For Evil to Flourish

By Dubya Lorimer

A prominent politician is discovered hanged in a deserted factory. Was it suicide, as it appears, or the work of a group of vigilantes operating in the area? Police detectives Ann Morrison and Ian Hopkins investigate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBookIt.com
• Release date: Apr 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781456606756

Book preview

1797

Chapter 1

Navid Sharif was well aware that his little empire was unlikely to ever earn him a knighthood for services to the retail industry. Nor would it cause the manager of the local supermarket to lose much sleep worrying about the competition, but it was enough to provide Sharif and his family with a healthy income. The little corner shop was thriving, despite being on the edge of one of the more run-down estates in the area. It enjoyed a flurry of activity in the morning, with commuters heading for work pausing to buy their newspapers and sandwiches and drinks. Then at lunch time, hordes of schoolchildren would descend on the shop, requiring eagle eyes to prevent the mid-day profits disappearing into the pockets of errant youngsters! In the early evening, tired and harassed workers with neither the inclination nor the time to spend on preparing an evening meal would stock up on TV dinners, booze, and other staples on their way home.

During the mid-morning lull, with trade being a little more sporadic, the shop owner was finding time to chat with the elderly women he was serving.

'The grandchildren are just shooting up! I swear it's the heat out there in Spain. Of course, Gerry always complains that it's too hot,' nodding towards her husband, who was perusing the magazines on the rack next to the door, 'But even he admits that it's helped his rheumatics living there with our Victoria.'

'Is there anything you miss when you're out there?' asked the woman next in the queue, 'Because after a week on holiday, I usually have a craving for a proper bar of chocolate, or a nice bit of cheddar. I know you can get that kind of stuff in some shops, but it's never the same somehow.'

The first woman laughed, and pointed at the bag Sharif was packing,

'Two huge bars of Cadburys! They'll be the first things to go in the case this afternoon when we pack. That and some Marmite and HP sauce for himself,' with another nod to her husband, who was beginning to look restless. 'Where we stay, it's a little bit away from the main tourist trail, and not so easy to get things from home. The first thing we do when we come back here for a visit, is treat ourselves to fish and chips, with plenty of vinegar! Mmmmm. The family think we're mad!'

'Oh yes, I know exactly what you mean!' squealed the other woman, 'Every fancy variety of food you can think of, and you would kill for a real chippy. And my Jimmy, he goes mad for a pork pie with sauce! What about you, Navid, anything you miss when you visit your family?'

'Branston Pickle,' he laughed, 'And Galaxy chocolate...... although not together, of course!'

Their laughter was interrupted by an angry male voice behind them.

'Any chance of getting a bit of service around here?'

The speaker was a youth in his late teens. His scowl did nothing to enhance a thin, acne-ridden face, his chin sporting a sparse, straggly accumulation of hair purporting to be some form of beard. If it was grown in an attempt to make him appear more mature, it had to be classed as a dismal failure.

He wore a tee-shirt adorned with the legend, Sex Bomb- Handle With Care. Which implied he was either wildly optimistic, or delusional. His baseball cap identified him as an employee of a local fast food establishment, with a name tag identifying him as Jason.

The woman at the till hurriedly pulled out her purse, and started to select notes, before realising her mistake,

'Oh dear, I'm sorry, these are Euros. I've got some pounds here....'

Now flustered, she flipped open another section of her purse, and succeeded in scattering a number of photographs across the counter.

'Great! Let's all spend half an hour looking at grandma's holiday snaps, it's not like any of us have a life to get on with.' moaned the disgruntled Jason.

The elderly man by the door glowered at him from beneath bushy eyebrows,

'Manners cost nothing, you know.'

Jason turned to look at him.

He didn't register the alertness in the eyes, the boxer's nose, the still-powerful build, or the suppleness of his movement.

He just saw an old man. End off.

'Yeah, whatever, grandpa.' was his sneering response.

The first woman had finally handed over the correct money, and bustled quickly out the shop. Her husband continued to linger as the second woman handed over her cash and departed.

Now it was the impatient Jason's turn,and after handing over two pounds, was about to leave when Sharif stopped him.

'Another seven pence, please.'

'What? It's only two pounds in Tesco.'

'This isn't Tesco.' Sharif pointed out.

Angrily, Jason pulled a ten pence from his pocket, and tossed it towards Sharif. The coin bounced off the counter and landed on the floor. The shopkeeper had no intention of giving the youth the satisfaction of seeing him grovel on the floor for it, so without even bothering to look down, he took three pence from the till and held it out.

'Your change, sir.' he said.

'Stick it up your arse, you thieving paki bastard.' was Jason's response, as he headed for the door.

'Thank you sir,' said Sharif sarcastically to his departing back, 'I'll put it in the charity tin.'

Without looking round, the youth held up a hand, with one finger raised, sniggering to himself.

The last thing he expected as he pushed past the old man was an elbow to shoot out and catch him in the midriff.

'WHOOF!'

As he doubled up in pain, the old man made a casual half-turn, cupped a large hand around the nape of his neck, and smashed his face hard against the edge of a frozen food cabinet. Jason howled in agony as his nose exploded, blood splattering in all directions. Satisfied that he had made his point, the old man unhurriedly strolled outside to join his wife.

'Aaaarrgh.... Hellllpmeeegh,' spluttered Jason, 'Geeeegh neegh poleeesh!

'What did you say?' asked Sharif, as he handed him a wad of tissue.

'Poleeesh! Geeeegh hiiiim! He cried, gesticulating wildly after the old man. 'Looogh whaaagh heeegh diiigh, he added, pointing to his nose.

'Police.... why?' enquired Sharif. 'I just saw you hassling two old women, then you seemed to have slipped and hit your face, why would the police be interested?'

'Eeegh?' he spluttered, staring at the shopkeeper in disbelief. He looked around for support, but the only other customer in the shop had developed a deep fascination with the price of baked beans. As it gradually dawned on him that he was wasting his time looking for sympathy here, he swore at Sharif as best he could, then stumbled out the door.

Sharif regarded the bloody mess he had left behind with distaste, then called through to the back of the shop,

'Shareen! Could you mind the till, please, while I clean up in here.'

He glanced up at the camera on the ceiling, and thought to himself that it would be wise to wipe the security tape, just in case that little shit did call the police. The last thing he wanted was to be star witness in an assault case against Gerry Hill. He sighed heavily, and went to fetch the mop.

Julie Ross did a twirl in front of the mirror, admiring her purchases. She had never spent so much money on underwear in her life, but she was loving the look and the feel of expensive silk and lace. She did another turn, more slowly this time, making a critical examination of her body, pinching herself here, and squeezing there, before deciding she was well pleased with the effects of recent months attending the gym. Not too bad, she thought to herself, not too bad at all.

The sound of a vehicle outside made her peek out the gap in the curtains. Allan had just pulled up in his pickup truck. Quickly, she stripped off, returned the new underwear to the bag, and kicked it under the bed. By the time her husband had pushed the bedroom door open, she was back in familiar bra and pants, matching only insofar as many trips through the washing machine had given them a uniform shade of pale grey.

Seeing her bend over to pull on a comfy pair of jogging pants, he wolf-whistled, and gave her a playful slap on her behind.

'Behave yourself!' she admonished him, but smiled and gave him a welcoming peck on the cheek as she straightened up. 'The kids are just through there, and dinner's nearly ready, so forget it! Don't be too long with your shower.'

After slipping on a clean tee-shirt, she headed downstairs, with just a quick glance to check that the Victoria's Secrets bag was out of sight beneath the bed. It's contents were not intended for Allan's eyes.

Gavin Ward was enjoying a peaceful and dreamless sleep before being rudely dragged from the arms of Morpheus by his wife digging her elbow in his ribs. It took a second jolt to produce a noticeable reaction.

'What!'

'There's somebody outside.' she whispered.

It was a warm evening, the window facing onto the rear garden was slightly open, the curtains moving lazily in the slight breeze, but despite straining his ears, he could hear nothing.

'Are you su..... Ouch!' He received another dig in the ribs.

'Shsss!' she hissed.

Suddenly, he heard it, a tell-tale scraping, and a familiar metallic rattle. He recognised the sounds.

'It's the ladders, someone's trying to steal my new ladders!'

Suddenly wide awake, Ward headed for the window and threw open the curtains.

'What the bloody hell!!!'

He found himself face to face with a total stranger clinging to the top of his precious ladders, clearly about to climb in the window. For a moment they stared at each other, then suddenly the stranger started to descend as speedily as possible.

'Oh no you don't,' yelled Ward, pulling the window fully open and trying to grab him. As the would-be burglar wriggled free, Ward pushed the ladder away in frustration. There was a strange howl which ended abruptly with a crash.

'Uh-oh,' he muttered to himself, fearing the worst, then was almost relieved to hear swearing and groaning rising out of the gloom.

'Phone the police, love,' Ward said as he hurriedly dressed, then, as an afterthought,

'Maybe better tell them to send an ambulance as well.'

Ward was sitting in his kitchen giving his statement to one of the policemen, explaining that the ladders were normally locked in the garage, but had been left in the back garden that night.

'I was going to finish repairing the roof tomorrow, I never thought for a minute some spawny-eyed wazzock would have the audacity to climb over the fence, let alone have the brass neck to try and climb up to the window. Good job the wife's a light sleeper.'

'They could have dumped him on the floor and stolen the bed,' his wife confirmed, 'And he'd still be snoring away in the morning!'

'Well, anyway, I got to the window, and there he was, this clown trying to climb in! So I made a grab for him, but he got away, and next thing, he's flat out in the middle of the rose bed, squealing like a pig.'

'And you actually pushed the ladders over, while he was on them?' the policeman enquired.

Ward caught his wife's warning look just in time.

'Nooo..... not really. They kind of..... fell over. Sort of.'

As Ward squirmed, the second policeman tapped on the back door, and called his colleague outside. They conferred for a minute or so, then both came inside, looking slightly embarrassed.

'The ambulance has just left, they're taking the fellow to the hospital, but he was fit to give a statement, and I'm sorry Mr Ward, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to caution you with regard to this incident'

'What do you mean? Why would you want to caution me, what have I done?'

'Believe it or not, this lad is denying everything, and claiming you assaulted him.' he raised a placatory hand as the couple started to protest, 'Yes, I know it's nonsense, and will probably never get near court, but it's not for me to decide.'

'You are kidding me! No way, he's lying through his teeth!'

'Just the same, Mr Ward, until the full facts are established, we have to follow procedure.'

Magnanimously, they decided it would not be in the public interest to take any action against Mrs Ward for launching a pair of fluffy slippers at the patrol car as they drove away.

Chapter 2

It would probably be fair to say that James Wellington, Member of Parliament, was unlikely to ever regard this evening as one of the high spots of his political career. He surveyed the venue with a jaundiced eye, taking in the public hall of a drab, grey civic centre, built back in the days when a weather stained concrete block was considered the very pinnacle of architectural design.

A thing of beauty, to be admired for generations to come.

Not.

Tonight it hosted a community forum where members of the public could voice their concerns about local issues to Wellington, Council Chairman Raymond Eades, Superintendent Alex Campbell and community police officer, P.C. Amrita Bachchan.

With government cutbacks affecting so many local jobs and services, Wellington was finding himself to be the whipping boy this evening, berated for every unpopular decision the government had made recently.

In an attempt to shift the focus to more popular initiatives, he made much of the plans to come down hard on the dole cheats and others abusing the benefits system in order to free up funds for the genuinely needy in the area, but even this was not received with the enthusiasm he was accustomed to from the party faithful.

His mood took a further nosedive when he saw the next speaker get to his feet.

Keith Boswell was his arch-rival. Both men had trained as lawyers before entering the political arena, though Wellington's firm had always pursued a considerably more affluent client base than Boswell, who took pride in the fact that he was more likely to represent those receiving legal aid.

The latter had previously held the position of local MP currently occupied by Wellington, and his narrow defeat following a recount clearly still rankled, adding to the antipathy between the pair.

But Wellington didn't just dislike Boswell because of his political views, or the fact that he was younger, taller and better looking, (Wellington had been known to sneer that Boswell was caught in a love triangle between himself, a television camera and a sun bed).

And it wasn't that he was infuriated by the fact that Boswell revelled in his self-proclaimed status as The people's champion, Fighting on behalf of the poor and the weak and the discriminated against.

Whether they wanted him to or not.

No, it was the fact that Boswell seemed to have a particular issue with Wellington, and never, ever missed an opportunity to have a personal dig at him, taking great delight in portraying him as the very epitome of capitalist greed and selfishness that made his blood boil.

'Here we go again, another Marxist rant about the poor and oppressed' he muttered to Superintendent Campbell, who was sitting on his left.

Tall and cadaverous, and with a polished dome, the Superintendent's oversized ears had inevitably led to the nickname of Wingnut amongst his men. He gave no sign whatsoever that he had even heard the remark.

As much a bloody politician as any of us, thought Wellington sourly, as Boswell began to address the meeting.

'I think we can understand James Wellington's obsession with criminalising these single mothers who failed to disclose a couple of hours working in a shop or pub to buy a few Christmas presents for her kids.'

'Or the widow letting out a room on the quiet to try to eke out her pension so that she can eat, and heat the house.'

'After all, these leeches, these...... vile parasites, are costing the country, what is it again?........ about a billion pounds a year!'

'Of course we should be throwing the book at these scavengers,' he continued, allowing more than a hint of sarcasm to creep into his tone, ' They're just a bunch of damned thieves!'

'Oh yes, I think we can imagine James' supporters in the leafy suburbs, husband and wife sitting in their designer kitchen, reading the morning paper, and being totally indignant when they read about some guy on disability allowance who 'forgot' to mention that he was fit to go back to work again.'

'A damned disgrace', they'll say, (mimicking a posh accent) 'As taxpayers,that's our money he's stealing!'

A baleful glance up at Wellington on the platform.

'They conveniently forget, of course, that since he started his small company, his wife has been paid a healthy salary as a 'secretary' while barely working a handful of days a year, her car is paid for by the company, the main shopping is done at the cash & carry, paid by the company credit card, they put a computer on a desk in the spare room so they can call it an office and claim household bills as business expenses.......'

Wellington was trying to protest that all that was irrelevant to the purpose of tonight's meeting, but Boswell was not for stopping.

'...... sticking as much of the pre-tax profits into their personal pension schemes as they can get away with, while of course, the two weeks in the Caribbean is claimed as a 'business trip', taking friends to the rugby, or a spa hotel is claimed as 'corporate entertaining', the horse box taking the kids to the gymkhana is claimed as a 'delivery truck' and the yacht goes through the books as a bulldozer or something like that!

It turns out that these pillars of society are, according to the Inland Revenue, costing the honest taxpayers amongst us tens of billions,' He paused for effect, 'Yes, that's tens of billions of pounds more in unpaid and avoided tax than the so-called scroungers at the bottom of the heap, and yet what does James Wellington intend to do about this respectable and acceptable form of theft?',

'Not a damned thing, because they are the people keeping him in his job, and the last thing they want is to change a system which blatantly favours the 'haves' over the 'have nots'!'

He sat down to a very satisfying round of applause while Wellington struggled to be heard as he tried to point out that guidelines regarding taxable expenses were currently being reviewed, and that entrepreneurs had to be encouraged and supported in order to promote growth and create employment. But Boswell was already back on his feet.

'I'm simply pointing out that a perfectly fair, valid and justifiable system has been so widely abused that many in the business community don't even believe that they are doing anything wrong.

It is fundamentally unfair that the pay of the ordinary man or woman on the street has been taxed before they see it, after which they pay household bills, and then they may try to run a car, and if they're lucky, there's may be something left over for a holiday. Most of these things will include secondary taxes, like VAT, fuel duty, etcetera.

Many businessmen, on the other hand, expect all of their household costs, cars, holidays, and anything else they can think of to be paid for before they start to pay any tax.'

'But you have to remember, Mister Boswell,' Wellington angrily retorted, 'That these people are creating the jobs that allows the man in the street to pay for a car or a holiday......'

'If you don't mind gentlemen!' interrupted Councillor Eades, 'Could I just remind you that we are here to discuss local concerns, not issues that can only be resolved at national level.'

The two political adversaries reluctantly backed off, and the meeting returned to more mundane matters.

Barely a mile from the civic centre, a couple in the back of a Porsche sports car untangled their limbs, and tried to get their breath back after their exertions in the confined space. She suddenly giggled.

'What is it?' he asked

'This is ridiculous at my age, in the back of a car for goodness sake!'

'Oh, feeling your age, are you? You must be older than I thought, what are you, forty five, fifty?'

'Pig! She poked him in the ribs. 'Nowhere near it!'

He chose not to say that he knew perfectly well she was forty one on March the twelfth.

After a moments silence he said,

'I'm sorry, but you know how it is, I have to be seen to be whiter than white, try not to give you-know-who any ammunition, at least until access to the kids is sorted.'

'It's okay. darling, I understand, especially with the problems at your office at the moment. I really wish you would at least let me help you there.'

'No!' Then realising he may have sounded a little harsh, he said,

'I'm sorry, but what we have is precious to me, I believe that this really could be a Happy ever after kind of thing, and somehow I don't want to risk....' He searched for the word, '...... tainting it by allowing my work to intrude. Especially as it could get you into trouble. We'll sort out the problems at work eventually'

He gave her a tired smile,

'I have a friend with a cottage we might be able to borrow, if you were interested?'

'I might be.' she answered coyly.

'We'll see what we can arrange then, shall we.'

She kissed him, a slow lingering kiss. He took that as a yes.

At the public meeting, Allan Ross felt he was slowly losing the will to live. The discussion had moved on to the condition of the local roads, after which every aspect of bin collection issues and pharmacy opening times had been argued over in considerable depth. Finally, though, they moved on to petty crime in the area, and he started to show an interest in proceedings.

Tall and fairly muscular, he had been brought up in the area, and was known to be handy with his fists. Not that he made a habit of starting fights, but he had been known to finish a few in his time. He therefore wasn't the type who worried much about being a target for muggers and the like. And when he walked round to the row of shops that some of the older people regarded as a no-go area because of the youths hanging around, he never had any trouble.

He didn't bother them, and they didn't dare bother him.

Nor did he regard vandalism or petty crime as much of a problem for him. Nowadays he lived in a private house in one of the nicer streets with wife Julie and their kids, Mandy and John. They had a garage at the side of the house, a nice sized garden and good neighbours. He pretended to himself that playing football for the Cross Keys pub football team on a Sunday afternoon kept him fit and healthy. Steady jobs for both Julie and himself meant they could afford a big television and holidays abroad. All in all, he was fairly content with his lot in life.

His parents, though, were a different story, still living in their old council house in Mill Street, with junkies and drunks and joyriders causing a regular nuisance in the area. He despaired sometimes at the tales they would tell him about break-ins and stabbings, gangs fighting in the street, of their fear of leaving the house at night.

Although he dreaded speaking in public, he stood up and waited his turn, until eventually Councillor Eades invited him to address the meeting.

'I'd like to know when the police and the council are going to do something to help the people in the Craigends area? My folks live in Mill Street, and they can't get peace to sleep at night for young ones riding motorbikes up and down the lane at the back of the house, fighting each other, and giving the old ones a hard time. Not to mention junkies leaving needles around and drunks spewing and crapping in the gardens.

The annoying thing is, if they do any thing to try and help themselves, they just get into trouble for it. A few weeks ago some of the neighbours got together, and built a gate across the back lane, with a key for every house in the street, so that only the ones who lived there could get in. Next thing someone from the council turned up, and tried to make them take it down because it was public land, which we managed to discover was a load of nonsense. And then the council said, Well, you still have to take it down because it's blocking access to emergency vehicles. Which is bullshit because it's too narrow and most of the time it's blocked anyway by kids running cars down it till they get jammed, and then they set light to them!'

When he paused for breath, Councillor Eades tried to interject, but Allan was having none of it.

'Then yesterday, two neds tried to break into a shed a couple of houses down from my folks. The guy from the house saw them, managed to grab one, and a neighbour helped to hold him down while he swore and squealed and kicked like an animal for the full half an hour it took for the police to bother to turn up, then, guess what, the police came back this morning and charged them with assault, and some crap about detaining a minor!

The fact is, the people living there are beginning to wonder whose side you lot are on exactly?'

He sat down breathless as everyone looked to the officials on stage.

Superintendent Campbell put on his most conciliatory face.

'Well, obviously I can't comment on an ongoing case, especially without hearing both sides,' he replied, But there is provision within the law for common sense to prevail, and I would hope this case could be resolved in a fair and just manner'

'Yeah, that'll bloody happen,' came a voice from the back,

'It'll be the same crap as usual, the muppets that cause the bother will get a slap on the wrist,and the victims will land in the shit!'

Suddenly, everyone seemed to have a tale of injustice they wanted to tell.

'That old guy down Cheapside Street, used to be a foreman with the council, Tom I think his name was, he were that fed up with kids climbing over his fence and wrecking his vegetable patch, he bought a dog. Next thing that happens, a kid climbs in, and gets bit in the arse, Tom got fined and the dog was put down!'

Another man was straight to his feet,

'What about the old retired guy who filmed someone vandalising his car, causing a couple of thousand quids worth of damage. When the old guy went out to confront this ned, he got a load of verbal abuse and pushed about, so he took a swing at him. Next thing, he finds himself up in court, charged with assault, criminal record, the works. And get this, a social worker came to the house to find out what compensation he could afford to pay this ned, out of his bloody pension! And believe it or not, even though he had been filmed causing the damage to the car, the ned still walked away with just a caution! You can't tell me that's justice.'

'That's like Gavin Ward,' a woman from the audience said, 'He caught someone using his ladder to climb in his window a few nights ago, and then was charged with assault for pushing him to the ground.'

Others told of teachers forced to resign over trivial incidents, of shopkeepers targeted because they wouldn't sell alcohol to teenagers, and similar stories of perceived injustice.

Finally, Allan stood again, put his arm in the air for attention.

'Just supposing I heard a noise downstairs during the night, go to have a look, and it turns out there's some guy inside heading my way. Now I know our John left his baseball bat at the top of the stairs, so I think, right pal, try coming up here, and you're getting it!

Thing is, I don't know if he has knife or something, or if there's maybe two or three of them in the house. I've got a wife and two kids to protect, and I'm scared if I warn him, it'll give him the chance to get the better of me. So I wait nice and quiet like, then I hit him as hard as I can! What happens then if he ends up in a coma? Or dead even? Am I going to prison for defending my family and my property?'

Superintendent Campbell considered his question gravely.

'My advice,in that situation, would be to make plenty of noise to let him know you're aware of his presence, chances are he'll not hang around to be caught, and, of course, phone the police. A confrontation is never a good.......'

'Phone the police!..... down the Craigends you'd be as well sending a letter, the time it takes your lot to get there!' shouted a voice from the back of the hall.

Campbell tried again,

'I can understand the anger, the urge to take the law into your own hands but it is in everybody's interest to let us do the job we're trained for.'

The man who mentioned the dog biting the youth spoke again,

'At our work, we can't go for a crap without a risk assessment and a safe method of work statement....... In triplicate.' There was a ripple of laughter.

'Now, I'm not suggesting that our burglar has done quite the same thing, but he has assessed the job, and decided the risk of getting caught or hurt isn't high enough to