Schoolie

Life in The Village, through the eyes of Tom Grant, the only teacher at the remote school.

This is an original work of pure fiction (just an expression of a fantasy)
by Robert A. Armstrong (a pseudonym)
(re-written from my 2013 version)

The resemblance of the characters by action, name, location or description to any real person is purely coincidental.

If it is illegal, or offensive, for you to read stories involving interactions of a sexual nature between adults and youths, then what are you doing here?

 

From Chapter 29

My phone vibrates. It's a message from Andy. <<hey tom jest wanted 2 thank U 4 Ur help 2day & 4 caring I will always rember U 4 that. friends>>

I reply. <<You OK buddy?>>

A few minutes later, a reply. <<Yeah ok wif simon & luke jest don't want my mum2 get hurt I luv her>>

I message back. <<Take care, Andy. You decide what you want to do tomorrow. See you then Tom xxx>>

 

 

Chapter 30 - Police Investigation

Breakfast the next morning is a lively affair, with Amelia asking Will questions about the games and offering advice about the ones that she knows. "I'll bring them all down as soon as we're finished breakfast," he tells her.

The TV is on. I only hear snippets of the morning news through the conversations at the table, which is usually when the two talking galahs put food into their mouths at the same time.

<<Bush fires continue to burn close to...>>

Will says, "I just can't get the hang of two hands doing totally different things at the same time."

"Yeah, well, that's where real skill comes in!" I can't tell whether Amelia is encouraging him or blowing her own trumpet.

<<In overseas news, the US president flew out today for a high-level meeting...>>

"How did you like the theme parks, yesterday?" Amelia is not one to allow a lull in household chatter.

Will replies, "I loved them. Tom has some photos and he's going to order some more and a couple of videos on line. I was Robin in a movie, helping Batman fight some crooks."

<< In what police indicate may be the Gold Coast's second teenage suicide in the past three weeks, a boy was found early this morning...>>

Mum asks, "Anyone for more toast?" Amelia is a `No'. Will is a `Yes'. Me too! While I sip my coffee, I check my phone. There is another text from Andy late last night and a missed call from Simon earlier today.

Andy's text: <<tom he did it again im hurt real bad I know wot I need 2 do now luv from Andy xx>>

I think, "That bloody mongrel of a boyfriend! How could anyone want to hurt such a bright and beautiful young boy like Andy? He reminds me so much of that cherub, Kurt. At least, now, Andy will get some professional help and I hope that that bastard gets what's coming to him before he can hurt Andy's mum too. I'll go and collect Andy shortly with Simon and Luke, and maybe I'll take Mum too. We'll bring him back here and see which he wants to visit first - the hospital or the police. I think the hospital would be best if he's hurt badly.

<<The weather today will be sunny and...>>

My phone rings. It's Simon.

"Hi, Simon," I chirp, trying to be cheerful despite what I've just read. "Sorry that I missed your call earlier."

There is a pause. "Tom, did you catch the news this morning?" he asks.

"Yes. Well, some of it, anyway. You can imagine what it's like around here with both Will and Amelia talking, without needing to take a breath."

"Did you hear of the teenage suicide?" he asks quietly.

"As a matter of fact, I actually heard a bit more of that one than any of the other items." There is silence. I continue, "Why, Simon, was it someone you know?"

"Yes," is said with some discernible emotion. I feel sad for him losing a friend. What can I say to ease his hurt?

My heart, lungs and every muscle in my body freeze in anguish at what I hear next. Simon chokes out the words, "Tom, it was Andy."

"What?" I scream out loud. There is a sudden silence as Mum, Amelia and Will all stare at me.

On my phone I hear, "Tom, it was Andy. He's dead." Then I hear Simon crying.

A string of unvoiced words run through my head... No! When? How? Why? But I know why!

I put the phone onto the table and burst into tears, then rush to the sink to throw up.

Mum asks, "Thomas, what's wrong?"

"Thomas?" Amelia echoes.

Will picks up my phone and says, "Hello. This is Will. Who is that? ... Hi Simon. What did you just tell Tom? He's throwing up and crying... What? ... What did you just say?" Then he, too, starts to cry. He stammers, "We'll call you back. Give us a few minutes."

Will runs to me. We throw our arms around each other and cry freely.

"Why?" Will asks. "Why?"

Mum comes to us and begins to rub our backs. "Boys, what is it? What's wrong?"

Will sobs, "He's dead, Aunty Susan. Andy's dead."

"You mean that poor boy who was here yesterday? When? What happened?"

"He was the one on the news this morning. The teenager who..."

I am suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. I should have taken him to the hospital yesterday. If only Andy had stayed with us instead of going home. Why didn't we keep him with us and report the boyfriend to the police? What kind of person am I to leave an abused child so vulnerable and at the mercy of a maniac? I could have prevented this! I feel the need to throw up again.

As Will continues to sob on my shoulder, Andy's words in his last message pulse through my head, `I know wot I need 2 do now.' I thought that he meant to get medical help and go to the police. How could I not have imagined that he meant to take his own life and protect his mother?

I'm sure that his intentions were for the best in his own mind. And although he was trying to protect his mother from physical harm, he couldn't have realised the traumatic effect that this will have on her emotionally. He has probably tortured the one whom he loved most, far more than if he had confided the abuse to her. The poor kid has tried to work this out alone, instead of trusting her judgment too.

My guilt trip is interrupted firstly by Will and then by Mum.

"Why, Tom? Why? I don't understand! Why would he do that? How could he do that? He was such a great little kid. He reminded me of my two pretend little brothers, Karl and Kurt. I loved his sense of humour. He was always happy. What happened? Why did he have to go and do that?" He breaks down again. Not sobbing. Full-on crying.

Mum's maternal perspective shifts my focus. "That poor boy's mother. She must be devastated and distraught. I cannot imagine how she is feeling right now. How is she coping with something so dreadful as the loss of her beautiful son?" She gives me an extra squeeze and a kiss. Then she extends the same emotional encouragement to Will. "I only saw him the once, yesterday, but I can understand how he endeared himself to you both."

"Mum, Will, there's more to Andy's story that you haven't heard. I think that we should get Simon and Luke to come around and I'll tell you what I know - what Andy wanted kept secret. It may help to answer some questions."

Amelia's voice reminds me that she is still here, sitting at the table, observing this spectacle of emotional outpouring. "I hear you guys keep saying `Andy'. You're not talking about Andrew Thompson, are you? We call him Andy at school He's a year ahead of me and all the girls all think he's really cute."

"I don't know his last name, Sis. Will and I were only introduced to him as `Andy'. We met him and Simon and Luke at the beach and we all body boarded together. Didn't you see us all the other day?" Then I remember exactly what it was that I didn't want her to see!

"Yeah, that sounds like him. Great surfer. Nice body." She giggles. "Always happy and laughing. Definitely boyfriend material! What were you talking about? Did something happen to him?"

"Amelia, darling," Mum says, "come and sit with me while Thomas asks Simon and Luke to come around. I'll tell you what I know." They go out to the pool deck. I know that Mum will break it to her more gently than I could. I ring Simon's number.

"Hi Simon... Yeah, pretty upset... shattered, actually. You? ... I can imagine! Listen, can you and Luke come around? I have lots of questions that you may be able to answer and I have some things to share with you and Will and Mum that may help everyone to better understand what has happened... 10 minutes? Fine. See you then. Bye."

`If only...' surges repeatedly through my head, with multiple variations. I could have prevented this! I need a shower to revive me. Maybe it can wash off some of the guilt that I feel. Will comes with me. We strip off our clothes and stand together in front of the full-length mirror. No arousals. Just two beautiful bodies in their natural states. I think of young Andy's perfect adolescent body and its similarity to Kurt's.

I adjust the shower temperature and step in, allowing the moderately hot water to flow across my shoulders and down my back. Half a step backwards and my head is fully immersed. I close my eyes, ruffle my hair and feel the warm fluid comfort my entire body.

If only...

I jump, initially, at the touch of Will's hands as they rouse and then envelop me. He draws us together and slowly, deeply, lovingly, massages my back. I can feel his fingers willing my pain to dissolve.

I allow my hands to reach around and meet behind the small of his back. I rub his back and his glutes. He holds me tightly, and begins to cry again. A child's cry. A cry of lament. A cry of loss.

His bodily spasms, usually ejaculations of pleasure, are, today, deep sobs of sorrow. My own emotions earnestly desire his pain to go away as much as they crave for Andy to come back to us all. Can't this, please, be a nightmare from which I will wake up in the morning? I wash Will tenderly, as a mother washes her new-born. I hand him the soap and he caresses my body with it. Love without arousal makes me proud to be his brother.

Dressed, we head downstairs and reach the bottom just as the doorbell chimes. Will says, "I'll let Simon and Luke in," then, in amazement, declare, "Dad!"

I am indeed surprised when Uncle Bill, packages in hand, steps through the door. His arrival is, characteristically, unexpected. His attempt at humour, this time, fails miserably. "Hey, why all the long faces? Somebody die, or something?"

"Yes, somebody died!" I snap at him. "One of our friends."

Will closes the door. Uncle Bill's face drops. He looks suddenly more like a lone duck in a shooting gallery. Less of a `big willie' now, eh? More like a giant heel.

"I'm sorry, boys," he apologises. "What happened?" That question again!

The doorbell rings again. Will opens the door and greets both Simon and Luke with a hug, then introduces them to his dad. I move to greet them both in similar fashion. I feel their pain and I am sure that they can feel mine.

Mum and Amelia emerge from the back. Amelia is crying and heads straight up the stairs, not stopping to even acknowledge the three visitors.

"Bill," Mum says, "this is not your best timing, but it's good to see you, as always."

There is an uncomfortable silence. "Oh, well," I say to Uncle Bill, "you may as well hear what's going on. Let's all go and sit around the dining table." Uncle Bill deposits his packages on the lounge and follows the rest of us.

"Before anyone talks about anything," Mum says, "let's fix you all up with coffee or a cold drink." She puts on the jug while I grab some soft drinks from the fridge.

It's hard to make small talk. Everyone is formally polite with their `thank you's. Mum puts a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the table. And a box of tissues. Eating obviates the need to talk.

When all are seated, I ask, rhetorically, not expecting anyone to answer me, "Where do we start?" I guess it's up to me to begin. "Everyone, this is an awful day."

Uncle Bill is, for once, a silent observer.

Luke is the first one to reach for some tissues. It starts a chain reaction. Eye wiping and nose blowing. Apart from Joey, Luke was the closest of us in age to Andy and, I suspect, had shared a certain amount of `personal time' with him as well as Joey, based on what I overheard in the showers at the beach. How will this affect him, out of us all? I'm sure that Luke will miss Andy the most. Poor guy. I can already tell from his body language that he's devastated.

I continue, "Maybe it would be best, Simon, if you tell us what you know, to answer everyone's question of `what happened?' and then I may be able to shed some light on the `why?'"

"When we all left here yesterday with Andy," Simon begins, "he was in a lot of pain, but he was putting on a brave face, saying that Mrs Grant's cream helped a lot. We passed his floor and went up to Luke's place and had some stuff to eat and watched an X-Men DVD. Just after Luke's mum and dad came home, there was a knock on the door. It was Andy's mum. My mum asked her to come in. Andy hugged her and started to cry. When she hugged him back, he cried out in pain but told her that it was only because she squeezed him too tightly and that he was getting better because Mrs Grant had helped him."

"Mrs Thompson thanked us and was leaving," Luke continues. "When my mum opened the door again, Mrs T's boyfriend was standing there. Andy stopped dead in his tracks, like he'd seen a ghost. The boyfriend said, `There you are, little buddy. Your mother and I were worried sick about you. You didn't say where you were going when you left. We didn't know how bad your bruises were from your fall yesterday. They ARE getting better, AREN'T THEY?'"

Simon pipes up, "It almost sounded like a command instead of a question and Andy actually looked terrified, if you ask me."

"Is that the guy we saw waiting near the lift yesterday when I came up with you?" Will asks.

"Yeah, that's him," Luke replies.

Will adds, "He gave me the creeps. Weird eyes!"

Simon continues, "Sometime during the night I heard a siren, but that's common around here on weekends, so I rolled over and went back to sleep."

"I didn't hear anything," Luke says, then adds, "Then early this morning some police knocked on our door and asked if we had seen or heard anything through the night. Mum, dad and I told them, `no, not really,' then they knocked on Simon's door. Because it's right next to ours, dad left our door open to hear what they were saying."

Simon continues, "My dad asked what had happened and the police said that a man had found the body of a young teenage boy. The police said that they confirmed that he was dead and rang for an ambulance to take him away. The police had concluded that he had committed suicide. Luke came out and I stood next to him and we listened. It was only when they asked us if we knew him, `Andrew Thompson' that I realised they were talking about Andy. We said, `yes' and they asked us a lot of other questions about how he had been acting in the last couple of days."

Luke: "I told them that he had seemed pretty depressed since he had his accident. They asked, `What accident?' and I told them that he tripped and fell down the stairs the day before yesterday. They commented, `that would explain the bruises,' and they made lots of notes. One guy repeated `depressed' a number of times and I didn't like it how he kept on saying the word, `suicide', as if we hadn't heard him already. He said, `Thanks, boys. You'll probably be hearing from us again.'"

"That's when I tried to call you early today," Simon says.

I can't help but feel how coldly clinical the police officers sounded, compared with Andy's two emotionally-distraught friends.

Coffee. Cola. Tissues. Silence.

It's my turn, but I'm reluctant to tell them everything. I don't want to compromise Andy's character, even in his death.

Before I open my mouth, it runs through my mind how Andy has touched our lives. Fun. Friendship. Humour. Enthusiasm. How fleeting were the few moments of pleasure that I afforded him in the beach-side showers? At least he had that! And I, too, had enjoyed the touch of his body and his excitement at being allowed to `wash' my cock and hump my leg. I think of Kurt. Can I, now, possibly deny him a similar adolescent boy's thrill, if that's what he wants? Life is so uncertain. And short.

"OK," I begin, choosing my words carefully. "Most of you commented that Andy's black eye and severe pain seemed extreme for tripping and falling down the stairs. And you might have wondered what he was doing in the enclosed stairwell of the fire escape in the first place."

They nod and make various comments of agreement.

"The truth is," I continue, being somewhat liberal with the truth, "Andy told me that his mum's boyfriend wouldn't let him go out the other day and they had a pretty big argument. The boyfriend punched Andy in the face. When Andy ran out of the door, the boyfriend caught him, punching him multiple times in the back, then dragged him to the stairs and threw him down. Then, when a neighbour came to investigate the noise, he pretended that he was actually helping him up."

"Why didn't he say so?" Mum asks.

"The thing is, Mum, that the boyfriend threatened Andy and also warned that he would hurt his mother if Andy said anything."

"I don't like where this is heading," Mum comments bitterly.

"That bastard!" Simon lets fly, then apologises to Mum for his language.

"That's OK, dear," Mum reassures him, "I was thinking exactly the same thing."

"Andy could have said something and we would have taken him to the police station to report the guy," Luke adds.

In my mind, I agree with him. But Andy DID say something. He confided in me, and I feel as though I failed him.

"That's just the point, and another part of the problem," I reply. "It appears that the boyfriend has some mates at the police station who would not only have ignored the complaint, but would have alerted him to it, and Andy feared that the guy would carry out his threat to hurt him and his mother even worse."

Mum is becoming visibly angry. Her eyes are starting to squint and her lips are pursed, not to mention the changed colour of her face and her more forced breathing.

Simon and Luke are starting to squirm. If it weren't for Mum and Uncle Bill being present, I'm sure that they would have released a string of expletives.

The `surprise package' in all of this is Uncle Bill, who has remained uncharacteristically silent.

"What happened yesterday?" Luke asks. "Did he say anything? He seemed much more upset than the previous day. Did anything else happen? He was in a lot more pain when we walked back with him, and he seemed almost too scared to go home."

I wonder! Should I tell them what happened or not? It won't reflect badly on Andy and if an autopsy is conducted then people will know anyway. If the results are released to the media, they certainly won't hold back with the details - to sensationalise the whole situation. What will they think of me for not taking any action yesterday? Hey, I'm not the victim here, although I'm starting to feel like it. I decide to `bite the bullet'.

"Actually, Andy confided in me that something else did happen, but made me promise not to tell anyone." I wonder when it's OK to break a promise. I look at Mum's face. I see a flash of comprehension in her widening eyes. I think she has clued-in, already, to what I'm about to say. I turn to Will, Simon and Luke. "Guys, after you went upstairs yesterday when we got back from the theme parks, I asked Andy why he was downstairs huddled on the lawn. He told me that his mother was at work and the boyfriend had been alone with him in the flat, and..."

"Don't say it!" Mum explodes. "I know where this is going. That animal raped Andy, didn't he?" All eyes swing directly towards me for confirmation or denial.

"Yes," I say very meekly.

I couldn't feel more guilty if I was the one accused of the crime. The boys' faces betray their shock and horror.

"No wonder he seemed so upset when you brought him here," Mum says. "I knew something bad had happened. I could sense it. We should have taken him to the hospital!"

"Mum," I say, wondering whether the words will come out right, without making me look like I didn't care about his plight, "Andy and I talked about that very thing, but he simply refused to go. He said that the doctors would be obliged to report it to the police and then he would be right back in the same situation. The mates would tell the boyfriend and the boyfriend would take it out on Andy and his mum. They would probably ensure that any paperwork would be `conveniently' lost, too."

This time, the boys do not hold back. The air is filled with four-letter words. Mum ignores them, easing my embarrassment for her. She talks over the top of them, then lowers her voice, which causes theirs to subside as well. "But I thought, yesterday, that he was going to make a decision about seeing a doctor or today."

"So did I Mum, perhaps even to report the boyfriend. But something else happened."

"What else?" she spits out, sitting down heavily, obviously exasperated.

I share Andy's last text message with everyone - the second rape, his extreme pain and his confirmation of intending to do something. "I thought that he meant he'd either decided to report the creep or to let us take him to the hospital. I didn't consider for one second that he would try to protect his mother by taking his own life, but that must be what happened."

Mum becomes quite emotional at the thought of young Andy giving up his life to protect his mother from physical harm. "You know," she says through restrained tears, "most parents would gladly sacrifice themselves, even their own lives, for their children, because children have many years of possibilities that lie ahead of them. I know that I would."

My own eyes start to mist up at the thought.

She continues, almost philosophically, "In tough times, we tend to only see the negatives ahead, which we allow to overpower any positive possibilities. That's very unfortunate because most of our worst fears are never actually realised. It's as though we work ourselves into believing that our nightmares are a reality."

What could we have done for him to trust us more? I'm feeling depressed now. I could have prevented this tragic loss. I could have eased his pain. I could have been the real friend that he needed, which maybe he thought that I was. I could have protected him. I could have made a difference. I especially feel that I failed him when he needed me most. If only...

There is a sorrowful silence. Uncle Bill breaks it. "Guys, this may be in poor taste, but does anyone know how he... did it? Was it a drug overdose? I hope he didn't resort to slashing his wrists or hanging himself."

Simon looks stunned. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Didn't I tell you? He jumped off his 4th floor balcony."

"What!" I scream out, jumping to my feet. "What? Who said that he jumped off his balcony?"

"The police!" Simon replies, seemingly almost in fear of me and my mood.

"Oh, no he bloody-well didn't! That bastard threw Andy over the balcony and murdered him. I'll fucking kill him myself if I ever see him again and get my hands on him!"

"Thomas!" Mum says, shocked, maybe more at my accusation than my language. The boys stare at me, stunned.

Uncle Bill's voice is calm. "Thomas, what are you saying? What would give you reason to even suggest such a thing?"

"Uncle Bill, Mum, guys," I begin. "I didn't tell you what else Andy said to me yesterday. The boyfriend threatened Andy that `next time it won't be the stairs; it'll be the balcony'. He didn't commit suicide at all! He must have confronted the bast... mongrel, or told his mother, and the boyfriend carried out his threat."

Mum says, "Oh, no!" She addresses her next question directly to Simon and Luke. "Has either of you seen Mrs Thompson this morning?"

They look at each other and shake their heads.

"No." Simon replies.

"Didn't see the creep either," Luke adds.

"Enough!" Uncle Bill cuts in. "We are going to do something about this - now!"

Will says, "But, dad, if you go to the police, they'll deny everything and do nothing."

"The people that I know won't!" Uncle Bill says, with some characteristic determination. He takes out his phone and makes a call.

"Good morning. This is William Grant. May I please speak with Assistant Commissioner Grayson? Yes... Yes... I know that she's a busy person, but this is urgent. Please tell her that Bill Grant is on the phone and that it's about a murder. I'm sure that she will speak with me. Thank you."

He doesn't have to wait long. "Hello Angela... Yes. I know that it`s been a while. But, this time it's business before pleasure, I'm afraid... Yes, I did say `murder'. A teenage boy, Andrew Thompson, has been reported to have committed suicide last night. I have good reason to believe that he was actually murdered. The officers who attended declared him dead and said that there were no suspicious circumstances, according to the media... Yes, I know that it's serious... And, yes, I know who did it... No, I haven't reported it to the local police station for a very good reason. Can we meet? I'd like to bring some of Andrew's friends with me. You really should hear what they have to say... Yes, unfortunately, some of your officers are implicated... 11 o'clock? We'll see you then. Thank you... Yes, I've missed you too. Bye."

At Uncle Bill's last comment, I look at Will and detect the trace of a restrained smirk on his face. He's thinking exactly what I am pondering - just how large a `little black book' does Uncle Bill have? Is Assistant Commissioner Angela Grayson another of Big Willie's `conquests'?

Uncle Bill continues, "Boys, can any of you describe Mrs Thompson's boyfriend sufficiently well enough to allow the police to identify him?"

"I can do better than that!" Will pipes up. "Give me fifteen minutes." He disappears up the stairs.

Mum says, "I'd better check on Amelia," and follows Will.

Uncle Bill retrieves his packages and says, "Two state-of-the-art satellite phones and the best quality computer tablets on the market. All set and `ready to roll'."

I invite Simon and Luke to make themselves at home out by the pool. Uncle Bill and I joint them. What he produces elicits `oohs' and `aahs' of admiration from both boys.

Every `what about...?' and `does it have...?' question from either of them is met in the affirmative with a demonstration from Uncle Bill.

"Will it make my morning coffee too?" I ask, being the closest thing to a technical question that I am capable of asking at this point, and attempting to find a `chink in his armour'.

"Well, actually..." Uncle Bill starts.

"Now, you're really pulling my leg!" I reply.

"Well, if you install a `home automation' system, you can use your computer to control the lighting, heating, air con, security and... even the time when your coffee pot switches on in the morning."

"Get outa here!" Luke says.

"So, now, I suppose you'll want one in the new house. I'll mention it to the architect on Monday."

As Uncle Bill concludes, Will hurries to join us.

"How's this?" he asks Simon and Luke.

"That's him! Exactly!" they both say. Simon adds, "How did you...?"

"He has many talents." I chip in. The guys grin and nod.

Then Uncle Bill asks, "Does anyone know his name? I haven't heard it mentioned, among all the characterisations of him."

Simon replies, "I can't remember Andy referring to him by any name other than `the boyfriend'."

Luke says, "I think, once, I heard Andy say, `Dirk' or `Derek' or something like that when he first showed up, but I never heard him repeat it."

"This is fantastic, Will. I'm proud of you, son," Uncle Bill tells him. "Angela will get to the bottom of this, if anyone can. She has a reputation in the police force for her ability to locate a speck of dirt under a rug, if there is anything to be found. She'll have the best people track `Dirk' down and flush out his crooked `mates' while she's at it. Let's go."

Mum declines Uncle Bill's offer to accompany us. She says that she doesn't want to leave Amelia and that she's feeling exhausted anyway - physically and emotionally.

I think, `Where is Karen's alternative treatment for her?'

We drive the 60 minutes to the state's police headquarters in Brisbane. Assistant Commissioner Grayson has arranged for a three-stripe police officer to greet us and to escort us through a series of security checkpoints to a medium-sized austere room with a table and seven chairs - three on either side and one at the end closest to the door. He invites us to be seated then takes up a position beside the door.

When the door next opens, an immaculately-groomed senior officer enters and our escort's posture stiffens somewhat.

"Thank you, sergeant. You may wait outside on this occasion," she says, almost dismissively.

"Yes, ma'am," he replies and closes the door quietly as he leaves.

There is some hand-shaking and cheek-kissing as Uncle Bill and Angela greet each other. Uncle Bill introduces each of us to Assistant Commissioner Grayson.

"Please take a seat and relax," she says to us. "I know that might be difficult in this environment. It's a secure room. No CCTV or recording unless I activate it. Do we need to record this, Bill?" she asks him, sitting at the head of the table.

"Angela, what the boys have to tell you at this stage is serious, but I wouldn't want their faces to be seen by other police officers - especially when you hear what they have to say; maybe an audio recording so that you have all of the facts."

"That's fine," she says. She activates something and numerous microphones appear from within the table. After some preliminary verbal time-stamping she encourages us to begin.

Will, Simon, Luke and I recount everything that we know about Andy's abuse, `accident', threats, the boyfriend and his potentially, or supposed, `mates' at the police station. In response to her request for a description of the boyfriend, `Dirk' or `Derek', Will produces his drawing.

She starts to ask, "How on earth did you...?" when Uncle Bill interrupts.

"He's an artist, Angela, and a very good one, with an almost photographic memory for faces. Even Monika, the Director of the City Art Gallery is interested in unveiling him to the art world."

"I can see why," she comments, studying the drawing. "This is an amazing skill." She calls out, "Sergeant."

He appears. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Please get me all of the records for an overnight incident in the Gold Coast relating to an Andrew Thompson, teenage suicide. I want every detail - attending officers, witnesses, ambulance records, the lot. And have the people downstairs run this picture through our systems to see if anything matches. Oh, and pull for me the personnel file of every officer attached to that command. On my desk in 60 minutes."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Bill, boys, I'll have some of my most trusted bloodhounds work on this. I will get to the bottom of it, believe me. I'm sorry that I can't help your friend but I can guarantee that this animal will never repeat his crimes on another person."

She personally walks us back through a different series of security points. We encounter nobody on the way. "Be assured, your identities will be secure. Sergeant Mackay is one of my most trusted aides. He `sees nothing and says nothing'!"

She thanks each of us, shaking our hands, and collectively acknowledges our courage for coming forward. She hands Uncle Bill a slip of paper, which elicits a smile when he looks at it. "I'll be in touch, later today," she assures him.

The five of us fasten our seatbelts with Will up front next to his father, this time and, as Uncle Bill reverses out of the parking spot, he asks," Well, what do you think of her?"

"Very impressive."

"Powerful."

"Very professional."

"And no wedding ring," Will adds.

"Trust you, and your super powers of observation!" Uncle Bill says, giving him a `claw grip' above his knee, causing Will to squeal and jump in response.

"Restaurant or McDonalds for lunch?" Uncle Bill asks.

Burgers, fries and Cokes are ordered by all. Not up to Uncle Bill's gastronomic standards, but he joins us.

It's hard to be positive knowing that Andy's beautiful body is on a slab in the morgue and that his killer is on the loose. Some concern is also expressed for Mrs Thompson, especially by Luke.

Uncle Bill reassures everyone that Angela will `get him', if anyone can, and so fast that his ugly head will be spinning faster than an extreme ride at an amusement park.

For the remainder of the day Uncle Bill provides both Will and me a `training session' in the use of our new `toys' - the communication devices. Mum has invited Simon and Luke to stay on. They, too, are fascinated by the latest technology.

It's late afternoon when Uncle Bill's phone rings.

"Hello? Yes, Angela, thank you for calling." There is silence while Uncle Bill nods and hums some acknowledgments. Then he says, "Do you mind if I put you on speaker? All of the boys are here. I'm sure they'd like to hear whatever you have to say." He taps an icon on the screen and her voice comes through loud, clear and determined.

<< Hello, boys. As I was saying to Bill, when I received the reports, my `flying squad' and I went through them. The first thing that I did was to have two police officers suspended from duty and detained for questioning.

<< When they were told that they would be charged with conspiring to pervert the course of justice, and perhaps more serious offences, they squawked louder than a mob of galahs.

<<With the aid of your picture, Tom, it didn't take us long to track down and arrest Derek Peters who, it seems, apart from having a record, was the one who called the police when he `discovered' Andrew Thompson's body. He denied attacking the boy and maintained that he had only helped him previously when he fell down some stairs.

<<However, some quick forensics soon established that Andrew's injuries were man-made and that Peters' knuckle prints exactly matched those on Andrew's body. The clincher was the DNA test that showed clearly that he had raped Andrew, as you reported, or, at the least, had had unlawful sexual intercourse with a minor. He was arrested and held on remand at our Boggo Road Gaol.

"Fantastic!" Luke cries out.

"When is the trial. I want to be there to see his miserable face and to watch him squirm!" Simon adds.

<<Unfortunately, there won't be a trial

"What? I say. "Why on earth not? There is plenty of evidence. You said so yourself."

<<Yes, I know. However, you can't try a dead man.

There is a stunned silence as we, around the table, all look at each other. "What happened, Angela?" Uncle Bill asks on our bewildered behalves.

<<Bill, there are two things that you can rely on in prisons - firstly, that the internal grapevine about new prisoners is extremely efficient and, secondly, that child murderers and molesters are inevitable targets for `prison justice'. He'd only been in there for about two hours and was found naked, with his underpants stuffed in his mouth and he, himself, had been raped. His groin was also bruised as though he had been repeatedly kicked. First reports are that he choked to death.

The boys and I all high-five each other.

"What about Andrew's mother?" Uncle Bill asks, with Mum's encouragement.

<<Mrs Thompson was found, tied and gagged when Peters was arrested. She's in hospital, receiving treatment for severe bruising and multiple cigarette burns. But, otherwise, she is all right.

<<Things started to come unstuck for Peters when a senior ambulance officer attended the scene instead of one of the `regulars' who was off duty last night when the call came in from police to attend the scene. He didn't buy the police story of the boy jumping to his death, and was very thorough in his investigation, and his report of the injuries to Andrew's body highlighted inconsistencies with the police statements.

<<Apparently, Peters had some dirt on the two police officers and one of the ambulance officers and he had been blackmailing them so that they did and said anything that he wanted, even to the point of concealing rape and attempted murder. They may also be charged with being accomplices to conceal a felony, or to being accessories after the fact. The plan had been for them to administer a lethal dose to Andrew if there was still any sign of life. They will all be lucky to escape gaol themselves. At any rate, their careers are over.

Assistant Commissioner Grayson's words seem to wash over everybody - that is, except for my ever-perceptive little brother. "Excuse me Assistant Commissioner Grayson," he interrupts politely, "but why did you say `attempted murder'? Is that what you call it when there are no actual witnesses?"

We all look at each other, puzzled. Now that he mentions it, I heard those words, too.

<<No, that's not it. Despite media reports, released to them by one of the police officers in attendance...

I dare to hope what she is going to tell us. My heart starts thumping. My nostrils flare. My eyes fill with water and I start to sob heavily but silently through my quivering bottom lip, in anticipation of what I might hear next.

<<The senior ambulance officer's report indicates that Andrew's fall was retarded by a large palm tree before he hit the ground. I'm told that he is in an extremely critical condition with severe head, arm, leg and internal injuries. He has been placed in an induced coma and is on life support, and is clinging to life - but only just.

The mood around the table is... how can I describe the combination of emotions? Joy, relief, regret, fear, anger, hope...

"Thank you, Angela. I'll call you and we can catch up," Uncle Bill says. The call is terminated. Even Uncle Bill grabs some tissues.

"Amelia!" Mum calls loudly and heads for the stairs. "Amelia!"

 

(to be continued)

 

There is a parallel version to this story, told through the eyes of Kurt.
Find it at https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/kurt-series/

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