Disordered Minds

Roy gave an abrupt nod and shut the door on her, but it was a while before he said anything. He stood with head bowed, staring at the floor, and it was obvious to both George and Jonathan that he was working out what to do. Jonathan, buoyed up by success, wanted to seize the advantage, but George put a finger to her lips and persuaded him to stay quiet. Every so often, the boards creaked on the floor above, although whether from the natural contraction and expansion of wood or under the weight of an eavesdropper's stealthy footsteps it was impossible to tell.

When Roy finally spoke, it was without heat. 'By rights, I should put a lawyer on to you,' he said, looking up. 'What you've done is slander me in front of my customers and staff. It's true that I was taken in for questioning about Cill Trevelyan's rape, along with Colley and Mick, but we denied it and there was no evidence to connect us with it. The girl who gave the information, Louise Burton, didn't know the names of the boys and didn't identify us-' he shrugged-'so the cops ended up questioning if a rape had even happened.'

He moved away from the door and reached for his cigarette pack on the table. 'I'm not going to say we weren't wild, because we were. Everyone despaired of us, including ourselves. We were never in school ... couldn't read ... always on the make.' He bent his head to the lighter. 'About the only thing that made life bearable was alcohol and, when we couldn't get it, we'd be thinking of more extreme ways to top ourselves. In that respect, we were no different from Howard.' He fixed his attention on Jonathan. 'You talked the other day about him having nowhere to go except inside himself. Well, we were no different. We did similar stuff ... not to ourselves so much, though it happened-' he flexed his fingers-'Mick was the worst, always carving spirals on the back of his hands-but mostly we targeted other people.' His mouth twisted cynically. 'This isn't easy to say, and you probably don't want to hear it, but we felt good when someone else was hurting. It meant we weren't the only people living shit lives.'

He fell into a brief silence while he took a drag on his cigarette. 'We were awful to Howard,' he said abruptly. 'It went on for years ... started when we were nippers and he was in his teens. He lived down the road from us and we were at him all the time. Mick used to prod him in the back with his knife ... drew blood quite often till Howard got himself a leather jacket. It was too damn easy. He was such a miserable little wimp.' Again he focused his attention on Jonathan. 'I guess we hoped he'd fight back-show a bit of spirit-but he never did. Too much common sense, perhaps.' His eyes hardened as if he were making the point for Jonathan. 'Like George said earlier, things get out of hand when people lose their tempers, and Howard was really scared of Mick's knife.'

Jonathan leaned his hands on the back of a chair. 'There were three of you and one of him,' he said matter-of- factly. 'What kind of odds were those?'

'Not good,' Roy admitted, 'which is why he showed sense by ducking and weaving. The trouble is, it made us worse. Most days he hid-either in his house or at his gran's-but we were always on the lookout for him. You both keep saying he didn't kill his gran. Well, he did. And the reason I know is because we wound him up for it. Mick was always on his back, jeering at him because he didn't have a weapon, and one day Howard pulls a sodding great carving knife and starts slashing at Colley. They said at the trial he went berserk and slashed his gran ... well that's what he did with Colley. He was completely out of it ... mad as a bloody hatter and so wild Mick and me couldn't get close. He cut Colley on the arm a couple of times before we legged it, and our next stop was the hospital. Far as I remember, Colley had twenty stitches, and he was still carrying the scars five years later.'

He turned to George. 'I'm not proud of it, which is why I didn't want you finding out. We were scared Howard was going to blame us for turning him into a raving lunatic, but the cops never came near us even though most of the street knew we'd been bullying him. The strange one was Wynne. She used to hiss at us every time she saw us, but she didn't say anything, not even at the trial.' He flicked ash to the floor. 'I've never understood why not. If they'd gone with diminished responsibility, he'd have been sent to Broadmoor and given some psychiatric help. Instead they banged him up in Dartmoor, where he was never going to make it.'

George pulled out a chair and sat down, clearing a space for her case. 'He pleaded not guilty,' she said, flicking the catches, 'therefore your treatment of him was irrelevant to his defense. You know that as well as I do, Roy. Rather more interesting is why the prosecution didn't quote this episode with the carving knife to strengthen their case.' She took out her notepad. 'Did Colley report it? What explanation did he give the hospital?'

'He said he'd been in a fight but didn't give any names.'

'Why not?'

Roy shrugged. 'We spent all our time avoiding the cops. No point getting involved if we didn't have to.'

'When did it happen?'

'A month or two before Grace was murdered. I don't remember exactly.'

Jonathan stirred. 'How well did you know her?' he asked.

'Not at all.'

'Then why call her Grace?'

There was a small hesitation. 'Everyone did. It's how she was labeled in the newspapers.'

'You said you couldn't read.'

Irritation flickered briefly in the dark eyes. 'So? It was the main topic of conversation in my dad's shop. He read every damn newspaper ... told anyone who wanted to hear what the latest update was.'

Jonathan reached over to flick back a page of George's notepad. 'According to our information, you were estranged from your father. Your parents' marriage failed and you went to live in Colliton Way with your mother. Your father remarried and refused to have anything more to do with you.' He looked up. 'Presumably your stepmother had children of her own and didn't want an illiterate thug for a role model?'

Roy's jaw tightened. 'What's the big deal? George always refers to her as Grace, and so do you in your book, Dr. Hughes.' He smiled grimly. 'And before you jump on me for that, I learned to read in a young offenders' institution when I was sixteen. I did twelve months for burglary ... and it taught me a few things-mostly that prison was a mug's game.'

Jonathan straightened and took out his own cigarettes. 'The big deal is that I don't believe you, Mr. Trent,' he said, nicking his lighter. 'Howard going berserk with a knife a month before Grace was murdered is a little too convenient, don't you think? It's quite impressive if you managed to concoct it in the last few minutes, but it sounds more like a story you and your friends invented at the time.'

'Why would we do that?'

'In case you were questioned.'

Roy shook his head dismissively. 'We wouldn't have been. We were never in the frame. Call me a liar as much