Chapter Four Breaking News

Chapter Four

‘Breaking News’

 

News of the child killer Jack Weaver first broke almost three years earlier and at that time, the front pages of almost every newspaper in the land were full of him. They just could not get enough. Every headline, broadcast and press release contained some reference to him and the various horrors against which he was either rightly or wrongly accused.  

 

Rumours spread like wildfire but it was considered most unlikely the true extent of his bequest upon the Home Counties, if not the whole country would ever be revealed. The Rt. Hon Richard Austin-Butler, Home Secretary to Her Majesty insisted.

  “All case pertinent information made available to the public would remain heavily restricted, in its own best interests of course, and in accordance with the appropriate Public Interest Immunity Act.”

 

Having thereby well and truly covered himself with a thick blanket of legislation, he also somewhat slickly added,

  “The state holds no secrets from those it serves.”

All the same, shock waves reverberated across the land in an unprecedented outpouring of anger, disbelief and moral panic. Almost every section of society was affected in some way or another, but hey, that was three, maybe even four years ago and no-one could be bothered to give Jack Weaver a second thought. After all, he was sure to be banged up securely somewhere, for goodness sake?

 

From the outside then, despite appearing quite normal, Jack maintained a rigid, if not completely delusional opinion regarding what was right and what was conversely wrong. In that respect, everything was either black or white. There were certainly no vague greys, or in-betweens upon which he could hesitate or ponder. And despite everything, he steadfastedly refused to compromise any of those original values and beliefs. Presumably in accordance with the rules formerly instilled upon him by his mother Elizabeth.    

 

Treats for example did not feature in the vault of Jack’s memory, Elizabeth had always frowned upon them, as she did so many things. In particular, overt demonstrations of affection or emotion were strictly forbidden. Penalties were rumoured to be extremely harsh and Jack was expected to be an avid and fast learner. At least that much is now certain. 

Indeed the influence Elizabeth had over the boy was so great that later, when confronted by those invariably curious, white coated strangers, who insisted on introducing themselves as uncle this, doctor that or professor so and so. Jack would convincingly feign total amnesia for all situations, circumstances or events that pre-dated his subjectively perceived abandonment by her.     

 

As frustrating as it was for those charged with the responsibility of trying to lever, probe or prise apart the heavy curtain of Jack’s subconscious, in the hope of gaining some insight into those apparently repressed regions of his mind. In the early days at least, something of an inexplicable excitement and energy seemed to flow and spread like a gloriously comfortable eiderdown over all those involved in Jacks case.

 

Apparently, not a soul was exempt from the effects of that strange phenomenon which seemed to make even the most sober of individuals behave out of character. Even the great Professor Geoffrey Banks-Barking was not immune to that mysterious whatever it was, and to this day, there are those who delight in pointing out he probably made the greatest faux pas of his life, during a live television broadcast, while thus infected. There is certainly no doubt whatsoever, he lived to regret mentioning on camera that he often felt like “a ham fisted virgin, fumbling in the dark and not knowing quite where to begin or what to expect, as far as that little b*****d Jack Weaver was concerned.”  

 

Not surprisingly, such candid, naive and otherwise unrehearsed remarks provoked many different responses from dozens of otherwise enthusiastic viewers. Some of the most passionate and likewise more radical opinions aired spread like a virus. And in doing so, served to fuel increasing tension amongst the already angry, the repressed and those without any particular cause, but who desperately wished to feel part of something bigger than the nuclear family into which they had been born.   

 

No one could possibly have anticipated the impact such a single off the cuff remark and a few swear words would have, on a usually very tolerant nation? Certainly not the great Banks-Barking, who it is now known, received a severe ticking off from the bosses at the BBC, for use of bad language and his expressed opinions.

 

Within only a matter of hours, he was already beginning to regret getting out of bed on the day of that particular interview. He also had an awful lot of other things to answer for, for one thing, several human rights campaigns and anti this and that groups which were spawned on the back of his naivety were like terriers and refused to let go. As a matter of fact, several continued to rant for a couple of weeks until eventually some bright spark torched Banks-Barking’s beloved Frog Eyed Sprite in the middle of the night.  

 

Several hours later, the smouldering image of the vehicle and barely recognisable remains of a child’s fluffy toy placed on its blistered and contorted bonnet, taken by a well tipped off press photographer served to dampen the anger fuelled by Banks-Barking’s former remarks. Thereafter, public attention eventually began to focus more on the ‘National Busman’s Strike’ and the likelihood of it rolling over into a third week, which some said would bring the country to its knees.

 

Now that would have been a turn up for the books, not even Hitler and his doodlebugs had threatened so much. It soon became clear much resentment had been building for a while and all for the sake of an extra five bob in the pocket, per person, per week. Needless to say, by the beginning of dreaded week three, the roads were already much quieter and more folk than usual were being forced to walk into work. There were others who did not even bother to get out of bed and treated the whole affair like an extension of the ‘Factory Fortnight’. Most folk essentially began to stock up their larders and to hoard certain household essentials like eggs, sugar, lard, tea, flour, candles and soap.    

 

The fact is, green-grocers and general stores did a remarkable trade for a while and were certainly tireless in their attempt to satisfy demand, but once the shelves were empty,

  “That’s it, you’ve had yer lot” so they said.    

 

Some of the more creative and unprincipled definitely took advantage of the panic buying and put rumours about that would not have otherwise got off the ground. It was simply amazing how quickly for example, liquorice sticks and baking powder sold out once the word was leaked about a supply shortage. The same applied to luxury items like fizzy pop for the kids, Brasso, toilet paper and certain sanitary goods. The whole situation was not helped by the fleeting show of solidarity from freight, haulage and railway workers who were presumably testing the water for their own eventual wages claim.

 

As it happened several busmen, and members of the general public sustained injuries in the sporadic rioting that occurred outside major depots across the country. Nevertheless, it was only when central London showed signs of grinding to a halt the Prime Minister conceded to make his now famous plea for reason to be restored, which of course, was easier said than done.  

 

Harry Davies, a driver from Yorkshire got his fifteen minutes of fame while explaining on camera, exactly how he had been pulled from his bus on the road between Hemsworth and Wakefield before being beaten up by an organised gang of madmen.

 

Frightenly similar events served as a cue for the voice of the ‘New Humanist Party’ who demanded amongst other things, an immediate Parliamentary reform of the all but redundant 1845 Lunacy Act.

 

Apparently, it was their collective and briefly contagious belief the whole country was about to go mad, and something needed to be done about it. In any event, the eventual standing down of the anti Bank’s-Barking lobby, together with employees of the nation’s favourite public transport system who sold out for no more than an extra eleven pence per week, seemed to typify an increasingly fickle and militant post war Britain.            

 

Back in the day, most blokes if they were employed at all were employed as manual workers of one description or another. There were very few psychologists around and those who took up the forensic baton and became pioneers within their field were even scarcer. The most highly skilled of course were always in demand and as a general rule could usually drop whatever was to hand, in favour of a fresh and more exciting challenge.

 

Financial incentives of course were always a very effective lure and most would not think twice, or turn their nose up at the chance of making a fast buck. During the early 1950’s however, such opportunities were few and far between, whereas in the old days, within their relatively small and cliquey world. A fast buck could often be achieved by asserting ties to academia, or publishing something, with a bit of a twist. Almost all of them were therefore eager to get their hands on Jack. Even so, several members of Banks-Barking’s original team are known to have expressed concerns about certain interventional approaches on both moral and ethical grounds.

 

It was also rumoured those same conscientious objector’s were taken to one side, given a decent back hander, reminded of their obligation to Her Majesty under the Home Office ‘Secrets Act’ and swiftly escorted off the premises. Whether they would ever work again in any real capacity, was anyone’s guess. Others though genuinely believed all the probing was justified and necessary, and were prepared to labour long and hard to crack the young nut who was fast becoming on the one hand, something of a homicidal enigma, and on the other, a minor celebrity. 

Jack was not daft though and had more than just a vague idea what they wanted from him. He knew instinctively how important it was to deny any of them the thrill of discovering what Elizabeth and Dell had previously put him through. “One day,” he vowed he would show them all, exactly what kind of stuff he was made of.” Until then, he would keep them guessing.

 

Later while still very conscious of being observed, he yanked viciously at the now weeping and mightily inflamed right knee without showing any obvious signs of personal discomfort. His observer though was visibly shaken and winced ouch, on his behalf.

Jack had been in this situation many times before and knew if he stuck it out, he would eventually get a break from the intrusive and repetitious questioning and the psychological testing that seemed to fill each day.

 

Nosey Parker’s he thought to himself and proceeded to smear some of the blood and tacky cream coloured discharge from his knee diagonally across the discreet observation screen in the door. Similar deposits were left on the seat of the chair opposite and more covertly, under the lip of the securely bolted table, across from where he usually sat.

 

He hoped beyond hope at least one of them, and preferably Smokey might be carrying an open wound which would eventually become infected by direct contact with his own p***y exudate.  Ha, he shrugged, just as they began to suspect he was incapable of deferring any source of self gratification whatsoever, he was about to do just that right under their noses.

   “Let that be a lesson to them all” he thought to himself.

For the moment though, all he needed to do was scrub his hands again and put the whole of yesterday’s affairs behind him.    

 

Not all of those at the Centre whom Jack despised were sadistic bullies or cruel and heartless bad guys. One or two were actually rather sweet. At which point, it must be said, of those directly involved in his treatment, some were genuinely convinced if only they could uncover precisely what he had been subjected to, they would have the key to understanding why he behaved the way he did.

 

Others acknowledged whilst important, there was almost certainly something else involved which clearly served as a more powerful and compelling motivator than nurture alone. Not one though seemed to accept that to discover what it was that really made Jack tick, would be the ultimate triumph. Indeed, something of a forensic miracle, assuming of course, that would ever be the case.

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

A shorter chapter than the previous three. It was interesting to read of the consequences of the careless remarks made by Prof Banks-Barking in his TV interview. Something he would live to regret. Jack Weaver is fully aware of the interest in his case nationwide and is determined to hang on to his secrets. We know that Elizabeth Weaver has.had an influence over his behaviour but we don't know what Jack was subjected to. I imagine much will be done to extract the information Banks-Barking wants in his domain, and his alone, in future reading. There seems a determination to reveal these secrets at any costs. The plot thickens.

Your new avatar is looking decidedly prickly :)

Chris

[Neville]

your persevering with Jack is appreciated, thank you Chris

[barleygirl]

I've had an enjoyable stretch of reading thus far & I'm impressed with the complexity of your storyline (far more complicated than anything I can conjure up) yet you also make everything clear & easy to follow. Great character development. I'll get back to this in a few days . . . time to give others a little attention . . . then soon I'll be out giving my garden some attention! Happy Father's Day to someone I suspect is a great father (((NUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Neville]

I can hardly thank you enough Margie.. wading through three chapters in a single sitting must be a record... Bless ya and I do mean that my friend Neville :)