Seeds of Evil

by Robert Kitchen

‘Do you see that Tommy, Billy is on the defensive, a good sign, perhaps we shall make something out of him yet. Unfortunately son your education is sadly lacking. Do you ever get beyond the back page of the Tele lad?’ inquired Starrett amiably, colloquially referring to the Belfast evening newspaper.

  ‘What’s all this about John? Ye’re makin me nervous, have I done somethin wrong?’

  ‘Sorry Billy, no you have not to my knowledge done anything wrong. And to answer your initial query, it’s about Walter Dane, the reporter who covered the Blackmore murders.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ mumbled Clements, failing to see where the conversation was leading.

  ‘I am correct in thinking that you read his report of the fateful evening’s events?’

  ‘Of course I read it but I still don’t see what it has to do with anything,’ retorted the youth at a loss.

  ‘Ach enough of this nonsense,’ grunted John, becoming bored with the game. ‘Take a look at the photograph Billy,’ ordered his superior. Clements obediently accepted the proffered postcard sized picture. He stole a fleeting, unflattering glance at his boss before scrutinising the snap. Certainly the face was familiar but unremarkable. A plump, thinning, ordinary citizen smiled up at him.

  ‘Ulster Television,’ prompted John.

  ‘Ach aye, it’s yer wee man that used te be on yon question show late at night. That’s right it was on Thursdays, correct,’ said Billy smugly.

  ‘The very man. He drives a Vauxhall Astra, which is parked not a million miles from here. Starrett went on to name the multi-story and exact floor where the vehicle could be found. He also supplied the colour and registration number of the reporter’s conveyance.

  ‘I would like you to be waiting in the rear of the vehicle when Mr. Dane arrives to pick it up. Request the gentleman to drive to Temple-patrick, you know the procedure, blindfold and bring him to the house. Is that clear,’ demanded Starrett.

  ‘Quite clear,’ answered Billy gruffly, ‘And what if he doesn’t want to play?’

  ‘Oh you can take it from me that he wants to play son. The man is seeking immortality.’

  ‘What if he clocks me John?’ asked the other.

  ‘God Billy, do I have to spoon feed it to you?. Make sure that he does not. Even if by some stupid mistake, he did catch a glimpse of your face, trust me son, he will not go blabbing to the authorities for two reasons. One, he wont want to lose the opportunity of writing the most controversial story since the start of the conflict. Two and more importantly he like most civilians is afraid of the repercussions such a foolish action would incur.’

  ‘Okay John so I fetch the reporter and bring him to you. Do I have to wait until then or are ye goin te let me know what’s the reason behind it?’ asked Clements moodily.

  ‘All shall be revealed at the house Billy, bare with me for a wee while longer. Now be a good lad, go and fetch him. I wont be pleased if the bird has flown the coop before you arrive.’ he ordered, concluding the conversation.

  A series of concrete slabs resting upon reinforced pillars went to make up the multi-story where Dane paid a hefty rental for the privilege of secreting his vehicle. Clements slunk into the shadows avoiding a few stragglers who made their way wearily to their cars. This effort was easily accomplished as the structure was dimly illuminated. Clements cogitated on John’s lack of judgement concerning what amounted to the abduction of a prominent figure. The risk of detection was extremely high. What was the boss thinking of, perhaps he was slipping, considering that he was the one who preached incessantly about the merits of security. It was almost an obsession with the man. ‘Ah fuck it,’ muttered the terrorist, ‘He always knew what he was doin in the past. Better get inside while I have the chance.’ Moving to the passenger side of the vehicle he checked to see if the alarm was armed. Seeing that it was not he allowed a ephemeral smile release his tension. With a sigh of relief he slid a long sliver of metal under the window’s rubber seal, giving a small click the door lock yielded. In less than ten seconds Billy was out of sight in the rear of the car. Minutes later, light footsteps heralded the arrival of his quarry. Dane unaware of his illicit passenger opened the driver’s door and entered the car. Wasting no time he started the engine moving towards the exit. Clements allowed him to drive for several minutes before uttering his first words. A cold kiss of steel brushed the side of the journalist’s neck causing him to momentarily lose control. Letting out a stifled scream he swivelled away from the weapon showing surprising agility for a man of his years and apparent lack of condition. ‘What in the name of God?’ babbled the terrified Journalist. ‘This is a nightmare, who are you? Do you intend to kill me?’ he gushed, hardly stopping to breathe.

  ‘Before I answer yer question, let me put one to you. Do you deserve to die?’

  ‘What do you mean,’ parried Dane bristling.

  ‘Have ye got yerself involved in something that ye’d be willin te die for, or bring about yer death?’ answered Clements deliberately.

  ‘Of course not. I am merely a journalist responsible for imparting what I believe to be the truth,’ replied Dane defensively.

  ‘Then Mr. Dane, ye’ve absolutely nothin te worry about. Now havin answered yer query honestly, I’ll request that ye kindly keep yer trap shut until we reach our destination.’

  ‘I don’t follow, what exactly is this all about? I mean I have a right to know why I am being abducted.’

  ‘Please be a good wee man and do as I tell ye Mr. Dane. First I want ye to keep yer eyes on the road and secondly, ye don’t have to see what’s behind ye, so adjust the rear-view to face the roof.’ Dane complied. ‘Now just set sail for Templepatrick and I’ll tell ye what te do when we get there. Have ye got that?’ the bald pate, nodded compliance.

  ‘Would you mind telling where we are headed?’ inquired Walter.

  ‘How many times do I have to ask ye te be quiet? I thought you newspapermen were supposed te be clever. Satisfied that his life was not in danger from the man in the rear, the journalist relaxed. Still he could not help being intrigued. What exactly is it that these people want from him? Could it be that they want to sue for peace? Did they want him to act as a go between? So deeply ensconced with the problem was he that he had quite forgotten about his captor in the rear. So much so that when the silence was broken by the others voice he was momentarily startled, ‘Ye’ve bin a model citizen Mr. Dane. Please bear with me a wee while longer. Up ahead on yer right there’s an auld stone wall, take the first entrance ye come to.’ Unhesitatingly the reporter followed the command, first indicating his intention before adroitly manoeuvring the vehicle through the break in the wall. ‘Great Mr. Dane, now please pull up to yer right.’ They had entered a lane that was bereft of street lighting. Dane ventured that he had never been in a darker spot. Sitting alone in the darkness his fear had returned. Perspiration ran in rivulets down his spine dampening his underwear. Had the man lied? He uttered a silent prayer but held his tongue. Get out of the car please facing forward at all times. Meekly the small man complied. ‘Put yer hands behind yer back.’ Again he did as he was bade. ‘Very good, sorry for the inconvenience but I am gonna have te blindfold ye. A bag fabricated from what smelled like canvas was fitted securely over Dane’s head fuelling the fear that his life was about to be snuffed out. Eventually he plucked up enough courage to speak,

  ‘I realise the necessity for the blindfold but must the thing be so bloody tight?’

  ‘Ach don’t be such a wimp. The knot has te be secure, if the blind is te stay on yer wee baldy head. If it was te fall off alloyin ye to see us then yer life would be in the balance Mr. Dane.’ Behind the mask the journalist afforded a smile. His captor’s words ensured that all that was required, for this evening at least, was his presence. With a sigh of relief he posed another question. ‘How much longer?’

  ‘Please don’t be startin up we a load of useless quest
ions again. Be quiet and I promise that we’ll be there in a jiffy,’ replied Billy, shaking his head. Placing a hand on each of the journalist’s shoulders, he ordered Dane to walk forward. ‘That’s right, one fut in front of the other, keep headin in the forward direction I’m leadin ye, whoa stop there. Very good, now I’m gonna open the car door and it’s your turn te be chauffeured about. That’s grand now, slowly plant yer arse down unto the seat,’ said the other, placing a hand on the reporter’s pate. Oops sorry if me hand’s cold, we wouldn’t want ye catchin a chill,’ he laughed.

  ‘Very funny, you’re a right comedian,’ growled Dane, who was always a bit touchy when it came to size or in this case, lack of thatching. ‘Okay keep yer hair on,’ quipped Billy, unable to resist teasing the older man. ‘Pull yer wee legs in,’ he advised, which brought a incoherent growl from beneath the mask. ‘Well now the intrepid reporter has a few complexes,’ observed Clements as the short legs slithered from view. ‘Super, just one last thing, lie right down on the seat. We don’t want anyone seein the man in the mask. Not outside of the pictures that is,’ chuckled the captor. Fear had been replaced by excitement as the journalist lay quietly pondering upon his first encounter with a paramilitary leader. He was feeling claustrophobic beneath the clammy fabric. ‘How much longer,’ he grumbled, ‘This bloody hood is restricting my breathing.’ In order to make the time pass more quickly he tried to listen for familiar sounds that may give an indication of his approximate position but the night was deathly silent. Like Clements’ attempts on previous occasions his efforts of orientation were thwarted when the other circled a roundabout several times before continuing in the general direction of the airport.

  After what seemed like an eternity the vehicle drew to a halt. Dane had no way of knowing exactly where. Not a word was spoken as the driver waited for what seemed an eternity but was in fact only minutes. The deathly silence filled the journalist with dread. At last they set off again. They came to another roundabout, or what must be one,Dane assumed, as the car went into another circular motion. Clements repeated the process as before halting for a short period before resuming the journey. By this time the reporter was completely disoriented. As far as he was concerned they could be on another planet.

  They had been in the car for over an hour but in truth they may have travelled a scant few miles. The driver had not been exaggerating when he said that security was tight. Eventually they drove into a lane. The surface was rough and the bumpy progress of the vehicle began to irritate the reporter. ‘Jesus Christ man,’ he snarled. ‘How much longer? I’m beginning to feel bloody queasy.’

  ‘Hold your horses Mr. Dane we’re here,’ chuckled Billy. ‘And here was me thinkin that you reporters were as tough as auld boots. Yer no Terry Waite are ye? ‘I’m awfully sorry for the inconvenience,’ he added sarcastically.

  ‘That’s quite all right,’ replied the journalist, trying to retrieve the situation. He had no intention of appearing unprofessional, certainly not to this lout. After all this was turning out to be the chance of a lifetime and there was no way in this sorry world that he would blow it. Clements helped him exit from the car taking care that the newsman’s head did not come into contact with the door framework. ‘Here we are now, all safe and sound,’ he was informed. Clements carefully led him along a pebbled drive. He brought them to a stop and began to remove the blindfold but before the other’s eyes could adjust to the new darkness a cloth bag was placed over his head plunging him once again into inky blackness.

  ‘Ah the venerable Mr. Dane, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance. I trust my associate has treated you well, under the circumstances? My name is Mr. A and when we go inside, I’ll introduce you to my colleagues. Sorry about the blindfold. Security, hope you understand? asked the commander.

  ‘I know, it’s quite alright,’ said Walter Dane huffily. With Clements assistance the reporter was ushered into the warmth of John’s cottage.

  ‘I am sure that you feel better now that you have finally arrived,’ said John.

  ‘There’s a chill in the air tonight. Now introductions. As I said I am Mr. A. my colleague is Mr, B my indefatigable right hand. Your driver this evening is Mr. C and last but by no means least our other guest is Dr. P. Doctor P. is a psychologist whose particular field is the study of violent crime.’ Clements was amused at the ridiculous sight of two such eminent men conducting a conversation with bags over their heads. How hath the mighty fallen, he mused.

  ‘The reason for your summons Mr. Dane is quite simple. I know you are a busy man as is the good doctor, so I shall come straight to the point. George Blackmore and his family, a very messy business which has caused no little amount of consternation in certain quarters. Mr. Dane, you were the first person at the scene of the crime. Correct?’

  ‘Yes that is quite correct,’ answered the journalist.

  ‘Why,’ asked John.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ parried Dane.

  ‘Why you Mr. Dane? Why were you first at the scene?’ spat Starrett.

  ‘I received a tip off, anonymously,’ he answered defensively.

  ‘Mr. Dane we know that you received a taped message.’

  ‘How did you find out about that?Only the killer would… ‘

  ‘Come come Mr. Dane are you really so naive as to think that the RUC. could keep secrets from us? Now here’s the deal. You will tell us every detail about that evening.And in return, I will promise you an interview with the killer when we catch him, if at all possible. If he is terminated whilst we are apprehending him, you will get a detailed report on our investigation. Either way you will be a very celebrated journalist. Do we have a deal?’

  ‘An interview with the killer?’ asked the reporter incredulously.

  ‘On my word as a Presbyterian,’ asserted John.

  ‘You have a deal Mr. A.,’ beneath his mask Dane was ecstatic. Deleting nothing he gave a full account of what had transpired on the tragic evening, culminating with the message that the murderer had written in his victim’s blood.

  ‘The message read exactly, He who sows the seeds of evil shall reap his harvest in hell,’ repeated the psychologist.

  ‘Exactly,’ affirmed Dane. The reporter’s testimony was recorded by Tommy Cairns. As soon as the newspaperman had concluded his oration, John invited questions from others. Exact positioning of the bodies seemed significant to the physiologist. How were they placed? Was the boy laid alongside his sister? Was there any sign of order to the corpses final resting-place? Did the murderer, in Danes opinion, make a point of placing the victims in said order? ‘To my knowledge they were left where they fell,’ the group was informed.

  ‘What of the message on the wall, was there evidence that the killer had used a container to collect the blood? Was one or all of the victim’s throats cut? What of the bodies, were they intact? Did the murderer remove anything, a finger say or an ear? I mean did he remove any body parts from the scene of the crime?’ ‘No not to my knowledge, but as I said before he did hack limbs from the bodies,’ replied Dane.

  ‘Okay, thank you Mr. Dane I think that’s all I need to know right now,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘Anybody else got a question for Mr. Dane?’ offered Starrett. The others, every one of them ashen faced, answered in unison with a sad shake of the head.

  ‘That’s all for now Mr. Dane. If we need more from you my colleague will contact you. I don’t need to tell you that tonight’s meeting was in confidence. To relate any part would be a serious breach of security,’ John reminded the reporter. Dane was aware of the threat and assured his new acquaintances that he would comply with their wishes.

  ‘After all are we not in the same boat? We all want to bring this monster to heel.’

  ‘Fine sentiments Mr. Dane, you’re a real public servant,’ chuckled Clements.

  ‘Lead Mr. Dane outside would you please Mr. C,’ Clemen
ts was ordered.

  Repeating earlier procedure Billy led the little journalist to his car placing him carefully in the rear. The commander who grasped the reporter’s hand shaking it in a strong grip followed them outside. ‘I hope some day we can meet in happier circumstances Mr. Dane. As it is I can only thank you for your patience and co-operation. Goodnight Mr. Dane, have a very pleasant journey home. ‘Mr. C. may I just have a quiet word? John motioned Billy out of the reporter’s hearing, ‘Take him back to the lane in Templepatrick, your man Harris will be waiting in another vehicle.He’ll follow Dane to town, just in case. I want you back here as soon as possible OK.’

  ‘No problem John,’ whispered Clements. ‘Who’s the other punter?’

  ‘Never mind now, I’ll explain upon your return.’ Without further explanation John turned his back and headed for the warmth of the cottage, concluding the conversation. ‘Bloody prick,’ mumbled Clements, after first insuring that his leader was well out of hearing distance.

  ‘Lets get you back home Mr. Dane. Thanks for your time.’

  Approximately an hour and twenty minutes later Clements had rejoined the group, much to the annoyance of Starrett. He began to complain about the younger mans tardiness but was informed that the time taken was in the interests of security.’What’s wrong, is yer man charging us by the hour?’ he added cheekily.

  ‘Just cut the crap son,’ advised Tommy. ‘This is serious business.’

  ‘Whilst you’ve been away, the good doctor has been listening to the tape. In his opinion the guy is almost definitely a queer,’ began John.

  ‘Not precisely my words but yes, in my opinion it is highly likely that the killer is homosexual.’ the psychologist informed him.

  ‘Heterosexual subjects have carried out the instances of mutilation, committed by the criminally insane, in most cases. In ninety percent of said cases the assailants had penetrated the female victims. There have been cases where male victims have been buggered but if a female was present she would be the ultimate target for the murderer. There have been several cases where homosexuals have mutilated both sexes but at no time penetrated the females. It is my opinion that the latter is a classic example of what took