A Willing Victim (43 page)

‘I didn’t want to kill him.’ Michael sounded as plaintive and uncomfortable as a boy trying to explain a cricket ball through a window. ‘I don’t know why I did it. I was angry, that’s all.’

‘Why don’t you go back a bit?’ asked Stratton. ‘Tell us about your life at the Foundation.’ Michael looked at him doubtfully. ‘Tell us what it was like. So that we understand. It’s all a bit unusual to us, you see.’

‘People were always telling me how lucky they were to know me,’ said Michael. ‘They said I was lucky, too.’ He frowned. ‘Actually, I don’t think they meant “lucky” like winning something, but more that it was meant to happen and it had, so that was good …’

‘Why did they say that?’

‘Because of my mother. They said she brought me to Mr Roth so that I could fulfil my function.’ The last part came out in a flat, mechanical tone, as if learnt by rote. ‘I didn’t understand it at first, but I didn’t mind. Later, when I was bigger, I asked my mother about it, and she said I was special, like Jesus.’

‘How old were you then?’

‘I don’t know. About eight, I think. She said I was special … I didn’t think about it much then. Not properly, I mean. But Mr Roth was always asking me things. He’d make me sit very still for a long time and say I must empty my mind and then he’d ask me what I’d seen – observed, I mean, and I didn’t know … I tried to do what he said, but I couldn’t, and I didn’t understand what he wanted me to say. He wanted me to be special, like they all said, but …’ Michael blinked and shook his head. Mrs Dane was gazing at him in appalled fascination.

‘Go on,’ said Stratton. ‘You’re doing fine. Take all the time you want.’

‘They’d made a mistake, hadn’t they?’ blurted Michael. ‘I knew they had. I
knew
it! It wasn’t me they wanted. I tried to tell my mother, but she just got cross. She said I was being ungrateful, that people were depending on me … that I had to be their guide. I tried to tell her that it wasn’t me and they’d got it wrong, but she wouldn’t listen.’

I’ll bet she wouldn’t, thought Stratton. ‘Did you try telling Mr Roth?’

‘No. I couldn’t. She said I wasn’t to say those things to anyone else. She was so angry with me… Mr Roth kept asking me how I felt and if I got headaches and … I didn’t get any headaches, but I said yes and he said he used to get headaches and I wasn’t to worry because it was part of the process of finding the spiritual … spiritual source … inside myself. So then I worried because I didn’t get headaches, and I used to pretend I did. Try to be like they wanted. Mr Roth gave lots of talks and they went on for hours. It was hard to listen to what he was saying when I wanted to go out and play. Everyone thought I understood it all and they kept on asking me things. I’d try and repeat the things that Mr Roth said so they’d leave me alone, but they didn’t. They wouldn’t leave me alone!’ Michael let out a howl that rocked his whole body. It seemed to Stratton to contain all the frustration he must have felt.

‘And you just wanted to be a normal boy,’ he said. ‘You didn’t want to be special.’

‘I thought it must be my fault.’ Michael’s voice had dropped to a whisper. ‘I thought, when they realised, they’d say I was a liar and I’d tried to trick them, but I didn’t. Honestly, I didn’t. Sometimes I really did believe that I was … what they said … and then I’d think I did deserve to be in that position with everybody, you know, looking up at me, and then it would be all right for a while, but a lot of the time it was just … just … not right. Jeremy knew, though. He was the only one who did.’

‘Jeremy Lloyd?’

‘Yes. He used to teach me sometimes. Once when we were by ourselves he said to me, “Don’t think it’ll last for ever. I was his favourite once, and it’ll come to an end for you just like it did for me. He’ll move on to someone else.” We’d been down to the village and just before we got back to the house he grabbed my arm and said it.’

‘How old were you then?’

‘Same as I am now, ten.’

‘So it was earlier this year?’

‘Yes. He left soon after. Well, quite soon. About a month, I think. I told Mr Roth what he’d said, and he told me I mustn’t worry about it. He said he would talk to Jeremy.’ Michael frowned, trying to find words to explain. ‘I didn’t want it to last for ever, or be a favourite. But I was frightened, especially after Jeremy left, because if we had to leave, too, and it was my fault, then … my mother would be angry like she was before, and she wouldn’t forgive me, and I didn’t know where we could go or what we could do … Sometimes, if we’d been somewhere and we were coming back in the car, I used to look at the houses, if there were children there playing in their gardens, and wonder what it would be like. Once, we were in the car – Mr Roth was there, and Jeremy and Miss Kirkland, and the tyre was flat so I helped Jeremy to put on a new one and there was a house next to us, with boys in the garden. They were playing, swapping cigarette cards. They’d put them all on the grass. I heard one boy saying he had the whole set. It was aeroplanes, and I wanted to see … Just to have a look, that’s all, because he had all the different sorts. I kept trying to see, but I had to hold the tools for Jeremy and he was getting cross because I kept on dropping them. Then a lady came out and called them in for their dinner – it was lunch, really, but she called it dinner – and they picked up the cards and rushed inside and they were laughing.

The lady was laughing, too – she said, “Ooh, get inside, get on with you.” It looked such fun, and I wanted to be with them. It took ages to mend the tyre and I kept on wondering what they were doing in there.’ He paused, caught up in the memory of it, then said, ‘I tried to imagine what it would be like if we lived in a house like that, an ordinary one. I wanted to make a picture of it in my head, so it would be something to think about, but
I couldn’t. And it was bad, trying to do that, because Mr Roth says you shouldn’t indulge in daydreams because it stops you paying attention to what you’re meant to be doing … If you daydream, you’re not awake and you have to be. Present, here and now, and nowhere else.’ Again, these words trotted out with a mechanical ease. Stratton wondered how many times Michael must have heard them.

He was about to ask the boy another question, when Michael suddenly said, ‘Mr Roth … Are you
really
sure he’s dead? Did a doctor tell you?’

‘He died while I was with him, Michael.’

‘A doctor confirmed it later,’ added Ballard. ‘When the ambulance came.’

‘I didn’t mean to do it. I was so angry with him. All the stuff he’d been saying …’ Michael’s words broke up into sobs. Mrs Dane put an arm round him, but he clawed it away, shrugging her off and moving his chair so that she couldn’t reach him. ‘You don’t understand!’ he shouted at Stratton. ‘None of you. You don’t!’

‘No,’ said Stratton. ‘We don’t. Not really. But we’re trying to understand.’ Beside him, Ballard nodded in vigorous agreement.

‘You were upset about your mother,’ said Stratton.

Michael stared at him through flat, expressionless eyes. ‘She tried to kill me. Before, when we went there, I think it was because she wanted to get back to her old home and be the lady over everyone. She wanted to be better than them. They believed all the lies she told and Mr Roth made it worse, he told all those people so they would … they would …’ Convulsed with weeping, Michael was unable to continue. Mrs Dane produced a handkerchief from her handbag and held it out to him. The boy shook his head, and wiped his nose on his sleeve so that a trail of snot glistened on the expensive material. ‘I know she didn’t care. That woman – the one who was killed – she cared about her boy, the one she thought was me, because she came to find him, didn’t
she? But
my mother
didn’t care!’ He let out a long howl of despair that seemed to contain all the pain in the world.

When he’d subsided, shaking and shying away from Mrs Dane’s attempts to pat his arm, Stratton said, ‘Can you tell us about the gun, Michael?’

Michael hiccupped. ‘Mr Tynan – he gave it to me about two weeks ago. It was only because I wanted it for practice – bottles and things. I knew he would give it to me if I asked him.’ A calculating look crossed his face. ‘He wanted to be my friend, you see. He said we should make a pact, pricking our fingers, you know, that we wouldn’t talk about it. I thought they’d listen to me if I had the gun. Mr Roth was always talking about the truth, as if it was just one big thing and if you knew it you could explain everything else, but he couldn’t, could he? I thought he could tell me why she’d tried to kill me. He said that people who knew the truth were guided by it, but when I went into the room – when I asked him – he said my mother was confused and she made a mistake. That was all he said, “a mistake”. As if it didn’t matter! He said my mother was going away, and I was going to stay with them and everything would be all right. But I don’t
want
to stay there, I want to live in a proper house, like those boys, but I don’t even know any other boys, and now …’ Letting out a great, tearing sob, he covered his face in his hands.

Stratton got up and walked round the table to put a hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s all right, Michael. You’ve done very well, explaining. Now, I see you haven’t drunk your tea – perhaps you’d prefer some cocoa? Would you like that? Then we’re going to ask the doctor to have a look at you, and you can have a rest.’

Michael looked up at him, eyes glistening. ‘I would like some cocoa.’

‘Good. Do you know, I wouldn’t mind some myself.’ Looking over Michael’s head at Wickstead, who was staring at the boy as though transfixed, he said, ‘Do you have any cocoa?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said the policewoman, stiffly.

‘I am,’ said Ballard. ‘Mr Parsons keeps a tin in his cupboard. I’m sure if you asked him, he’d give you some.’

‘There we are, then,’ said Stratton heartily. ‘Cocoa all round, I think. And while we’re waiting, I’d just like to ask you about the bonfire in the village. You said you’d gone to see it with Miss Kirkland.’

‘Yes. I had one of the potatoes they were cooking on the fire. It had gone all hard inside so I threw most of it away.’

‘Did Miss Kirkland have one, too?’

‘I’m not sure. She went round to the other side of the fire – it was a big one, with people putting things on all the time, like wood and old furniture and stuff.’

‘Did she have anything with her?’

‘Well, she had her bag, and she had a small case, like a suitcase. She said it was old things we wanted to get rid of – you know, if they were broken.’

‘Did she show them to you?’

‘No, she just went and emptied them on the fire.’

‘And you didn’t see her do that?’

‘She was on the other side. Is it important?’

‘We’re not sure.’

‘You spend quite a lot of time with Miss Kirkland, don’t you? Do you like her?’

Michael looked surprised. ‘I suppose so. Miss Kirkland’s very clever, and she does everything right, but she’s quite serious … I don’t think she liked my mother very much, really. It was because she used to look after Mr Roth until we came along, and then he asked my mother to do it.’

‘What sort of looking after?’

‘Well, he has funny turns sometimes at night, so Miss Kirkland used to sleep at the foot of his bed so that she could give him medicine and help him get back to sleep. She told me it was
because he took other people’s pain and suffering away from them, so that it made
him
ill, instead.’ Obviously, thought Stratton, the ‘strange episodes’ Roth had mentioned to him, that sounded like epilepsy, hadn’t really gone away at all. ‘Miss Kirkland was very angry when my mother had a bed put in his room for herself.’

‘Did they have a row about it?’

‘They never have rows if they don’t like things. They just accept them – or that’s what they pretend.’ And under that smug, polite surface, Stratton added to himself, there’s a massive, roiling undercurrent of resentment and fury and Lord knows what else. ‘I asked my mother why Miss Kirkland was so cross about it and she said that before, she had slept on the floor of Mr Roth’s room because she thought that a person should suffer if they wanted to make spiritual progress. My mother said it was nonsense. She said Miss Kirkland should have become a nun if she wanted to do things like that.’

‘What did you think about that?’

‘I thought she was right. A couple of times when I was ill, Miss Kirkland slept on the floor of my room, and I didn’t like it. If I woke up in the night, I’d find her staring at me. I told Mr Roth and he said she was devoted to us and it was her way of showing it and we had to be nice to her. I felt she could see what I was thinking – if it was about wanting to go out to play or fly in an aeroplane or something – and that was bad enough, but if she could see my dreams as well, that was worse, because you can’t stop dreams, can you? When she was there I didn’t want to go to sleep in case I was doing wrong without knowing it and she might tell Mr Roth and then I’d be in trouble.’

When Michael had signed the statement and the cocoa arrived, Stratton, who badly needed some time alone, excused himself and went to stand outside on the porch under the lamp, smoking and gazing out into the wet darkness. He felt exhausted. What poor old Ballard must be feeling like was anybody’s guess. And as for Michael …

Stratton thought how many of the taken-for-granted pleasures of childhood had been denied him. During what must have been hours and hours of stupefying non-activity waiting for the next pearl of wisdom to fall from Roth’s lips, he’d been denied even the pleasure of day-dreaming because the bloody man had managed to police his private thoughts. With little, or severely curtailed, interior life, how the hell would you know who you were? Not that a ten-year-old
did
know, of course – too young – but Roth appeared to have had a damn good go at short-circuiting the process of him ever finding out. He’d seen enough abused children in his time, maltreated, starved, violated, sometimes deliberately, sometimes through ignorance and neglect, but never anything like this. This child had been put in a position where, at one moment he believed he was some sort of living God, and, at the next he was in the depths of despair about being able to live up to Roth’s
billing, never mind his mother’s. Coercion, indulgence and the omnipresent, unspoken threat of the total withdrawal of affection, nurture and every other bloody thing if he didn’t comply – not to mention living in the human equivalent of a goldfish bowl … It was enough to drive anybody stark, staring mad.