Seeds of Evil

by Robert Kitchen

  Definitely a hit. I wonder how many more our George has been involved in?Scott’s thoughts turned to Black. He was obsessed with the idea that Nick, as he knew him, would become his partner. The big policeman daydreamed of the possibilities such a partnership could aspire to. Scott thought of the unsolved murders he and his friend would finalise. Perhaps between them they could write a book and in so doing, expose the incompetence of his superiors. The notion was almost erotic. He was disturbed in his reverie by the loud clump of case files landing on his desk. A grinning youth shook his head and walked away without so much as a greeting. ‘This is what I have come to,’ he grumbled sourly. ‘One of these days I will command respect. I’ll show these pricks what a real detective is.’ Discarding the incident he allowed his mind to return to his English friend. ‘Yes I’m sure that Nick will join me.’ Realising that he voiced his opinions audibly he looked up from his VDU. and smiled in relief at finding himself alone.

  Nathan Black watched with interest as the television anchorman relived the attack and subsequent demise of the perpetrators. He was losing interest when the reporter divulged that a senior spokesman for the RUC had described the crime as non-political. The contact was described by the reporter as a lucky break for security forces. By sheer coincidence a crack team fortunately, happened to be in the area at the time. He went on to say that this was a rare event as the village was a peaceful haven that had been kept free from violence for more than two decades of unrest. Indeed it was thought that the military patrol, having had their route planned for the day, were actually re-routed. A common occurrence designed to keep the soldiers alert and ready for rapid deployment to any area at a moment’s notice. Black picked up the phone in order to quiz Scott about the incident and was told that the subject could not be discussed publicly. ‘I’m intrigued,’ purred Black. ‘Would it be convenient for me to pop round this evening? I have been giving your proposition some thought and I really would like to hear more.’

  ‘You know where I live Nick. I’ll be looking forward to seeing you, say eight o clock,’ babbled Scott, with unguarded enthusiasm. ‘I knew it, I knew it,’ he avidly chirped, punching his palm for emphasis. ‘I must make a really exciting presentation. I’m sure Nick will want to join me if I can appeal to his curiosity. Yes that’s it; I’ll tease him with snippets of information steering him to the correct conclusion. Once he has solved a crime himself, he will be hooked, I know it.’

  Maurice Scott was bubbling with excitement. His elevated mood did not go unnoticed.Members of the department nudged and nodded in his direction. Maurice was actually humming. Speculation was rife, perhaps he

  has a woman, ‘No way, the poor dear would have to be into medical research,’ observed one wit, “

  ‘Aye your not wrong Jim,’ agreed another, ‘only a mother could love that.’ Their crude attempts at humour passed unchallenged by Scott, which was par for the course. Normally he would treat their jibes with open contempt but today they were merely dismissed with a twisted smile. Some felt more than a little uneasy believing that Scott, their much-maligned colleague, had finally cracked. The shift ended and Maurice set off with a spring in his step, which was in itself, an action unparalleled. One colleague whom had known Maurice since school days could not remember the sergeant so animated. Something was definitely amiss but, the big man’s ability to keep a secret was legendary ergo, the reason for his present frame of mind would never be revealed. ‘Yes,’ he informed them sagely.

  ‘Our Maurice plays his cards very close to his chest. I’ve known that man for the best part of thirty years and I don’t think that I have ever had a personal conversation with him. That’s why he’s stuck in records,’ he added. ‘Old Maurice never really learned how to communicate with the public. Shame really but I suppose he is happy banging away at his computer. Solitude suits him and he is, brilliant at what he does.’

  Eight o’clock chimed on the grandfather clock that adorned Maurice Scott’s entrance hall. Nervously he checked his watch, just to be absolutely sure that the timepiece was correct. He need not have bothered, the instrument had not missed a beat in seventy years and self-consciously Scott admonished himself for doubting its accuracy. The clock was as much a part of the house as the very foundations. Indeed, Maurice believed the old thing to be as old as the house itself, although he could not swear to it. His mind drifted to an occasion when he pondered exhibiting it on the Antiques Road Show only to dismiss the idea, at last moment, as fanciful nonsense. ‘No,’ he smiled, ‘I wouldn’t want to know how much you’re worth old boy. I would never want to be tempted into selling you.’ Tenderly he wiped a smudge from the clock’s face once more, through habit, glancing at his watch. Eight fifteen, Scott was beginning to worry. Perhaps Nick won’t call at all, maybe he has thought twice about getting involved. ‘Please,’ he implored, looking to the heavens. ‘Please God let him come tonight.’ His prayer was answered almost immediately as the doorbell heralded Black’s arrival. Scott was at the door in two bounds. Like a child on his birthday, he flung open the door and with similar excitement ushered his friend into his home. ‘Nick I’m so glad you could make it, I thought maybe you had changed your mind.’

  ‘Sorry old boy, unavoidably delayed. I ran into one of those blasted army checkpoints. Traffic was backed up for miles, okay a couple of streets but who’s counting. I have been thinking,’ he continued. ‘Your suggestion intrigues me so much that I can’t possibly resist the idea. It’s against my better judgement, I have to admit but what the hell, everyone needs a little excitement in their life.’

  ‘Don’t say another word,’ interrupted Scott, hardly able to contain his enthusiasm. ‘I have opened a bottle of Remy Martin, just for the occasion. Come through to the lounge.’ Black obediently complied and was handed a glass containing the golden spirit. ‘I wish to propose a toast to the success of Carven and Scott, private dicks,’

  ‘Carven and Scott, it does have a certain ring to it, so long as we don’t finish up like Burke and Hare,’ chuckled Nathan. ‘Why not Maurice, here’s to us,’ affirmed the Englishman’ raising his glass. ‘So, where do we start?’ inquired Black avidly.

  ‘With a crime that was perpetrated four years ago. Firstly I will supply you with the facts, then we will sift through the relevant clues and finally with a bit of luck, no, luck won’t come into it. If I’m any judge, you will collar the bastard in record time,’ enthused the policeman, warming to the game. Just as he had promised, Scott force-fed Black with all the relevant details of the case. Statements from witnesses, suspects later eliminated, opportunity, in fact Inspector Clueseau would have found it impossible to botch the case, so painstakingly simple had Scott presented the facts. Notwithstanding, Black was ecstatic at solving the case and exposing the villain on the first attempt. Gleefully he clapped his hands together and bubbling with excitement. ‘I’ve done it Maurice, I’ve solved a crime which actually happened. You know something old boy, I can’t remember when I have had a more congenial evening, and I must say categorically Maurice, I’m hooked. When can we start with an unsolved case?’

  ‘All in good time Nick. You have to learn to walk before you can run. It’s like the old movies, do you remember when the hero, usually a detective inspector says, ‘Police work is a slog. It’s ninety-percent legwork and ten-percent luck.’ Black nodded his assent. ‘Well they were right but that’s where we are lucky, because the rest of the idiots have been doing the legwork. All we have to do is sift through reports and hopefully spot something that they may have overlooked. Glean important snippets of information from the fruits of some other bugger’s toil. Come with me to my boudoir,’ said Scott, seductively beckoning with a crooked finger. Black, infected by the other’s enthusiasm, gladly followed. After illuminating the study, Scott displayed his passion proudly with an expansive sweep of his huge arm. His guest was suitably impressed. Initially gasping before his smile developed into an appreciative grin. ‘Maur
ice,’ he began, ‘I’m lost for words. I was aware that you were a boffin but my lord this is simply amazing. I do not believe that a more comprehensive system exists outside NASA.’

  ‘Thanks Nick that’s praise indeed, coming from a man of your status.’

  ‘My status, God Maurice there you go again sounding like a Dickensien character. I am merely a salesman. Nothing special in that I can assure you. On the contrary you are the talented one, furthermore the force are guilty of underestimating your brilliance and ability. Let’s have no more false modesty or I shall lose patience with you,’ he commanded. ‘Now for God’s sake show me how to access this contraption before I burst.’ Scott’s demeanour took on a different aura. Nathan had cast a spell over the man, transforming him into a vibrant, self-assured human being. No longer did he just exist, for the first time in his life Maurice Scott was truly happy. Long into the night they sat at the keyboard unaware of the hour. Expertly the policeman’s fingers manipulated the keys, unfolding facts unknown to the man in the street. Forbidden knowledge that would condemn its subjects to certain death should it fall into the wrong hands, controversial, privileged and highly illegal material that should never have left the confines of the policeman’s place of work. It was almost four a.m. before Nathan realised it. ‘My lord! It’s nearly four. I’m so sorry Maurice I didn’t mean to keep you at to this hour.’ The apology seemingly passed to go unnoticed. For a moment the sergeant stared in confusion before coming out of a trance. He smiled and uncharacteristically winked, ‘Nice evening’s work but you can’t go home now my friend. I had an idea that this might happen and took the precaution of turning down the bed in the spare room. I wont hear tell of your leaving at this hour and if you set foot through the door, I shall have you arrested.’

  ‘How can I refuse officer?’ replied Black wearily, the fatigue of staring at the VDU for long hours, without a break, had taken its toll.

  ‘That’s the ticket, would you care for a warm drink before retiring? I usually have a cup of Horlicks, sends me right to sleep,’ advised the Irishman.

  ‘That’s very kind Maurice but if you don’t mind I’ll just crash, suddenly I feel all in.’

  ‘Not at all Nick, it’s first on your right at the top of the stairs. The bathroom is straight ahead, oh by the way; there’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom cupboard. You’ll find a disposable razor there as well. Goodnight Nick, sleep well.”

  ‘Before I say goodnight there is one last thing. I hope you don’t think it an imposition but I was hoping to have a lie in tomorrow. I had planned to take the day off you see.’

  ‘Of course my friend, treat the house as your own. I shall be as quiet as a mouse in the morning, sleep as late as you wish. Unfortunately I have to go to work, duty calls.’

  ‘Can’t thank you enough Maurice, it was a wonderful evening. Your hospitality shall be repaid tenfold. Now I really must climb the stairs while I still have the energy to do so, good night.”

  News of the post office raid was filling the media. The usual condemnation of the cowardly murder was being voiced by all and sundry. Two days had passed since the incident and the first news that an East Belfast resident was helping police with their enquiries had been announced. George Blackmore the only surviving member of the gang who carried out the robbery was in a comfortable condition in the Royal Victoria hospital. As usual apathy greeted the news of the attack. Slight speculation as the motive behind the attack and the fact that three of the culprits had died during the incident, had spurred some public interest but only minimal. Another opportunity to further his quest for revenge had fallen neatly into his lap. Black could not believe his good fortune. The policeman trusted him implicitly and Nathan intended to utilise the situation to the fullest. Deftly he positioned himself at the keyboard and began to punch in the password. With precision he applied the knowledge accumulated from his session with Scott the previous evening. Ecstatic that he had been able to master the program in such a short space of time he set about his task with relish. ‘ Welcome,’ announced the computer. ‘How can Agatha be of assistance?’ Leering at the screen he typed in the name Blackmore. ‘Searching,’ he was informed then suddenly there it was. Everything that he had dreamed, a likeness of the man followed by his complete criminal history. A suspected terrorist’s life story was laid bare for anyone with access to read, every detail, including his bank statements, debts, address and family members. Surveillance reports, suspected criminal activities, indeed the dossier was so comprehensive that it made George Blackmore look like public enemy number one. Scrolling through the transcript, Nathan was astounded to see that Black-more was linked with several unsolved murders and regarded as a very dangerous type. That he was affiliated to the outlawed UVF was beyond question, although he had never been officially charged through lack of concrete evidence. The file went on to list the names of two men currently serving life sentences on the mainland and Blackmore’s suspected assistance in their crimes. Filled with a new sense of purpose, he poured over the file’s contents. Last known address, family members but his heart pounded as the name leapt out at him. The pain was as tangible as a knife twisting in his gut. Blackmore had a son and daughter. The boy’s name was Jason. Why did scum like that have to give his offspring the same name as his beloved? It was as if the devil himself had conspired to make a mockery of their union. Jason was cold in his grave while the son of a murderer walked free, oblivious of his torment.

  It was at that precise moment that the idea germinated, impregnating his soul with an unquenchable thirst for vengeance, corrupting his conscience and turning him into a monster. Nathan Black had discovered how to exact retribution from the terrorists of Ireland. His initial plan was to hunt them down. To extract information by torture and hopefully uncover the name of Jason’s assassin. Upon reflection he had decided that it was a pipe dream. How could he, a businessman with no expertise in this field, hope to accomplish what professionals could not. Impossible, yet here he was with all the ammunition required to achieve just such an aim. Providence had decreed that he should be the instrument of their destruction. His destiny was to watch them suffer as he himself now suffered. Images of terrorists begging for mercy swam before him. He was filled with so much emotion and hatred that tears formed and spilled from his cobalt eyes. Through the mist of his tears floated the name Jason Blackmore. Meeting Scott had been no coincidence it was destiny. ‘My duty is clear,’ he whispered, as he stared at the screen. Reverently he turned from the computer uttering a prayer of thanks for the guidance he had received. His path was destined, his resolution steadfast and the path would be etched in blood. Revenge would be swift; it’s application slow and merciless. God had shown him the way and he must set the wheels in motion immediately. Not a moment should be wasted. He vowed that Black-more and others similarly inclined could not suffer more if they were being dragged through the very pits of Hades. ‘Yes Mr. Blackmore, while you wallow in gaol, I am going to take from you what has been stolen from me. Problem is, one is never enough.’ Nathan had decided to destroy Blackmore by murdering his entire family. He was going to mutilate them so that the terrorist would suffer in guilt for his past transgressions. He would have to spend the rest of his life in the knowledge that, because of his actions, his family had suffered humiliation and agonising death. ‘As God is my judge I swear it,’ he murmured. Having decided on a course of action, Black began to download every snippet of data from the computer. Thousands of man-hours spent gathering the confidential information had been compacted into a few tiny discs. Nathan toiled for most of the day, stopping for nothing, driven on by his terrible obsession. Glancing at his watch a feeling of panic seized him. Scott would be home within the hour. Feverishly he set about completing his task with renewed fervour. As if by a miracle the task was completed. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before calmly ordering a taxi. In a jubilant mood Nathan set about clearing up the mess. Scott must never suspect that he had
stolen the files. Ten minutes after its request the taxi’s a horn sounded, his mode of escape had arrived. Laden with the policeman’s life’s work, which was concealed in a buff envelope, the Englishman left the house whistling. Always the gentleman, he left a message on the mantle thanking Maurice for his hospitality and promising to be in touch very soon.

  ‘Ha!’ exclaimed Clements, ‘George fuckin Blackmore, I knew it. No way was this a robbery.’ He was voicing his opinion to another loyalist member of the organisation. ‘Question is, why were the Brits there?’ queried the other. John thinks that there was a leak. What do ye think Billy?’

  ‘No way mate,’ replied Clements with a shake of his head. ‘No there’s no chance of the word gettin out on an op. this big. Christ you know how paranoid the boss is on security. You and me have worked on jobs together and only the people involved knew the exact dates and locations right.’ The other nodded in puzzled agreement. ‘Ye don’t get what I’m sayin Tommy,’ observed Billy, seeing the blank expression on his friend’s face. In frustration he held out his hand, fingers spread. Slowly he began to itemise his reasons against the possibility of treachery. Bending one finger at a time to emphasise a point he began to explain, using monosyllables, as if speaking to a child. ‘One, the full crew never has access te details of a job until maybe three days before the time. Two, only one man is put in the picture, the one in charge. He and only he is privy te where and when the job will take place. He then formulates a plan before submitting it te the boss. Three, the big man gives the okay and four the hand picked crew are then informed of the action. The whole op. is on a strictly need te know basis. Christ Tommy, three days is the maximum time that all concerned know the full detail of the plan. That lets out the four men who carried out the operation. I can hardly see one of them touting to the Brits, then carrying on with the job. Bad and all as they are the army are not in the habit of toppin their informants. That only leaves the boss and his sidekick and if we cant trust them we might as well start learnin Pope-speak.’ Clements was elated, he had convinced himself that the operation was simply botched by bad workmanship. ‘Blackmore fucked it up, either by bad luck or more probably bad planning. Shit!’ he exclaimed.