip-clopping a steady rhythm as he worked off the rest of his rage on his way into Pangbourne. The knife was back in its pouch and most of the blood on his hands had been rinsed off in the river, though there were some splash marks, vivid crimson against the neon yellow of his shirt and shorts.
He slowed to a walk, pleased to see the cab, emblazoned with the number he had called thirty minutes earlier, waiting in the car park of the public house overlooking the weir, exactly as arranged.
His iPhone, strapped to his upper arm, was pumping drum and bass through tiny ear pods, the driving rhythm matching his mood and obliterating all external noise – including the distant blast of his improvised explosive device detonating at the end of Doc Powers’ garden. Just as the reverberations died away, he turned down the volume, tugged open the car door and flopped on to the rear seat before confirming his name and destination for the driver’s benefit.
‘You’ve been in the wars, son. Is that blood? What happened to your bike?’
‘I fell off. I don’t feel like talking, so can you just drive?’
‘Pah. Whatever you say, pal. It’s your money.’
Billy tried to relax, but even with his forehead pressed to the window, eyes on the passing countryside, he felt despondent that his plan had been defeated. He would have a rethink tonight. Uncle Peter would help him. He would be sure to have some ideas of what to do next.
‘Pull over here, would you? I’m going to be about ten minutes. If you wait, you can take me back to Pangbourne. I need to get some tools to repair the bike. Here’s a tenner, and there’ll be twenty more if you wait and take me back.’
‘Fair enough, kiddo. Ten minutes.’
It was worth double the normal fare to Billy and he trotted through the neighbour’s garden, out of sight of his house, and sneaked into his garage. He really was not up to meeting his mother right now. Later tonight, he’d get her back where she belonged.
Under my thumb…
With the bolt cutters tucked beneath his elbow, he jogged back to the waiting car, and saw the look on the cabbie’s face at the sight of the giant tool.
‘Blimey – what’cha gonna do? Cut your bike to pieces? For scrap?’
‘Something like that. Can we go? I’m in a bit of a hurry.’
‘Talkative young chap, aren’t yer?’
Grunt.
Fifteen minutes later, Billy began jogging back along the towpath, his music throbbing in his ears, his mind empty as he went to recover his stranded bike, but as he got closer to the oak tree, he could see black smoke rising from somewhere downstream.
The possibility that he had managed to achieve his aim catapulted his mood from misery to elation.
It’s Powers’ boat!
Billy sprinted the last half mile, dived into the undergrowth as he made the final dash to his lookout tree, dropped the bolt cutters by the bike and executed acrobatics worthy of the Olympics as he flew up the branches. Without a thought for his tattered camouflage poncho, lying by his bike, or the fact that his current garb stood out like the proverbial dog’s balls – despite the foliage around him – Billy raised the binoculars and almost cheered out loud.
A quick survey of the damage to the boat confirmed that no one could have survived. The hull, still afloat, was covered in foam, and a gaggle of firemen were on the dock, with two more clambering on board the smoking remnants, poking around in the exposed engine room. The cockpit had gone completely, with just a mess of melted fibreglass and twisted metal where the steering compartment had been. The two cabins below decks may have survived, partially intact, but anyone down there would have been overcome by the heat and fumes, either roasted alive or gassed to death.
No survivors, then.
It had worked!
I’ve killed Powers! I’m a real man!
Bil
ly hugged himself with sheer joy and laughed out loud as he viewed the devastation before him.
***
The ambulance, with sirens wailing, swerved into the hospital entrance and screeched to a halt. Doc was feeling a whole lot better than he had when he first came to, some ten minutes before. The paramedics had revived him with oxygen and he felt such a fraud for all the fuss he had caused. He plucked the oxygen mask from his face as the rear doors opened, and then tried to sit up on the stretcher bed as Judy placed a gentle hand on his chest to encourage him to lie back down.
‘I’m fine, sweetheart. I just blacked out. Stress, that’s all. I’m more concerned for Sally.’
Judy did not answer, had been silent for most of the journey. Doc could see she was shocked to her soul by what had happened, her cheeks pale and drained. Her hair, usually vibrant and lustrous, was lank and damp from exertion, stress and fear. Streaks of soot on her brow, neck and chin marked where her fingers had tried to massage the tension away.
The first ambulance to arrive at Doc’s house had whisked him to hospital with Sally and Jack’s ambulance right behind. Judy had been clutching his hand as the vehicles sped through the country lanes, sirens blaring. She only now let go as the paramedics hoisted Doc’s gurney out, unfolding the legs with a clatter before wheeling him in to the Accident and Emergency department. Doc gave silent thanks for his medical insurance as the paramedics whisked him past the mass of waiting wounded, sick and injured, then an orderly and nurse soon had him comfortably tucked up in bed in a private room.
‘Please check for me. My friend… Sally Carver. We were with her when she drowned, but she was being resuscitated. I need to know how she is.’
‘I’ll check but I’m sure she’ll be fine, so just relax for me.’ The nurse mouthed the platitude on autopilot, more concerned with Doc than anyone else, concentrating on the gel and rubber suckers she was placing on his chest to connect him to the heart monitor. ‘You’ve had an ECG quite recently, haven’t you?’ She tugged at a few curly grey chest hairs and smiled. ‘I don’t need to shave any more of your fur – you already have perfectly positioned bald patches.’
‘Could you not mention any of my results to my wife, please?’ Thankfully, Judy was at Reception, sorting out the necessary paperwork for the insurance company, to be certain they picked up the tab. The nurse’s head cocked in question so Doc explained. ‘She’s not been very well herself, so I don’t want to worry her.’
‘Mmm. Just relax for me, and don’t talk for the next few minutes.’ The machine whirred and clicked, then the nurse finished by tugging the suckers off his chest and wiping the gel with a handful of tissue. ‘All done. You’ll live. The cardiac consultant’s been delayed, but should be here soon. Just you rest, okay? I’ll be back with him as soon he arrives.’
Doc rearranged his hospital gown to cover his chest, staring at the fluorescent strip on the ceiling as he lay there, and tried to empty his mind, to meditate. De-stress.
It was impossible. How could he relax? Sally could be dead, along with Felix.
Was it my fault? Was there something I should’ve done to make the boat safer? Or something I missed?
Doc closed his eyes, revisiting the entire scenario. The boat, viewed from his patio, moments before the blast. Sally on the bow laughing and jigging about. Felix in the cockpit, about to turn on the ignition…
This really shouldn’t have happened.
The boat’s Fireboy detector was designed to sense petrol fumes, and automatically set off the bilge blower to evacuate any potentially explosive gas trapped in the bottom of the hull. The system would also illuminate the red light on the console, labelled ‘Gas warning’, alerting the owner…
Felix.
It was his first time on board the leisure craft. When he had turned the key, Doc assumed an electrical fault must have sparked and ignited the fumes. Doc, Judy or Jack would have known better – even Sally would have known not to turn that key with the warning light on.
Could the Fireboy system have failed? At the same time as a random petrol leak occurred? And a spark from some faulty electrical wiring had then somehow conveniently appeared at the precise moment needed to ignite the fuel air mixture?
No.
The flash and boom of the explosion replayed in Doc’s mind’s eye, then freeze-framed a fraction of a second after the blast.
Green?
The fireball, tinged with an unearthly hue…
Petrol burned with an orange glow, not green.
Doc’s dark side was whispering the conclusion to him already:
This was no accident. This was sabotage.
He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, no longer willing to lie there, passively waiting for a consultant to fuss over him.
A myriad of thoughts collided in his brain while he dressed, then he heard a voice from years before. A teenage boy snarling a threat at him. Repeating something he said his dead uncle had prophesied during his dreams:
‘You’re going to experience a painful death. And the people you love are going to suffer too…’
The voice in his head was that of a highly disturbed young man.
Billy Leech.
***
Jack stomped along the corridor in a murderous frame of mind, searching for Doc’s private room. Judy was at reception, having some hassle over documentation, and Jack had left her there, grunting at her when she warned him not to upset Doc, insisting that her husband needed peace and quiet.
A run in with his ex-wife had not helped either. Sally had called her mother on the way to the hospital, inconsolable at the loss of Felix. The paramedic lent her his phone, she was that distressed, as hers was at the bottom of the river. The two bedraggled, reluctant swimmers had been wrapped in foil blankets, their clothes soggy from their unexpected dip in the Thames. Even now, Jack was thoroughly damp, his shoes squelching wet farts as he marched to Doc’s room.
The smell of burnt cloth and singed hair lingered in his nostrils as he strode past the nurses’ station in the private wing, thinking of how Sally had wailed and wept at her mother, almost ignoring him. He had saved her life, pulling her unconscious body from the river, then applying first aid to get her breathing again. Surprisingly little water had entered her lungs, and although she had been coughing and choking when first revived, when he told her about the loss of her chosen life partner it sparked a hysterical reaction. Moira had arrived and finally managed to calm her, but had told him to make himself scarce, and said she would look after her daughter, as he patently could not…
So now he was on his way to see Doc. Ready to kill someone himself.
Felix may have been a waster, but no one deserved to die like that. At least Sally had not heard her partner’s agonised, high pitched screaming as he was incinerated – a minor blessing in the scheme of things. It was probably best that Sally’s mother looked after her now. She was much better at that sort of thing.
And I’ll do what I’m best at.
There would be no holiday for him. He burst in to Doc’s room, surprised to see his friend getting dressed.
‘Blimey. They given you the all clear already? You went down like a sack of spuds, mate. I thought you’d gone and died on us, too. What a bloody day.’
‘Jack, I don’t know what to say… I’m so sorry. This is such a nightmare. How’s Sally?’
‘She’s in bits about her bloke, of course, but she’s gonna be fine they reckon. Wanted to keep her in after chucking some antibiotics at her. Prophylactic dose, they called it.’
‘Preventive medicine. For her lungs.’
‘Her mum’s told me she’ll be taking her to her place. I think she blames me! Always was an unreasonable woman. Suits me, though. I want to find out who did this. This was no bloody accident.’
‘I just reached the same conclusion. What makes you think that?’
‘What? Apart from the dead pets littering your house, and that psycho brat living a few miles away?’
‘The moment I saw my daughter disappear off the front of your boat in that cloud of smoke and flames, I knew it wasn’t an accident.’ Doc may have an unwelcome dark side helping him understand serial killers, but Jack had a detective’s gut feel, developed over decades hunting criminals. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Doc seemed to be struggling with tying his laces, the act of bending down clearly causing him discomfort.
‘Yeah. Just a bit giddy.’
‘Can I borrow your phone? Mine’s in the Thames somewhere.’ Jack didn’t wait for an answer, just grabbed it from the bedside. ‘Charlie. I phoned her about ten minutes ago from Reception and she said she’d check to see if there was any news.’ He dialled, spoke a few terse words, then listened for thirty seconds, grunted a reply and ended the call. ‘The first indications from the fire officers. They reckon the fuel tank exploded, though we’ll have to wait for the full report to be sure.
‘The fuel tank? How?’
‘Mmm. That’s what I want to know. I going to go and speak to them. Charlie’s sending a car. Are you coming?’
‘Definitely.’
The door opened and Judy walked in, looking dreadful. She was normally immaculate, and gorgeous too, but not today. Like a vampire had sucked all the blood from her body. Jack wondered if he looked the same.
Judy took in the scene with one glance, her lips compressed at the sight of Doc, fully dressed.
‘Jack. Would you give us a minute? I’d like to talk to my husband. Alone, please.’
‘Sweetheart–’
She cut off Doc’s words with a searing glance and a wave of her hand, pulled open the door, her voice tight as she said just one word. ‘Jack.’
‘Okay. I’ll be waiting at Reception.’
The door closed behind him with a thump as Judy’s scolding started, riding over Doc’s objections. Jack strode away, certain Doc wouldn’t be coming with him, after all.
***
‘Are you sure he’s okay to come home, Doctor?’
‘I’d prefer him to stay in overnight for observation as a cautionary measure, but in all honesty, Mrs Powers, if your husband is uncomfortable here then it’s probably best for him to go home with you. The less stress, the better.’
Gaslighting (DP, DIC03) Page 16
