Seeds of Evil

by Robert Kitchen

  ‘Right now my lads have their hands full. We are going to have to break the news to Breen at the Kesh. Don’t want a repeat of the last bloody episode with that poor bastard Blackmore,’ added the inspector.

  ‘Just one thing Jimmy, did he write anything on the wall again?’

  ‘Yeah, same message. He used a soup bowl to gather the blood. We think it will be the boys. The lab was able to tell us that he used the Blackmore boy’s blood for the first message.’

  ‘Good God Jimmy, you have to apprehend this sick bastard soon.’ The policeman nodded his head solemnly before turning his back on Dane. The reporter recorded a few relevant details concerning location and Kiever’s description of the murder scene before returning to his office. Once settled he began to type the opening lines of the story when the phone rang. ‘Good afternoon Mr Dane,’ the voice was barely a whisper. ‘Did you make the journey advised in the tape?’ Dane could not believe what he was hearing. The murderer was actually on the other end of the line. His eyes strayed to the recorder that was whining soundlessly taking note of the conversation.

  ‘Who is this please?’ he asked, professionally keeping the excitement out of his tone.

  ‘You know who it is Mr Dane. I want you to listen very carefully. There is something I must make absolutely clear to you. I chose you to report the events in a professional and honest fashion. To my disappointment Mr Dane,’ the voice hissed

  ‘You did neither.’

  ‘But I-’

  ‘Shut up Mr Dane. What is the use of me giving the Paddies a message, if they do not know that one exists. I believe that you are not taking me very seriously but you can be sure that over the coming months, the world will rectify that indiscretion. My deeds should be heralded from the rooftops; instead you chose to print only half-truths. I must say that I am far from pleased with your contribution thus far. I could just as easily send a copy of the tapes to the English tabloids.

  I am sure that they would know what to do with them. There is a slight chance for you to redeem yourself Mr. Dane. I want you to visit the grieving father. Have a conversation with him; find out just how much he is suffering. Tell him from me that the loved ones of the people he murdered probably feel the same. I have nothing further to add, good-day Mr Dane.’ The reporter blinked involuntarily at the metallic click that denoted the conversation’s end. With trembling hands he played the recording back. ‘Thank God,’ he uttered as the machine commenced, reliving the last few moments.

  Nathan Black smiled as he replaced the receiver in it’s cradle. He was sure that the first reports of last night’s mission would be of a higher standard. The fat little man must be creaming his pants. What a story and to have actually spoken to the avenging angel. For a second time a smile creased his face, ‘Yes the avenging angel,’ the name had just somersaulted into his mind and he approved. ‘Perhaps my next message should be signed,’ he chuckled. ‘This is really a god forsaken hole,’ he complained, pulling his overcoat tighter across his chest. ‘Beats me why the stupid fucks are killing each other for the right to govern it. If it is not bloody pissing down soaking a body to the skin, it’s the wind chilling one to the bone.’ Quickly he sped past some afternoon shoppers making a beeline to his parked car. Once back in his flat, Black put on a CD. Mendelson always had the right effect on him. He sat serenely humming along with the melody whilst sipping from a glass of Chianti. ‘Ah, life has its compensations,’ he murmured, before dozing off.

  The phone began ringing in the late afternoon. Tullen was summoned just before five o’clock. He sat dully and listened as details of the latest murders were revealed. Uncontrollable anger began to well within him. ‘Why would anybody want to do something as cruel as this?’ The question was mouthed through frustration. He effected no answer but was confused when no one acknowledged his utterance. To his seemingly apathetic colleagues he screamed, ‘I know Hubert Breen, so do the rest of you. What the fuck’s the matter we you people? I don’t hear one word of sympathy. Good God, what have we come to?’

  ‘Easy now lad. We all feel for Hughie but this is the time to be level headed, Con. We must be calm and try to come up with something that will help us catch this boyo,’ his superior’s soothing tone had the desired effect. Slowly Tullen eased himself into the nearest seat. ‘What’s to be done Peter? I can tell ye I am no closer to finding this man than the first day we started hunting him,’ admitted a deflated Tullen.

  ‘Not so Con. We know that the son of a bitch isn’t one of ours. I think we have a loner here. Some confused nutter who thinks he can solve

  Ireland’s problems with his own form of terrorism. The messages he keeps leaving on the wall. The seeds of evil garbage. I have never heard of that before. We have people looking it up. It’s not biblical and so far no one has found it in literature. This man has thought the words up all by himself. We are not dealing with a moron. Some sex starved homo. No this boy wants us to sit up and beg. Mark my words the bastard will put forward some demands shortly. He isn’t doing these killings for nothing. The sad thing is we just have to be patient and wait for him to contact us. One thing for certain it is definitely the paramilitaries that he is sending a message to. Ye can bet yer life it is no coincidence that the heads of two families involved were members of one organisation or another. Another thing we have learned, the prick is non-sectarian, cause he has murdered families from both sides. Our man knows a lot about us. With both families the old man was in jail and both had only one son. He wants us to fear him, to let us know that he is controlling the game. I am convinced he will contact us sooner or later. In the meantime let’s not antagonise the bastard. From today all activities cease. We just sit back and see what he does next.

  After the realisation that the victims were families of volunteers had registered, both organisations were inundated with calls. Neither group had the manpower to protect family members belonging to the vast amount of incarcerated terrorists. Panic was beginning to take hold. Neither group wanted to admit it but sooner or later they knew that representatives from both parties would be compelled to sit down and discuss a solution to the problem.

  John Starrett had given Walter Dane a simple code. When the journalist wanted to make contact he was to reverse park into his slot in the multi-storey. He did just that the day after receiving Black’s latest call. Dane was scared and more than a little confused. Why was he being singled out by the madman? He was in deep trouble with the police now. ‘Why? he asked himself, ‘Why had I not contacted Kiever as soon as the murderer rang off.’ But the journalist knew the answer already. He had made a pact with the UVF. No one with any savvy would break a promise to those people. Anyway, he deemed it more likely that the paramilitaries would stumble onto the killer sooner than the inept RUC. Feeling a little more at ease he settled down to wait for Mr A’s summons. He did not have long to wait. The journalist had brought his first coffee of the day to his lips when the phone rang. Good morning Mr Dane. I believe you want to speak to me,’ came the now familiar voice of Mr A.’

  ‘Yes I would like that very much. As soon as conveniently possible,’ assented Dane.

  ‘No time like the present. My colleague will meet you in the car park in five minutes,’ he was informed. ‘That’s service if ever I saw it,’ said Dane sarcastically.’

  ‘We aim to please Mr Dane, see you soon,’ replied Starrett, before ringing off.

  The reporter hurried to his car. As he passed a concrete supporting pillar, the same youthful voice informed him that he must not turn around but get in to the car and face forward. He willingly complied. The rear door opened and closed very quickly. ‘Good morning Mr Dane. You are becoming a regular. Just follow the same procedure as before please.’Clements mulled over the situation and despite himself, was overawed at how John could read Danes movements. It was almost as if the man was a bit player in some elaborate script. He had been annoyed when his boss insisted
that he wait for Danes arrival at the car park. Another murder had been committed. As John had predicted, the little journalist was one of the first to know. The boss was reading the reporter’s mind. Foretelling his next move as if he was an open book. Clements could hardly wait to hear what the little man had to say. Dane was exasperated at having to don the blindfold. ‘Why the bloody blackout? Have I not shown good faith by contacting you people, as soon as the second crime was committed?’

  ‘Security Mr Dane, you know how it is,’ smirked Billy, enjoying the journalist’s discomfort.

  ‘Security my arse,’ grumbled the little man.After taking the usual elaborate precautions, Clements delivered Walter to the safe house.

  ‘Come on then, let’s get you inside out of this rain,’ said Clements sympathetically, the morning was cold and a biting wind was belying the normal regional temperature. As if feeling the chill for the first time the reporter gave a shudder and started forward. ‘Take it easy, wait for me man. Mr A. would be far from pleased if I delivered damaged goods,’ quirked Clements, clutching the smaller man’s shoulders. ‘That’s it straight ahead, now turn a wee bit to yer right. Good, straight on now easy, two steps in front of you. That’s it, you’re becoming a right professional at this. Another two goes and you can get a shot on Blind Date.’ Dane chuckled at Billy’s remark. Despite his earlier opinion, he was beginning to warm to the younger man. ‘You’re a regular Jimmy Cricket,’ he retorted.

  ‘I wudn’t know about that. Never watch Walt Disney,’ answered Clements ensuring that he had the final word.

  ‘Ah Mr. Dane, how very good it is to see you again,’ gushed Starrett. ‘Sorry about the rush and the blindfold of course, can’t be helped I’m afraid.’

  ‘I know security,’ replied Dane tersely.

  ‘Precisely, I cannot thank you enough for your co-operation. Perhaps we shall meet face to face in happier circumstances.’

  ‘I’ll drink to that,’ agreed the reporter amiably. Starrett guided him to a seat and after ensuring that his guest was comfortable, requested Dane to begin his account of the last twenty-four hours.

  ‘I really don’t know where to start. Lets begin at the end,’ he concluded. ‘Our man contacted me twice. The second communication was verbal,’ said Dane excitedly. ‘He actually spoke to you?’ remarked Clements enthusiastically.

  ‘In a manner yes, actually to be more precise, he whispered.’

  ‘What did he say Mr Dane?’ enquired John calmly.

  ‘Why don’t you listen for yourself Mr. A.’ answered the journalist smugly, leaning awkwardly whilst fumbling in his jacket pocket for the tape. With some difficulty he finally managed to extricate the object. He held the cassette out, blindly waving it from side to side. The commander took it carefully from his grasp. In two strides he was across the floor. There was a momentary hiss before the killer’s disguised voice emanated from the cassette. They listened in silence as the voice admonished Walter Dane. With a click the message terminated and began to rewind.

  ‘Who else has heard this tape Mr. Dane?’ enquired John.

  ‘No one, I contacted you as soon as I received it.’

  ‘Thank you Mr. Dane, it is gratifying to see that you are keeping up your end of the bargain. I’m sure you are feeling uncomfortable with that bag over your head. We have made a copy of the tape. You can take the original with you when you leave. We don’t want you withholding evidence from the law, do we?

  ‘Is that it then?’ asked a bemused Walter Dane.

  ‘For the time being yes, we will get in touch with you soon. In the meantime just follow the usual procedure and do not fail to contact us should something unusual arise. We have to assess the message, see if we can glean an edge from this.Thank-you Mr. Dane. I look forward to speaking to you again very soon.’

  The reporter picked up on Starrett’s tone that told him his services were no longer required, for today at least. Clements returned after depositing the journalist at his car.

  ‘Ah Billy boy there you are. We have work to do. The tape is our first major breakthrough,’ beamed Starrett. ‘Listen.’ He replayed the recorded message.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Clements, it was amazing how John had the knack of making him feel so utterly inadequate.

  ‘This is not an Irishman son. He can try to hide it as much as he likes but he has not fooled me. It would appear that the good doctor was correct. Listen again,’ he urged. Once more the hateful whisper filled the room.

  ‘How can you be so sure John? ‘It’s impossible to pick up any kind of accent, from that.’

  ‘You’re trying very hard Billy but you’re not listening. You are on the wrong track. The clue is not in how he is speaking; it is what he is saying that is important.

  “What? Jesus I’m even more bloody confused,’ mumbled Billy.

  ‘His choice of words son. When have you ever heard an Irishman refer to another as a Paddy? Unless he’s telling a joke of course,’ offered John casually.

  ‘Jesus John, ye’re incredible. The shrink was a hundred percent, eh?’ said Clements as the penny finally dropped.

  ‘Yes it would appear so Billy, now that we know for certain, it is time to call in a few of those favours I mentioned before. It’s imperative that we get a hold of all the records of Brits. coming into and leaving the province over the last year or so. After that we can try to pick out a few who fit the bill. Once we have the ball rolling I am sure you will feel more comfortable with your lot. In the meantime we have something else to think about. Put the word around the districts. Sniff around and see if any of the local pansies have an English accent. The bastard has to be getting his info from somewhere. Maybe he’s stupid enough to be poking a local lad,’ added Starrett, with the hint of a smile.

  ‘Where’s Tommy today?Thought he’d be here this morning,’ asked Clements.

  ‘Oh he’s away on a wee errand but he will be fully briefed on today’s events. You can rest assured on that score. We need all the help we can get. Tommy will be out mustering a few volunteers. Our best chance rests with the contacts at the airports and ferries. Get unto it right away. Talk to every friend we have in the city. Don’t worry about the country districts. Our nemesis is a clever boyo. He will stay in Belfast. I’m sure of it. We have to take a chance on this. Let’s pray to God we’re right son.’ intoned Starrett earnestly.

  ‘I’ll start with a few contacts on the Shankill. See if they can come up with any ideas.Homosexuality isn’t quite my thing John.’ Clements went to great pains to let his superior know that he was a card carrying heterosexual. The subject of gays was as alien to him as a Salmon Rushdie book signing appearance in Teheran. After the door had closed Starrett chuckled, he was amused by the young man’s embarrassment. Strange how sensitive the youth was regarding other people’s opinion of him yet he would have no compunction about killing another human if ordered to do so.

  ‘What a powerful motivation this street cred can be,’ he observed aloud.

  Walter Dane returned to his office. He was annoyed with himself for being used by all and sundry. Furthermore he was upset at being such an unmitigated coward. Why could he not pluck up the courage, turn and look at his young chauffeur? The opportunity had arisen when the young man dropped him off. They need me more than I need them. There was no danger in sneaking a glimpse yet his legs turned to water when the chance had arisen. He remembered sourly the lad’s words. ‘Good man Mr Dane, now just you keep your eyes front while I get my arse into gear. That’s a good citizen, look straight ahead for two minutes and then you can go.’

  The reporter still rankled as he listened again to the coarse whisper of a murderer.Slowly he picked up the receiver and began to dial Inspector Kiever’s number. Dane was not given to profanity but as the tape reached it’s conclusion he uttered, ‘Fucking murdering bastard.’ Heads turned but Dane felt somewhat bet
ter for the outburst. ‘How are you again? Yes it’s me, the chosen one,’ he told the inspector. ‘I have just received another message. Yes I can meet you in twenty minutes. Oh by the way, lunch is on you,’ said the journalist, visualising the big detective scowling at the other end. Dane’s mood had improved, so much so that he was actually looking forward to lunch with the detective.

  Keiver was already seated when the journalist arrived. ‘I have always enjoyed dining in this restaurant, the prices are ridiculous but the food is superb. ‘Have I got news for you Jimmy,’ intimated the little man, his eyes glinting. With no encouragement from the inspector he sped straight into his story. The policeman avidly listened without interruption.

  ‘My, that’s one hell of a story Walter, I thought you were going to burst a blood vessel there. Shit and you never even took the time to study the menu. That’s hardly like you Walter. Would you mind awfully telling me how long have you have been in possession of this particular tape, Wally?’ Oh oh, here goes, he had reverted to calling him Wally. Something was terribly amiss.

  ‘Couple of hours I suppose,’ answered Dane sheepishly.

  ‘A couple of bloody hours. Why in hells name did you not call me sooner? growled the policeman, his huge pudding shaped face taking on the hue of a well-ripened tomato.

  ‘Hold on there now, take it easy Jimmy. I have a living to make just like you. I can’t be expected to run after your every bloody fart’s end. Be fair Jimmy.’

  ‘Point taken,’ grumbled the policeman. ‘We’ll finish bloody lunch, after which you are coming with me to the station.’

  ‘Shit Kiever, givus a break, I have a deadline to meet,’ pleaded the journalist.

  ‘I’ll give you a break all right. Your fucking leg you wee bollocks. Just order your lunch.By the way you’re paying. Waiter,’ he boomed, which brought a young steward scuttling to the table. ‘I’ll have a large brandy please, while my friend studies the menu.’ Kiever grinned expansively at the newsman as the boy hurried to fetch his order.