Seeds of Evil

by Robert Kitchen

  A pleasant week was spent sightseeing. Nathan was killing time until the documents were ready. Finally the day arrived and as before he was at the bar awaiting the American, who, not content with the extra five hundred he had fleeced from the Englishman, tried to screw a few more dollars from Black. His efforts were met with derision. ‘Enough of your petty con tricks Mick. If you want to stay friendly and prolong a profitable arrangement in future, please hand me my papers. With a smile Martinez complied, ‘Can’t blame a guy for trying.’

  ‘Yes I can,’ Nathan informed him, handing over an envelope containing the cash. Martinez quickly counted the notes, ‘What is this,’ he demanded.

  ‘What is what,’ sighed Nathan.

  ‘There’s only two grand here. The price was two five and what about my commission?’ he snarled.

  ‘Did you think I came across the Atlantic on a cattle boat Mick? Now take the two grand and be happy. The going rate is closer to half what you quoted my friend and you know it, so let’s have a drink and shake on it.’’Fuck, I thought ya was too good to be true,’ sniggered Martinez. ‘Here’s to future business,’ he said raising his glass.

  ‘To future endeavour,’ said Black, clinking the proffered glass. Black left smiling and Martinez watched him leave giving a respectful shake of the head. Two days later Black landed at Belfast International airport in the guise of one Newton Amos, from Hertford Connecticut. He booked into the Europa Hotel, adding credence to his tourist guise. Four days later he had hired a car and was on the road to Derry.

  Three days after their initial enquiry the information requested filtered back to Connor and Billy. There were three possibilities, the first being Corporal Turpin, a twenty-seven year-old, recruited by the Sherwood Foresters. He was a married man with three children. The second was Jason Thomas Leonard a private with the REME. Nineteen years killed by a sniper’s bullet in Belfast. Tullen shuddered as he read the name. He recalled the night when he had snuffed out the soldier’s young life. Clements stared at him sensing the change in his demeanour. ‘Somethin the matter there Con? Ye look like ye seen a ghost.’ ‘No nothin. I was just thinkin, the guy Leonard, he was only nineteen. Bloody waste eh?’ observed Tullen in an effort to impose self-discipline.

  ‘Fuck that’s rich commin from the likes of you. He was here protectin British interests, that makes him a legitimate target accordin to yous lot, no matter what fuckin age he was,’ snapped Clements.

  ‘Ach fuckin forget I ever mentioned it,’ rebuffed Tullen. The third was a twenty-year-old Scot named Macbride who had been lured away by a female in the border area. His naked body had been found severely mutilated days after his abduction. ‘Only three,’ said Clements casually, ‘And only two fit the bill. I’m not so sure about the last eejit either; Christ he risked life and limb te get his leg over. He doesn’t sound like a turd puncher te me. As regards the married guy, I’ve heard tell of some bein closet poofs but in the army as well, it’s highly unlikely. No my money’s on the youngest one, what’s his name Leonard. I think we’ve hit the jackpot Con me boy.’ A cold chill gripped Tullen at the mention of the boy’s name. What was happening? First he teams up with Clements and now this. Was God having some kind of sick joke at his expense? Or had this young man come back from the grave to haunt him? Why was I chosen? he pondered. He relived the evening of the boy’s death. His mind was tormented by the tall figure in the cross hairs of his weapon. He gave a start as he heard the crash of the rifle. God was he losing his mind. And what of their nemesis The Preacher, was he Tullen, responsible for unleashing the monster on the innocent citizens of Ulster? His ears were ringing; he was reliving his worst nightmare. ‘Did ye not hear me Con? What the fuck’s the matter with ye?’ Are ye sick or somethin?’ queried Clements with suspicion. His colleagues change of mood had not passed unnoticed.

  ‘Naw the name rings a bell. I remember the day after he got topped. They showed a picture of him on TV, he looked so young. I remember sayin at the time. What’s a kid like that doin over here? What a fuckin waste,’ he repeated.

  ‘What now Billy? Where do we go from here?’ said Tullen wearily.

  ‘It looks like you an me’s off on a wee jaunt to the big smoke. Have a word we the boy’s folks. Who knows what we’ll turn up?’

  Ecstatic is an inferior adjective to describe Starrett’s mood, as he listened with growing excitement to Clements’ theory concerning the connection between the murdered soldier and the Preacher. ‘Brilliant Billy boy, absolutely brilliant. It all fits like a jigsaw puzzle. Do ye remember the first murder Billy? The Blackmore family,’ prompted Starrett. It cannot be a coincidence. The boy’s name was Jason, the same as the young squaddie.’

  ‘Fuck me that’s right, shit I had forgot,’ agreed Clements excitedly.

  ‘It is all beginning to fit. You and your republican confederate have been busy, no doubt about that son,’ said the commander. ‘For the first time we have a glimmer of hope. If your theory proves to be correct and there is no doubt that it is, then we have a tangible lead to the identity of the murdering bastard. Call it intuition but I think that young Jason is the reason behind his madness. I agree, you and your mate must leave for the mainland tomorrow. With any luck we will pick up a hot trail. I Pray to the Lord that you are right with your assumptions,’ concluded Starrett solemnly. He watched as Clements departed before putting through a call to England. ‘Hello, Carter, how are you my boy? How is life treating you in that den of iniquity,’ he chuckled.

  Without waiting for the other to reply he continued, ‘Listen Carter, your young friend Billy Clements will be arriving on your doorstep tomorrow. I want you to keep an eye on him. No, no he must not be approached, be sure to keep a low profile. He has a Mickey in tow. I want you to pay particular attention to him. Be sure that you know his face as if it were your own. In the near future you may have to bid him an eternal farewell. Do you get my drift?’ There was muffled laughter from the other end. ‘Well it’s been nice talking to you again Carter, be sure to stay in touch.’ An evil grin broke the contours of Starrett’s face as he re-cradled the receiver. , Yes indeed Mr. Whatever your name is, your number is most definitely up.’

  The one o’clock shuttle to Heathrow arrived on time. As Connor and Billy entered the main arrival hall they were greeted by a wizened old man with a broad Northern Ireland accent. ‘How’s it goin there lads?’ he enquired. ‘I’ve bin requested te pick yous up. The man says that I have te extend the greatest courtesy to yous,’ he added. Clements nodded in reply. The old man shrugged and made his way toward the exit, followed at a distance by the others. He led them to a short stay car park where he had left ancient Volkswagen Beetle. ‘Hey yous don’t say much. How goes it over there?’ he asked, trying to strike up a conversation. His efforts were in vain as no reply was forthcoming. ‘Fair nough,’ he muttered. ‘Yous is booked in at the Quality Inn near Hillingdon. ‘There’s a car hired for yis at the hotel. Yer booked in under the names of White and Charles. Ask reception for messages. The keys to the jalopy are in an envelope addressed to Mr. White. Got that?’ he asked. Clements nodded, Tullen ignored the man completely. Shortly after they were safely ensconced, Clements dialled Jason’s parents’ home number and arranged a meeting for later that evening.

  Bed and breakfast houses are the cheapest and in the opinion of many, the best accommodation in Ireland. They are not exactly five star but the welcome one receives is far superior to the plastic greeting of large hotel groups. Another advantage they have over hotels is their relative privacy. A person once booked in, can come and go as one pleases. Black was clever in choosing one because he was aware that most hotels in the province were kept under some sort of surveillance. It was virtually impossible to keep a constant watch on what amounted to tens of thousands of the smaller type of accommodation. Nathan opted for a comfortable, if small, residence in the village where the Farrels lived. He could not believe his good fortune to
see the vacancy sign Illuminated in the window of a boarding house not two hundred yards from the Farrel’s home. It was owned by a pleasant widow who fussed over her guests in a manner bordering on obsession. She adored Americans and let him know it. So well mannered and never a moments worry for her. If she was twenty years younger she would sell up and move lock stock and barrel over to the States. Nathan played the role of the American gentleman, complimenting her on her well-kept property. The old dear, duly flattered, handed him a front door key and left him to his own devices. He had spun the old girl a yarn about a great grandfather who had settled in the States. He fabricated a story about how his antecedent had married his childhood sweetheart, a girl from Limavady before sweeping her away to the new world. The woman, who had heard different versions of the same story countless times, listened politely to his narration. She wished him luck on his quest to find his ancestors, excused herself and set off for the supermarket. Black had enjoyed reeling off such rubbish. It brought out the imp in him. He had loved dressing up in his days of amateur dramatics and in many ways regretted not having gone professionally into the theatre. The old dear seemed to have swallowed his story hook, line and sinker, which pleased him immensely. His parody of the boring Yank had worked a treat and just to be absolutely sure, he blustered around the house drawing her into conversation whenever possible. It was no surprise when he caught her tiptoeing past his room in an obvious attempt to evade him. To have the woman avoiding him at

  all costs had been his main objective and he was pleased to see that it had worked admirably.

  Evening fell and Black was in a wonderful frame of mind. With a flourish he set off to take his first peek at the Farrel household.

  Years of practice in the art of surveillance gave Carter Fairchilds the confidence to follow Clements and Tullen with a minimal fear of detection. He watched as they entered the underground station at Hillingdon. Giving a wry smile, the giant returned to his vehicle. No need to take the same tube and risk discovery, he decided. After all he had a better than average idea of their destination. Smart move on their part leaving the hired car in the hotel parking area, he observed grudgingly. In his experience it was always easier to detect a tail that was following on foot. Because of the sheer bulk of the man, entering the car was always ungainly. He knocked his head on the doorframe as he entered and with a curse of exasperation vowed to trade the vehicle for a larger model and hang the expense. Fairchilds was a careful man. He fumbled around inside rearranging the rear-view mirror, adjusting the seat belt, looking over his shoulder but the preparations were a pretext. He was taking in the complete scene and in particular any parked vehicles. Only one car was occupied, and that by an elderly lady who was fussing with a lipstick. Satisfied that he was not the subject of surveillance, he put the car into gear and drove off. As he pulled away from the occupied car he kept a tight watch on it. He had never seen or heard of a pensioner in the game but you never know. The old lady’s car stayed rooted to the spot. Fuck Carter, you are becoming paranoid man, he mentally chastised himself and with a sheepish smile, headed in the direction of the Leonard household. Traffic was light and he made good time, arriving a little more than twenty minutes ahead of his quarry. He drove past the house casually peering at the front door. He was seeking an advantageous point from where he could observe the coming and goings to the dwelling. Fairchilds eyes positively lit as he found a small café on the corner. Whistling an Ulster marching tune, he entered the establishment. He glanced around the dining area once before selecting a table by the window. Presently a bored waitress approached him presumably to take his order. ‘Good evening my dear. Would you be so kind as to fetch me a menu and a smile to accompany it,’ he added with a wide grin. ‘Pardon?’ replied the waitress. Fairchilds sustained the smile as he read the plastic decal pinned to the girl’s breast pocket. ‘A menu please Amy, if it’s not to much trouble and tell me to mind my own business but why is such a beautiful woman, such as yourself, looking so glum?’ The girl brightened at the compliment. God but he was a big one and ten, no fifteen years her senior but his accent was adorable. Amy was immediately interested as she was a fool for large men being almost six foot herself. With a flash of white teeth she returned his smile all semblance of boredom cast firmly aside. ‘Is that an Irish accent?’ she enquired. ‘Indeed it is not my girl, it is an Ulster accent and an awful burden it is too,’ he added.’It is not, as a matter of fact, I find it quite sexy,’ she told him boldly.

  ‘I’ve never heard of it described as sexy before but I’ll take that as a compliment. Thank-you very mush Amy, you have made my day. I don’t mean to be rude but I am absolutely famished, would you mind awfully if I peruse the menu.’

  ‘Oh sorry I’ll fetch one right away. Be with you in a second sir,’ she flustered.

  ‘Take it easy love and please call me Carter. To my recollection I have not been knighted but there’s hope yet I suppose,’ said Fairchilds, laying on the Irish charm thicker than cement.

  ‘I’m Amy, Oh but you know that already,’ said the girl blushing and turning to fetch the menu. She was back in an instant holding out the card like an offering to the gods. Carter glanced at it before ordering a pepperoni pizza and coke. ‘Quick as you can now Amy darlin, if it’s not too much trouble.’

  ‘No trouble at all sir,’ she was virtually purring.

  ‘Ach would you forget about that sir business. You know I’m not a knight. Perhaps I look like a schoolteacher,’ he added, enjoying the banter.

  ‘Oh I don’t know about that Carter,’ she replied, emphasising Carter, ‘I bet you could teach a girl a thing or two,’ she smirked, flirting unashamedly.

  ‘Now that would depend on the girl Amy, she would have to be a willing student, if you know what I mean,’ he rejoined with a leer.

  ‘Perhaps we could discuss lessons after you’ve eaten your pizza,’ she said cheekily.

  ‘Now that would be a fine way for us to get acquainted. What time do you get off love?’

  ‘I don’t get off until two,’ she replied, wrinkling a dimple on her left cheek.

  ‘Doesn’t leave a lot of time for preliminaries does it now? I have a bit of business to attend to tonight but I’m sure it will be finalised long before that. What do you say I pick you up after work and give you a ride home?’

  ‘I’d say you were a wee bit forward,’ she answered, giggling as she mimicked his Ulster accent.

  ‘Well now you’re a regular colleen so you are but does that mean yes or no darlin?’ he asked with a grin.

  ‘I suppose it’s yes but make sure you get here on time, I don’t relish the thought of hanging around here at two in the morning.’

  ‘I promise to be here at five to two. Your boss is looking a wee bit miffed,’ he warned, nodding in the direction of a sour faced continental who was scowling at them from his position behind the till.

  ‘Ah bugger him,’ she whispered. ‘Be sure to enjoy your meal sir,’ she added theatrically. Fairchilds scrutinised the street, barely looking at the contents on his plate, as he hungrily devoured the meal. Here they are, he observed with satisfaction. You are becoming too predictable Billy boy, he thought, as he watched Clements and his compatriot come strolling down the street. The house was barely thirty yards from the café and he had a birds-eye view of the scene. He estimated that the interrogation of the Leonards should take twenty minutes, thirty maximum. What did it matter? He was in no hurry. He took time savouring the pizza, which was surprisingly good. With a wave of the hand in Amy’s direction he raised himself from the chair and headed for the café’s entrance. On the table he left cash for the bill and a handsome tip for the girl. She smiled as she pocketed the blue note and with renewed vigour, set about clearing the table. Amy was not the same girl who had came on shift a few hours earlier.

  The Leonard’s residence was a small semi, boasting a well kept, if somewhat petite, garden at the fron
t. The rear garden covered a much larger area where the couple spent most of their daylight hours, tending and enjoying it’s bounty. Working in the garden had become an escape for them. It nullified the effect of the terrible vacuum left by the loss of their only son. The pallid face of Doris Leonard opened the door to the two Irishmen. Tullen made the introductions flashing a warrant card and informing her that he and his colleague were employed by the special branch. I hate to invade upon your privacy and realise how hard it must be to have lost an only son but we believe that there were a few unexplored points during the original investigation into the death of Jason. Tullen was deliberate with the use of the dead boy,s Christian name. Staring into the destroyed face of this broken woman, Connor felt unforgivable remorse. He yearned to confess his guilt, to plead for forgiveness but instead asked permission to enter the wretched woman’s home. Upon entering he again apologised for the intrusion but explained how vital it was to them to have a detailed history of their dead son prior to his enlistment.

  ‘I am not sure I follow what you mean,’ said Mrs. Leonard, ushering them into her tastefully decorated lounge. ‘Samuel dear, these gentlemen are from the police in Ireland,’ she said, by way of an introduction. The man rose. His face was a carbon copy of his wife’s. Etched with grief, his eyes sunken and dark rimmed.

  ‘We had a row you know. The last thing I did before my boy left was slap his face. May the lord forgive me,’ he muttered near to tears.

  ‘You were asking about Jason,’ said the woman, embarrassed by her husband’s display of weakness.

  ‘Yes if you could just tell us about his interests, hobbies, friends if any. Mrs. Leonard found the question strange but giving a shrug complied. Mr. Leonard on the other hand sat detached, occasionally letting out a little whimper like a frightened mouse, at the mention of his son’s name. Doris also related of their last evening together, glaring at her grief stricken husband who shrivelled before her accusing stare. With sorrow and regret she recounted the fateful evening, telling of the reason for the altercation. Dutifully she attempted to draw her husband into the conversation. ‘Tell them about the cricket Samuel.’