Maybe he’s watching his diet. Heart problems and all that…
Jack took his cigarettes outside and waited for Doc as he smoked. He pulled his phone from his pocket, thinking Charlie might be able to help him.
‘I heard you were suspended, Jack. And I’m not supposed to be talking to you.’
He turned on the charm as best he could, given his mood, and promised to take her out to the venue of her choice if she agreed to assist, desperately trying to convince her to help. Then, ‘Please, Charlie. I just need you to make the call, that’s all. If they respond positively, I’ll go and see ’em and keep you out of it. No risk to you. Fair enough?’
‘Okay. I’ll see what I can do.’ She didn’t even say goodbye.
Doc joined him and they strolled to the car as Jack finished his cigarette. Jack’s phone buzzed as a message arrived.
‘Good news?’
Jack looked up from the screen at Doc’s question, smiling – and for the first time it felt genuine. Ever since the boat blew up on Sunday.
‘Yeah. Charlie’s got us in with her mate with the royal protection mob. We’ll head over there now…’ His grin broadened and he chuckled as he added, ‘I might just marry that woman. She’s a right gem.’
***
Billy could hear the TV burst into life as he searched his mother’s room. She was such an idiot. Thinking he would just meekly go to his bedroom when sent. And he knew exactly where to look for the things she had stolen from him.
As predictable as ever.
The drawer wasn’t even locked. Her old wardrobe had three such drawers, and this bottom one was where she kept her secrets.
Well, my secrets, today.
Only, they weren’t there. Nor were the new keys he expected to find…
Shit!
He did discover some papers there, though. Very interesting ones. He pocketed them, then stepped back and looked around the room. It took no time before he spotted the edge of his gym holdall, tucked at the top of the wardrobe, with just a fraction of the logo showing between his mother’s empty suitcases, also stowed there.
Billy jumped up, grabbed the handle and hauled the bag down, then checked the contents.
It looked like everything important was in there – his concertina file and the various trophies he had kept. He slipped the passport and bank details into his pocket – finding those was a major relief – but it was good to have the rest of his possessions back too. Not least, the two small ziplock bags containing powder, tucked in the file marked XXX.
He paused, wondering what she did with his cookbook and dream diary, and where they might be, along with the twists of paper she had stolen from his bedside drawer…
It was intriguing, especially the diary, but he was not too worried as it had been written in his own secret code and no one else would be able to make much sense of it.
Having recovered his supply of LSD, maybe he could lie on his bed and visit with his guru – if he could control his temper.
He was still seething.
Even with the psychedelic drug mixed with some Temazepam he may not be able to relax sufficiently.
If he could get some of the drugs into his mother’s system, that would be more of a help to him. Then he might be able to blag things…
Except, she still had his journal.
His novel.
He was in no mood to laugh, but had to cackle at that cunning comeback. When she had chucked it across the table at him, he’d thought his entire plan would unravel, that she would hand him over to the police. Many of his exploits were laid bare for anyone to read, but she gave the impression she didn’t want to believe it was true. He could see her hesitation when he told her it was all just make believe.
It was a good job it wasn’t up to date… He’d outgrown scribbling in that thing several months ago.
He pulled her door to behind him and stood on the landing listening. His mother was moaning and sobbing. The sound made him smile so he stayed there, listening to her misery for a full minute, then went to his room.
Time to hide the evidence.
He emptied the DVD rack situated below the bracket supporting his TV screen and pulled it away from the wall to expose the hidden fireplace. The one Gramps had blocked off a couple of decades before, soon after he had installed central heating. The panel wasn’t designed to be removed, but then again, this was not a particularly robust piece of workmanship. A few careful strokes from his knife blade unsealed the fibreboard panel – painted the same colour as the rest of the wall. After replacing it with the bag secured behind, Billy was confident no one would find his things in there. He slid the DVD rack back home, and replaced his collection, making sure everything was in alphabetical order, meticulously lined up, just like normal.
Calmer now, and sitting cross-legged at the head of his bed, his back propped against the wall, Billy took a pinch of LSD, dropped it on his tongue, swallowed and then closed his eyes. He controlled his breathing and meditated until the roof opened up, the sky above him blossomed, and his Uncle Peter entered his life once more…
***
Doc had thought the observation post would be close to the Middleton’s home on Pease Hill, but it was nowhere near, located in a grotty terraced house in Woolhampton overlooking the A4. The village was about halfway along the trunk road connecting Reading and Newbury, a good twenty minutes’ drive from the princess’s parents’ home. Jack explained why.
‘They can’t afford to rent a house out there, mate. Those properties are all worth millions, and rentals are as rare as hens’ teeth. Even if there was a place available nearby, the cost would be exorbitant. Hence this dump.’
Dump was an apt description. There was no garden at the front, just some tarmac with tufts of weed growing through it. The entire property was no wider than the Jaguar was long, and the front door looked rotten, threatening to disintegrate if anyone was unwise enough to use the rusty knocker, half hanging off it. They didn’t need to – the door opened the moment they approached.
‘Jack Carver and Doctor Powers. Well, I’ll be damned. Nice to meet you Doctor. Come on in.’
Jack pumped the man’s hand as they stepped into the hall. Doc noted the steep stairs to their right, and a tiny lounge off to the left. He could just about see into the kitchen at the back, and it looked to be no larger than his walk-in wardrobe.
Jack made the introductions and then explained to Doc, ‘Terry’s an old mate from donkeys’ years ago.’ He beamed at his colleague. ‘I had no idea you were working on the royals, matey. I’d have called you myself had I known. Charlie–’
‘Yeah, I know. You’re not here now, never have been… She said you were suspended for whacking that gobshite, Hammond, from Reading nick. Haha! I’d heard you clocked him one. Good on yer!’ Terry motioned for them to join him upstairs and described the operation as he went. Doc was not surprised to see the holster hanging from the back of his belt, the gun bouncing on the officer’s bum as he clambered up the steps. ‘We just keep an eye on all the cameras and other surveillance kit stationed around the royal residence. We’ve got about thirty CCTVs in the vicinity, and we can also tap in to any of the traffic cams on the main roads around here, an’ all.’
‘Thirty cameras?’ Doc was amazed. They had driven past the place on the way to the Leech home on Monday, but he had not spotted any. ‘And aren’t you a bit far away to respond to an emergency?’
‘We have a team on location. Armed and extremely dangerous. We take it in turns to sit in here, keeping an eye on the recordings, noting anything out of the ordinary. So, what can I do for you good folks?’
The upper floor was a revelation – like a high-tech cruise ship’s control room. The internal walls were gone, opening out the space for the handful of giant screens Doc could now see. These surrounded an impressive comms console with a luxury swivel chair for the operator.
‘It’s just like Star Trek in here. Are you on your own?’
‘Yeah – unt
il seven tonight, then I get relieved. We used to have a duty team of four doing this, round the clock, but much of the job’s automated now. Computers with cunning algorithms assess all the movements in the area covered by our monitors, combine that with feeds from regional traffic cams and then alert the operator about anything odd. That info’s then sent to the boys on site to check out. Got facial recognition for the drivers and passengers, automatic number plate recognition, and automatic alerts if there’s unidentified cars from outside the local area cruising by… Anything suspicious, like odd deliveries and so on. We scoop it all up, and this,’ he patted the console the way he might pet his dog, ‘does all the analysis for us. Pretty boring really. Protecting the royals sounds glamorous but it ain’t.’
‘Bloody hell.’ Jack looked suitably impressed. ‘So, I’m looking for a kid on a bike, late at night, or in the early hours.’ He passed a scrap of paper to Terry. ‘Or a car with this registration, also moving at odd times during the night.’
Doc guessed it was the Leech woman’s car. Jack would have memorised the number plate during Saturday’s attack on the Bentley.
Terry sat at his console, and put a query into the machine, almost in plain English, giving them a running commentary as he typed.
‘It’s an intelligent system. Bit like a super Google search, and it should throw up anything that meets your criteria. This is state of the art surveillance. Regular GCHQ gear.’ Terry was clearly proud of his machine’s capabilities. ‘Over what time period are we talking?’
Jack laughed and said, ‘Seven years would be good, but from last Friday would do us for now.’
Less than an hour after arriving, Doc and Jack were in the hall, ready to leave. Terry shook their hands again and asked Jack, ‘Were you really mates with Professor Maddox?’
‘Yeah. Both of us knew him.’
‘You know they’ve already confirmed it was his body at the scene?’
Jack just grunted.
‘There’s been loads of chatter about it on the airwaves, lots of pressure from the top brass to get a result… Mind you, I’d have helped you anyway, Jack, even without Charlie calling me about Maddox. Do you really think that kid on a bike had anything to do with the fire in London?’
‘That’s what Doc and I are going to find out. Thanks for this Terry.’ Jack held up a USB stick between his index finger and thumb. The one Terry had loaded the search results on to for them. ‘I owe you one, mate.’
***
It was not like Judy to skive off work, and although most of her time was given freely, she felt guilty as she arrived home shortly after lunchtime. She wasn’t panicking, but was definitely not feeling one hundred percent.
She had called her GP clinic that morning, though the nurse had sounded unruffled when Judy explained about the few blood spots on her sheet. The woman’s advice had been to keep a careful eye on things, to check herself regularly and go straight to hospital if there was an actual flow of red blood rather than just a few drips of ruddy-brown gunk.
‘Don’t hesitate if there’s enough red stuff to fill your panty liners, just get yourself to A&E.’
That was her professional advice, although Judy had not mentioned the stomach cramps. And they were the reason she was now home. She had a mild case of diarrhoea, thanks to Colin’s curry. That was most unusual, but her hormones had played plenty of tricks on her in the last few weeks, so she would lie down and rest. Listen to her body for once.
On the way home, she’d heard the radio news and the confirmation that their charming friend Dickie had died in that fire in London, and she shed a few tears for him. The newscaster had given scant details of the event, though had issued the name of someone the police wanted to interview.
John Roland Smith.
At least this terrible tragedy had nothing to do with the Leech boy. Perhaps Colin and Jack were wrong about the lad, although two fires in the space of a few days involving them and their friends seemed too much of a coincidence.
Was someone really intent on harming them?
I just hope Colin will look after himself…
That thought prompted her to send him a quick text message, just to let him know she was home and not to worry about her, even made a joke about his cooking too.
Yet she couldn’t eat a thing in her present state, even though she was weak from lack of food. She made herself a cup of green tea, spooned in two dessert spoons of honey, and sipped it before mounting the stairs and flopping on the bed. She closed her eyes and was drifting in and out of sleep when she heard voices from the hallway downstairs. Colin appeared at the door a few seconds later, a worried expression on his face.
‘Are you okay, my love?’ He sat on the bed and ran gentle fingers through her hair, touched the back of his hand to her forehead. ‘You look really washed out.’
‘I just want to sleep. I didn’t have a good night, and had some morning sickness to start the day. I got to work but felt so tired I decided to come home early.’ Why tell him more? He had enough on his plate already, and she would be back to normal tomorrow, for sure. ‘Nothing to worry about. Just my body coming to terms with the changes. And you? You didn’t sleep much either. Any news?’
‘Dickie’s dead, sweetheart.’ Colin massaged the back of his neck, his features pinched with stress. She squeezed his other hand, a feeble effort at comforting him over the loss of a good friend. ‘They’ve identified a suspect, and expect an early arrest.’
‘Well, at least that’s good news. Did the fire at the clinic have anything to do with what happened here, on Sunday?’ Judy could not fathom how the two events were linked, but was worried all the same. ‘And the Leech boy? Do you still think he’s involved?’
‘We’re not sure.’ Colin’s fingers stopped their circular motion on his neck, then stroked her face as he tried to smile, without much success. ‘Jack and I are going to see him and his mother this evening. We thought we’d pop back here for a few hours before our appointment. I’m making some food.’ His weight shifted from the bed as he yawned and stretched into an upright position, looking down at her. ‘Do you need anything?’
‘No. I just want to sleep a little. You take care, my love.’
Judy watched him slip away, the door closing silently behind him.
***
‘I can understand why Smith had it in for Dickie, but did he have a grudge against you too, mate?’
‘Why?’
Doc arrived in the kitchen at the same time as Jack, who had just finished speaking to Charlie and was tucking his phone back into his pocket. Jack’s few minutes on the patio had not been to sample the country air but to chain smoke two cigarettes in the hope of perking himself up – the lack of sleep was catching up with him. Doc looked none too hot, either.
‘Petrol filler caps. Nautical ones… Matching the one on your boat.’ Jack thought a strong coffee might help them both too, and the smell of it brewing in Doc’s machine made his mouth water. He swallowed, then explained. ‘Smith ordered two of them online, a few months ago, using his Visa card. But he doesn’t own a boat.’
‘Two?’
‘Yeah. Forensics found a couple of them in his workshop – the locks drilled out. They think one was a test run. One was a bit older, showed signs of wear and tear. Looks like it came off your boat. And the other new one–’
‘He used it to replace mine. The one he’d welded a spark plug to…’
‘Which is why I asked the question. You said you met him ages ago at Broadmoor.’
‘I did… But he was released a year or so after, and if he did have a grudge against me, surely he would’ve attacked me long ago.’
‘And Dickie… You said you two spoke about Smith. More recently.’
‘Yes, he often asked my advice on Broadmoor inmates, and I had some history regarding this particular individual, but there’s no way Smith could be aware of our conversations and correspondence.’
‘Mmm.’ Jack had wondered about that. Along with another
intriguing titbit of information Charlie had just shared. ‘There’s a load of other interesting stuff in his workshop too, Doc. Actually, it’s a laboratory, a right treasure trove from what she said, well kitted out with plenty of pukka gear for experiments and cooking up all sorts of chemical compounds. The Bomb Squad went in there and they found traces of ANFO, among other things they’re having analysed.’
‘Smith was making fertiliser bombs?’
‘Uh-huh. No sign of where any of that stuff went to, though. No reports of any unexplained explosions involving ANFO during the last eighteen months either. They discovered some powder in there too, though it took them a while to identify it. A home-made mixture of peroxides and other chemicals they reckon would give a real boost to petrol if it’s added before ignition.’ He clicked his tongue, and saw Doc frown. ‘As dangerous to make as nitro-glycerine, they said. Highly unstable until it’s crystallized into powder form. Similar to solid rocket fuel.’
‘Burns without oxygen…’
‘Yup. They’ve sent the sample to the Reading fire department to confirm it matches the stuff in your boat’s fuel tank.’ They exchanged a knowing look – it was a foregone conclusion.
‘Sounds like Smith’s something of an expert on bomb-making.’
‘Seems that way – more like a rocket scientist than your average paedo chemistry teacher, that’s for sure.’
‘So, you think we’re wrong about Billy?’ Doc’s voice suggested he thought that unlikely.
‘Nah. He’s involved. Somehow… I’d bet my pension on it.’ Jack waited as the espresso machine hissed steam into milk for their coffees, his mind on his irritating boss. A scowl pinched his features. ‘If I ever get one. I bloody well won’t if Soundbite chucks me out on me ear’ole!’
‘And there’s no trace of Smith?’
‘Nope. He’s gone to ground. Neighbours reckon he keeps himself to himself. Situation normal for a bloke with his history. Records don’t help much either. No living relatives. No registered mobile phone to track him with. No easy way to locate him.’
‘Damn.’ Doc handed Jack a mug of coffee, then leaned his hip against the counter top as he sipped his latte. ‘This is all very baffling… Maybe things will become clearer with the application of some caffeine.’
Gaslighting (DP, DIC03) Page 30
