Broken news

Chapter 2

When coppers turn up on your doorstep in the dead of night looking like undertakers – and one being female – then you know that the news isn't going to be good. Mr and Mrs Dudley looked from one face to another and the awful certainty of it all began to sink in before any words were spoken. Mrs Dudley put a hand to her face and Mr Dudley stared at Doyle as though he'd seen a ghost.

"You," he whispered.

It was an odd reaction in any circumstances; in these circumstances it was positively bizarre.

"May we come in?" asked Wallace, and the Dudleys led them inside. Mrs D- was already sobbing and on the point of collapse before they'd reached the lounge. DI Wallace made cursory introductions while WPC Fletcher silently slipped into the kitchen like a well trained butler and put the kettle on. It was going to be a long night. Wallace broke the news to them as gently as he could and Doyle was unnerved by Mr Dudley still staring at him. He was compelled to ask.

"Do you know me from somewhere, sir?"

"My son does."

Doyle was quietly relieved that this was all it was, until he realised that Mr D- couldn't know exactly what Doyle looked like even if Zack had described him.

"I don't understand."

"I found this on the kitchen floor yesterday," he said, getting up and fetching something from behind the clock on the mantelpiece. It was another photo of Doyle – a different one. "I was going to ask Zack about it, but never got the chance. He's here and there at once. Perhaps you know what teens are like, Mr Doyle. I need to know why you gave him the photo."

"I didn't give it to him, Mr Dudley. I've never seen it before and I'd like to know where he got it from, too. I don't think it's been explained to you really who I am." Doyle hoped that that didn't sound like a rebuke to Wallace. "I help to run the Blacktown Youth Club and I know Zack from there."

"But you're white," interjected Mr Dudley in confusion.

Despite everything, Doyle smiled. "There are two reasons for the club, Mr Dudley. One, to give the lads something constructive to do rather than them being out on the streets and getting into trouble. Two, to integrate the communities. The club doesn't belong to the blacks or the whites, or the pinks or greys, it belongs to everyone."

Doyle's sincerity hit home, not only to the Dudleys, but to the police too. They could all see the spark of enthusiasm and earnestness in Doyle's face as he leaned forward to emphasise his words. They nodded. Doyle apologised to the general assembly. "Sorry, this isn't a time for grand sermons."

There was something else Doyle had to say to Zack's parents, but he felt that Wallace needed to get on with his investigations. After all, it was his case not Doyle's. Wallace asked the usual initial questions about Zack's friends and enemies, his habits, his haunts, etc. A picture of a lonely, unhappy teenager emerged; staying out till all hours, refusing to say why, going who knows where with who knew who. The only time he was relaxed, it seemed, was when he was playing his music at home (too loudly!) or at the club. He'd started to make a few friends there and taken dancing lessons, but no friends they could think of from college. He wasn't a bright pupil and tried to bunk off as much as possible. His parents had despaired of him ever getting enough grades to get a job – or any grades at all. That was all academic now of course; a fact that hadn't escaped their grieving notice. As Doyle watched their misery he wondered when, if ever, there'd be a good time to break the news to them. Wallace would need to know and therefore the parents too – in time. It could be relevant. The DI wrapped up his initial questions and said that their son would have to be formally identified but they'd be notified in due course of when and where that would happen. There'd have to be a post mortem, too. Wallace then looked at Fletcher and Doyle to ask if there was anything further and, if not, could they look at Zack's bedroom. It had to be now. Doyle took a deep breath and looked at each parent in turn.

"Were you aware that Zack had leanings towards his own sex? Did he ever bring a boyfriend home?"

The shock on their faces said it all. The cold temperature in the room turned instantly to freezing. Doyle wanted the ground to open up. He didn't have the courage to look at Wallace. He was sure he'd find anger there. Why hadn't Doyle told him first before they came to the house? Too late for that now.

"Was he bullied because of his tendency?" Doyle pushed, digging himself in deeper.

Shock turned to anger in Mr Dudley's face. Doyle thought he was going to be banished from the house – or battered to a pulp in front of the police. Then the anger passed and Mr D- closed his eyes momentarily. Opening them, he said quietly, "I was beginning to suspect. When I saw the photo I assumed that it was his boyfriend. Are you, Mr Doyle, his boyfriend?" The last words were slowly and painfully hammered out one by one.

"No, Mr Dudley," Doyle responded quietly, "I'm not Zack's boyfriend. I'm not gay myself, but in my job I recognise it in others. I think that was why Zack was afraid to make friends. He didn't want to give himself away and he hadn't yet learned to recognise men of his own kind. Adolescence is a very difficult time for most kids. For those who are gay, I imagine that it's a hundred times worse."

Mr Dudley was too choked to speak but nodded. Mrs Dudley spoke to him for the first time. "You do understand, don't you? I mean without prejudice?"

"I try to understand, Mrs Dudley. There are so many labels that hang around people's necks – labels they never put there themselves. The club tries to break down those labels; those prejudices."

"Judge not, lest ye too should be judged," quoted Mr Dudley softly to himself.

"Let he who is without sin cast the first stone," joined in DI Wallace.

Doyle hoped they weren't going to get into a prayer meeting. He looked at the WPC to see if she had a Biblical aphorism to throw in. She just looked embarrassed. Doyle thought it time to see the lad's bedroom but it wasn't his place to start ordering people about. He looked at Wallace and hoped he'd take the hint. Fortunately he did and they all rose together. There wouldn't be enough room for all of them, so Doyle said he'd stay downstairs with Mrs Dudley and make some more tea. It was none of his business anyway. Left alone with her, Doyle apologised for bringing up the subject of Zack's sexuality. She nodded, saying, "I suppose it had to come up at some point. Better said than implied. Get it out in the open. Is that why he was killed – because of that? Wasn't his colour enough?" She sounded very bitter.

"We have no idea why he was killed Mrs Dudley. I'm not part of the investigation team and it's very early days yet. If you want my unofficial, off the record view, I think Zack happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But if I could go back to his proclivity. What's your view, Mrs Dudley? I mean, if Zack had told you about it, what would you and your husband have said?"

"If you're asking whether we'd have thrown him out of the house, you're wrong." Doyle shook his head and she was encouraged to add, "He's our son, Mr … Mr"

"Doyle."

"Mr Doyle – right or wrong, for better or for worse, gay or straight. We just want him home!" She then broke into bitter sobbing. Doyle folded his arms around her and felt her shuddering against his chest. He didn't like to count the number of times he'd done this in other shocked and grieving households.

They pulled away slowly when they heard the trio come downstairs. Wallace had with him various items in a large evidence bag. He had clearly come prepared. There being no further questions they left with handshakes and goodbyes. Doyle still felt bad about his faux pas. Wallace would not be happy. He wasn't. He ordered Fletcher to the car and followed Doyle to his.

"You don't need to tell me, Stan. I'm sorry. I should have told you before we went in. Me and my size 10s. Christ, I should be better at interview than that."

"Well, since you've brought your own hair shirt, I won't rub it in. But I am not best pleased, Ray, not best pleased at all."

"I know. I was clumsy. I'm sorry."

"It's fortunate that they took it well. Did Mrs Dudley have anything to say that I should know about?" The barb was well aimed.

Doyle shook his head. "She said that she and her husband had suspected that all wasn't usual on the romance front, but that if Zack had announced his sexuality they'd have accepted it. They wouldn't have thrown him out or strung him up."

Wallace nodded, not sure yet whether to believe her. It was all rather academic at the moment any way.

"What did you find in the bedroom? Sorry, not my place to ask. It's your case, Stan. I'll not interfere." Doyle thought he may get a couple of hours sleep before reporting for CI5 duty, and turned towards the car door.

"Well, Ray, you may not be able to walk away from this one just yet."

Doyle turned back. "What do you mean?"

Dudley fished in his pocket for a latex glove and gave it to Doyle, who slipped it on. The DI then handed over the evidence bag. Doyle looked at him for a few moments trying to read his face before taking the bag off him. Doyle's car was parked under a street lamp so he could see what he was fishing out of the bag. He spread the contents out onto the bonnet. There were a dozen or so black and white photographs – all of Doyle. He went cold and looked sideways at Wallace who looked sternly back. It was clear that he wanted answers and explanations. Doyle hadn't got any. He took a deep breath and tried to be objective. He looked at each photo carefully, studying the backgrounds, and sorted them out into three lots.

"These," he said taking the first pile, "were taken outside the club." Taking the next batch, he announced, "These were taken outside the Mecca Ballroom where the national dance competition was held last year. And these," taking the final set, "well, I've no idea where these were taken."

"And you've no idea that they were taken at all?"

"Course not. I know it doesn't say much for my observational skills or aptitude for CI5 but, no, I didn't know Zack was taking pictures of me or that he was so obsessed. Or, come to think of it, how long he'd been doing it." Doyle felt stupid and, for some reason, frightened. He looked in the bag for anything else. There were a few notebooks which Wallace said looked like diaries. Doyle didn't like to speculate what Zack had written in them. Bodie's comment about Zack already finding the man of his dreams hit home.

"Where's the camera?"

"What?" asked Wallace.

"Well, Zack's taken these with something – and had them developed somewhere."

Clearly this hadn't yet occurred to Wallace. It did vindicate Doyle slightly. He was thinking more quickly than Wallace, who was no plodder in Doyle's opinion. Taking one of the photos at random and examining the back of it he said, "These haven't been processed at a chemists; they've been developed privately in a back room somewhere. It's poor quality paper and there's no company stamp on them."

"Yes, thank you, Ray. When we need your input, I'll call for you."

Doyle muttered another apology and looked sheepish as he put the photos back in the bag. Wallace shook Doyle's shoulder. "Truce?" Wallace suggested. Doyle looked into the older man's face, a slight smile on his lips. "Truce," he agreed wondering how much to tell Cowley and Bodie when he reported for his 'real' job in a few hours' time.