‘My but you’re the grouchy one in the mornings. My whispering I am sorry to say, is the price you must pay for selling newspapers. Have no fear Walter I would never contemplate deserting you. As a matter of fact, I hold you in the highest regard. In my opinion you are the closest thing to a human being that this God forsaken island has produced. Now stop all this nonsense and toddle off to Dungiven, there’s a good chap. Oh one more thing, no two more things. The murdering bastard had a ringside seat this time. I found it most exhilarating having him plead for his miserable life. Pathetic really, he had watched the mutilation of his entire family yet he begged me to spare him. Silly me, I thought terrorists were made of sterner stuff. It begs the question, are they all of the same ilk, snivelling cowards like him? The second thing, I don’t want you calling the police with my information Walter, you must be the first to arrive at the phone box. If I see the RUC. arriving before you do, our relationship will cease forthwith. Is that clear Walter?’
‘Yes perfectly clear,’ answered the journalist resignedly.
‘Excellent, I promise Walter that if they catch me which unfortunately for you is highly unlikely, I shall reveal the exclusive story of my fall from grace to you and you alone my friend. Goodnight.’
It was well after five am. when the reporter drove into the small town of Dungiven. He slowed to a veritable crawl as he rolled down the main street in search of the phone box. The journalist encountered the structure more or less in the centre of the town. Early morning mist hung in the air giving the scene a sinister appearance. Hammer House of Horror, the old British movie productions flashed into his head. He gave a wry smile at the thought but was held in an all-encompassing dread at what the small cubicle would reveal. ‘Why the fuck am I doing this?’ he asked himself. ‘This mad bastard could be waiting to pounce. He could cut me into little pieces if the mood takes him.’ Dane was wearing gloves for two reasons. The first one was obvious, Northern Ireland was bloody freezing at that hour. He also wore them to ensure that his fingerprints would be absent when the police forensic staff was called in to gather evidence. The usual message was painted across the dialling code index. Below were some letters and figures, presumably the latest victims’ postcode but beneath this was the name and address of Liam Farrel. Dane’s shoulders drooped. He recognised the name, remembering that he had covered the story of the terrorist’s release from prison. Fear clenched at his bowels, God what if the Preacher had chosen this family because he, Walter had brought them to the maniac’s notice. ‘Ach don’t be such an old fool,’ he admonished himself. Returning to his vehicle, the little man
took a deep breath before punching the home number of Detective Inspector Kiever.
Sleep was becoming increasingly unbearable for Moira. The nightmare was recurring, making her feel more exhausted than before she closed her eyes. She tossed and turned trying to find a softer spot in a pillow that was in fact as soft as a cloud. For the umpteenth time she scrutinised the clock which told her it was only five thirty. ‘Shit,’ she muttered, ‘I’ve no chance of catchin any sleep now.’ Laboriously she dragged her body from the bed and headed for the toilet. As she showered an impish smile played on her lips. ‘Fuck it, I’m not eatin breakfast alone.’ Having withdrawn the curtain to ascertain what the weather was doing, she dressed in warm clothing and decided to pay her sister a visit. Feeling better than she had for weeks she drove out of the city. Derry was a beautiful city. Ancient architecture intermingling with twentieth century structures gives it an atmosphere of vibrant uniqueness. Moira adored driving through it’s narrow streets unhindered by traffic but it was becoming a rare privilege. She hummed as the Craigavon Bridge disappeared behind her, already savouring the welcome and hearty breakfast she would receive from her eldest sister and family. The morning was in full swing as she drove into her sister’s driveway and she stopped to listen to the bird’s cheerful trilling. Moira smiled to see that lights were already burning in the house. Wanting to surprise her sister she crept past the front windows making her way to the rear of the cottage. Strange, the door was ajar even though the temperature was little above freezing outside. Her world shattered as she entered the kitchen. Sally, Gina’s youngest was pinned to the kitchen table, the parody of a smile on her elfin face where her mouth had been sliced to meet her ears. She wanted to scream but it came out like the croak of an ageing crow. Moira stood shaking her head. Was this the extension of her nightmare? Slowly she passed the small figure averting her eyes. The horror was beyond comprehension. There was a squelching sound as the soles of her shoes slapped through congealing blood. A sickly sweet odour pervaded the air and a red pool was oozing under the door leading to the rest of the house. Reluctantly she forced herself to open it and caught her first glimpse of the entrance to Hades. All control of her faculties departed, she fainted falling headlong into the gore.
A four-storey office block looked down upon a small garden that was tastefully landscaped adding to the architect’s creation of a functional yet understated working environment. Clements nudged his colleague drawing Tullen’s attention to a mosaic pool the centre piece of which was a minuscule King Neptune. Overfed goldfish swam around uncaring as the mythical figure pissed upon them. They chuckled in unison like kids who had caught a glimpse of their teacher’s knickers. Introducing themselves as police officers to an officious receptionist, they were informed that Mr. Howlet was expecting them. ‘You can go right up. Take the lift to the second floor and his office is third right,’ she informed them through a pert mouth whose smile appeared to be painted on.
‘Thank-you so very much miss. It is a rare pleasure to find efficiency mixed with a pleasant manner.
‘Why thank-you sir, how nice of you to say so,’ replied the girl coyly.
‘Not at all, the pleasure was all mine. Credit where credit is due Sonia,’ said Clements gallantly.
‘If I can be of any further assistance sir.’
‘Absolutely not, you have already given up too much of your valuable time,’ interrupted Connor. Clements pulled a face as Tullen turned from the desk inveigling the girl into an involuntary giggle.
‘Come on then we haven’t got all day,’ urged Tullen.
Howlet was waiting at the lift, obviously informed of their progress. Thrusting out a hand, he introduced himself, ‘Howlet, you must be the men from the special branch. This way please,’ he ordered, striding along the corridor. Clements cringed at the little man’s public school accent. They followed him into his office where, once inside, he positioned himself upon the seat of power. Both visitors were taken aback by his miraculous rise in stature. Clements had to bite his lip to refrain from laughing aloud because Howlet’s chair was easily six inches higher than those in front of his desk. ‘Now how can I be of assistance gentlemen?’ he offered, his face set in stone.
‘Firstly let me say how grateful we are to you for seeing us at such short notice. You are obviously a very busy man.’
‘Oh that is quite all right. I know where my duty lies, fire away,’ he said, sanctimoniously.
‘Just a few routine questions,’ began Tullen. ‘Have you had occasion to visit Northern Ireland in the recent past sir?’ he enquired officiously.
‘No sorry, have to admit that I have never been there. Too damned scared of the place if you don’t mind me saying,’ replied Howlet. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘No particular reason sir. Mrs. Leonard says that Jason was a member of your cricket team. How well did you know him?’
‘Not all that well really. He was a bright lad as I recall. Impeccable manners, a credit to his poor parents.’ Howlet had the habit off clipping his sentences in staccato fashion, as if he only had enough breath for a few words at a time. ‘Damn good bowler. Quick as lightning.’
‘Do you recall if he had any close friends at all?’ enquired Clements.
‘Well actually I hate gossip but he was rather close to Nat
han Black.’
‘Nathan Black?’ repeated Clements, jotting down the name. ‘Exactly what did you mean by gossip Mr. Howlet,’ asked Tullen.
‘Look this is rather awkward. After all the boy is dead and raking over the past can only cause more pain to his mother and father,’ Howlet uttered uneasily, his superior manner had deserted him.
‘Please believe me Mr. Howlet, anything that you tell us will be treated in strictest confidence. Our job is to tie up loose ends. As you can imagine a case of this nature is an incredible burden on our resources, not to mention the cost to the treasury. I should not be telling you this sir but I can see that you are a man to be trusted. Please do not repeat it to another person. We believe that Jason was targeted for termination by an IRA. spy on the mainland. Anything that you tell us may help to catch the bugger, so please bare with us,’ lied Tullen.
‘Okay, there was talk, hell more than talk. Black and the boy had a relationship. They lived together. As far as I can tell, his parents had no knowledge of their co-habitation.’
‘By co-habitation you are implying that they had a homosexual relationship?’ interjected Clements, his eyes glinting.
‘That is the rumour,’ said Howlet, ‘A frightful business, Jason was only seventeen then, no more than a boy. Nathan resigned from the club after one of the members confronted him with it. That is all I can tell you regarding a er, rather distasteful episode. The next we heard was of the boy’s death in Ireland. I know it’s a cliché but you can never really believe that such things are going on until it happens to an acquaintance. His parents were devastated as you can imagine and it brought the club members down to earth with a bump. Needless to say how very sorry we all were and personally I break out in goose bumps every time I read or hear of a murder over there. You may not believe this but we on the mainland share the deepest sympathy with you in these troubled times.’
‘That is kind of you Mr. Howlet. It is always a tragedy when a life is lost and I can assure you that we are doing our utmost to bring the murderers to book. You have been most helpful and once again let me apologise for usurping your valuable time,’ said Tullen.
‘Any time gentlemen, I only hope that my input has been of help,’ replied Howlet rising. He offered his hand again before showing the two Irishmen the door.
Only the sound of the lift was audible as they descended to the foyer. Months of painstaking and often infuriating enquiry had come to fruition. Broad, contented grins swam on the faces of both men as they exited the building. ‘We’ve
fuckin got the bastard,’ Clements was the first to speak.
‘It certainly looks that way Billy. Fuck the bosses this really is a day for celebration. What say we go and get well and truly plastered,’ laughed Tullen.
‘Fuckin apt, the question is, where can a man get a decent drink in this hole?’
‘On second thoughts, it may be better if we head for home. After we report in we can slip the leash and hit the town. The sooner they start the hunt for Mr. Black the better,’ said Tullen sensibly. ‘We can’t sit on this information a minute longer Billy.’
‘Sorry te disagree with ye but our business over here is only just beginnin.’
‘How do ye mean?’ asked Connor warily.
‘What I mean is that we should find the prick and finish it now.’
‘Hold on there Billy, he may not be the right man, besides the brass may have some other plans for him. My vote is te go back, speak te the bosses and let them decide what the next move will be.’
‘Aye I suppose yer right,’ Clements reluctantly agreed. ‘That’s it then, back te the digs have a spot of lunch and if we’re lucky we may just catch the three o’clock shuttle.’ I’d rather get blocked in Belfast anyway,’ he added.
A message was awaiting them upon their return to the hotel. A contact number was left for
Tullen at reception. He walked down the street to a public call box and dialled the number. Recognising the coarse voice of the old man who had picked them up at Heathrow, Connor asked what the breach of security was about. ‘Where the fuck have yous been?’ growled the other.
‘Hey hold on there auld hand, we have work te do over here ye know. We weren’t sent over te suss out the tourist hot spots,’ retorted Tullen.
‘Somethin’s come up,’ said the other mildly.
‘Oh aye and what might that be, yer breakfast?’ chuckled Connor.
‘Ye’re a fuckin riot. Have ye not seen the news?’ snarled the little man his agitation once again to the fore.
‘Naw, what’s wrong?’ asked Tullen soberly.
‘Yer man’s bin at his work again. Seems he topped a family in Londonderry.’ Tullen’s face was ashen as he replaced the receiver. His head was buzzing; the euphoria of earlier squeezed from him, like air from a punctured tyre. ‘Oh no,’ he muttered, ‘We’re too late.’
They separated at the airport, each man had been ordered to his respective camp. Tullen was driven immediately to a meeting with Peter Daley. Realising that this was not standard procedure, he feared the worst. An air of gloom greeted him as he entered the room. His superior, usually up-beat was sitting morosely alone in the corner. ‘Bad news Con, I think ye should have a drink before I begin.’
‘Cut the crap Peter, what’s up?’
‘Get a drink Con, I won’t start until yer sat down,’ wearily Tullen complied. After sitting grim faced opposite his superior, he downed a shot of whiskey. Satisfied, Daley began, ‘It’s yer girl con, it’s Moira.’ Colour drained from his face as a terrible dread threatened to overwhelm him.
‘Tell me Peter, what is it, she’s not…’
‘God no, slow down son, the wee girl’s fine, well under the circumstances she is. She discovered the bodies. The preacher paid her sister a visit. I’m afraid that he has murdered the whole family. Her sister was married te Liam Farrel, they found his body as well. The poor bastard was unrecognisable. Any way the cops found Moira wanderin around in a daze. The house was a blood bath and as ye can guess, she is in a bad way.’
‘Where is she now? I have te go te her.’
‘It’s not that easy Con, I don’t think they’ll let ye see her.’
‘Hello, Hello is that you Nathan, Howlet here, Walter Howlet.’
‘Ah yes Walter, how are you old man? Long time no see. How can I help you?’
‘It’s nothing really, I was just calling to let you know that you may be getting a visit. Special branch no less.’ Alarm bells immediately began ringing. For the first time since his evil quest had began, Nathan Black felt what it was like to be afraid. ‘What in the lord’s name are you prattling on about Walter,’ he blustered, fighting down the panic.
‘I had a visit from two Irish policemen yesterday. Said they were from special branch. It was in connection with young Leonard’s murder. They intimated that his friends could possibly shed some light on his death. I gave them your name and they said that they would be calling on you soon. When I asked them how Jason’s acquaintances could help with their enquiries, they said that it would help tidy up a few loose ends, whatever that was supposed to mean. Anyway forewarned and all that.’
‘Perhaps they are closing in on the bastard who murdered him,’ offered Black.
‘I certainly hope so. I know it was a terrible shock to you in particular er, I mean you and the boy were pretty thick. How are you coping?’ We never seem to see each other nowadays.’
‘Look Walter much as I would like to chat I’m snowed under trying to arrange dinner for some bloody nips, you know how it is old man, busy, busy, busy. Now that you have made the effort to contact me let’s get together for lunch. Why don’t I give you a call next week some time, okay.’
‘Looking forward to it, it’ll be like old times, well goodbye and I’ll talk to you soon.’ Nathan was relieved to here the click heralding the en
d of conversation with the horrible little man. ‘Old
times,’ he scoffed. ‘When did you and I ever have any times, young or old, you pompous little prick?’ he growled.
He stared at the mirror for an age, his mood matching his name, awaiting for his anger and misgivings to abate. Nathan had known that he was not infallible yet it was too soon. Finally he dragged himself away from the mirror. It was probably nothing, the police may indeed be asking routine questions but Black concluded that the risk was not worth taking. A conversation with the authorities may put him in a compromising situation. Contingency plans were already in place for the time when he came under suspicion. Funds had been salted into numerous bank accounts throughout the world. In effect Nathan could vanish without trace if he so desired and the moment had arisen. He allowed himself a smile as he recalled countless occasions when he had duped greedy, gullible bank officials at home and abroad. It had been a simple task to build a portfolio of bogus identities and Nathan had basked in the pleasure and intrigue. Yes he had found that it was true, people really did not give a monkey’s when they smelled the opportunity to earn a quick dollar. So long as one had a sizeable amount of hard currency to invest, blind eyes were turned as easily as cream in the Tropics. Finances were the least of his worries. There was still the small matter of his accidental demise to fabricate. Nathan had long since developed the plan to bring about his premature end. He had surreptitiously scoured the gay scene for some time, cultivating new relationships but above all seeking a man of similar height and build as himself. The unfortunate person had sealed his own fate weeks earlier. Forming a relationship with the man had been a simple matter and to a certain extent a labour of love. The hapless Dornan had like many others succumbed to Black’s disarming manner. Kieran was tall, elegant, witty and ironically of Irish descent. His father hailed from the small town of Clonakilty in County Cork. As the weeks passed they grew closer. Dornan like so many others mistook Nathan’s interest in him as a sign of affection. Inevitably he fell hopelessly in love with his executioner. Their relationship was very private, as always Black insisted as much. Seldom were they seen out together and on the few times that they were, Nathan had discouraged displays of affection. At times Kieran was bewildered and hurt by his rebuffs but Nathan a past master in the art of emotional diplomacy. Papering over the cracks of a faulty relationship was his greatest gift. If his new lover became petulant or unreceptive Nathan feigned shyness embarrassment or any excuse from a vast repertoire. A bauble or trinket accompanied by a delicately worded card soon brought Dornan running. His character was an open book.
Seeds of Evil Page 33