Date: Thu, 8 May 2014 22:00:11 +1030
From: Robert A. Armstrong <rob.aa@hotmail.com>
Subject: Schoolie - Chapter 30

If you are new to this story, may I suggest that you read from the
beginning, to understand the plot and the characters.

If you are a regular, thank you for your continued interest!

Warning: If relationships between boys and men is not your scene, or if
you're under age, or if it is not legal for you to be reading this, then
please leave, now, before somebody finds out!

Otherwise, enjoy!


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 remember U 4 that"

I reply. "You OK?"

A few minutes later, a reply. "yeh 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 xx Tom."


Chapter 30

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 news through the conversations at the
table, usually when the two talking galahs put food into their mouths.

   <<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."

"Yeh, well, that's where 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 i'm 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 more of that one than any of the
others." 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 cry 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."

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..."

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 seen
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 it would 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 it?" He breaks down
again.

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. "You guys keep saying
`Andy'. Are you talking about Andrew Thompson? We call him Andy at school
He's a year ahead of me and 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 what it was
that I didn't want her to see!

"Yeh, 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... Yeh, 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
away 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
little Andy's perfect young body.

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.

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

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

His bodily spasms, usually ejaculations of pleasure, are, today, deeps 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 be a nightmare from
which I will wake up in the morning? I wash him 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 I hear him, 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!" I snap. "Somebody died - 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 to the dining table." Uncle
Bill deposits his packages on the lounge and follows everyone else.

"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
yous' . 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. Uncle Bill is, for
once, a silent observer. "Everyone, this is an awful day."

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

I continue, "Maybe it's best if you tell us what you know, Simon, 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 let her
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, Mrs T's boyfriend was 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 bed 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 scared, if you ask me."

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

"Yeh, 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 the weekend, 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, "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 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 possibly deny him a similar adolescent boy's thrill, if that's
what he wants?

"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 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
more."

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 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 think 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 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 option, and he refused to go. He said that the hospital
would be obliged to inform 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 sacrificing 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 let
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 our 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 friend that he needed, that maybe he thought 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.

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.

"Oh, no he bloody-well didn't! That bastard threw Andy off and murdered
him. I'll kill him myself if I 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`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 need to 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, Will and I look at each other and I detect
the trace of a restrained smirk on his face. He's thinking exactly what I
am pondering - just how large a harem 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 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 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," Uncle Bill concludes as 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
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. I know that it 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.

"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 supposedly,
`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 promoting 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 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 that 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 enjoyed 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? The boys are all 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, 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 when he fell down the 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 molesters and murderers are inevitable targets of
`prison justice'. He'd only been in there for about two hours and was found
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 inconsistent injuries to Andrew's
body.

<<Apparently, Peters had some dirt on the two police officers and one of
the ambulance officers and 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," he interrupts politely, "but why did you say `attempted
murder'? Is that what you call it when there are not 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 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 a critical condition with severe head 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...

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