For Evil to Flourish. Dubya Ph.D Lorimer
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Allan headed towards the Craigends area, where he picked up Jim at his usual spot, Shamir's convenience store at the end of his street. After his usual mumbled 'Morning' by way of greeting, Jim promptly fell asleep in the passenger seat of Allan’s pickup truck. He was not a morning person.
Leaving Craigends, Allan picked up the ring road and began the half hour journey to their current job, which involved blasting rock on a new stretch of road currently under construction. This was a change for them, they were more accustomed to working in a quarry environment, which tended to follow the same routine day after day. As the rock from the previous blast was being crushed and graded by the quarry operator, Allan and Jim would prepare the next section, with Jim operating the machine to drill holes in the rock to a consistent depth in a grid pattern, followed by Allan filling the holes with explosives. Each blast was much the same as the one before, they were familiar with the spacing and the amount of explosives to create the product demanded by the customer. It was almost boringly repetitive.
As long as they didn’t accidentally blow themselves up!
Arriving at the road job, Allan got out and had a stretch, before walking around the area they planned to blast today. This was an altogether more technically demanding task than working in a quarry as it involved dealing with rock outcrops of varying depths. Shallow blasts were notoriously difficult to control, often causing 'flyers', where rocks could be hurtled hundreds of metres in any direction, a particular problem in a location like this with an existing public road to one side of the new road, and a railway to the other.
Allan felt justifiably pleased with the way thing had gone so far, taking real pride in his skill at judging and calculating the drilling and placing of explosives in these variable conditions. He was actually looking forward to his day ahead.
At her desk at the council offices, Julie took a quick glance around before slipping a memory stick into the computer. Her fingers danced over the keyboard, an artist at work. Allan had only ever shown a polite interest in her work in the council’s I.T. department, she could practically see his eyes glaze over if she talked about problems with updating the council’s web site, checking for misuse of the e-mail system, or tracking down staff surfing the net for porn.
David, on the other hand was always interested and respectful of her knowledge of computers. And although he had told her not to, she was going to do him this small favour.
She had been with him when he had received the call from his partner telling him about the small fire in the office, discussing the files lost, their stupidity in not having separate backups. No, they couldn’t contact their clients and ask for copies, that would be commercial suicide, apparently.
He had been tired when they last met, the result of working late into the night trying to recover what data he could. She had learned that much of it related to council contracts and property deals, but he refused to give her any details, insisting that she didn’t get involved.
She smiled to herself as she removed the memory stick and slipped it into her pocket, picturing his face as she presented it to him.
Tonight was going to be extra special.
Benny Patterson was a creature of habit, and anyone following his routine would know that on a Friday evening he would pop into the Black Bull where he would catch the eye of one of the regulars. A few minutes later he would meet with the man, one of Darren Hills' associates, in the car park at the rear of the pub. Money and small packages would be exchanged, and the two men would part, one back into the pub, the other to his car. From here, Patterson would tour round the area, visiting seedy flats and drug dens where the packages would be exchanged for wads of cash.
This sticking to the same routine when involved in criminal activity suggested a distinct lack of intelligence on Benny's part, when with perhaps just a little forethought, and an occasional change of modus operandi, he might have avoided being grabbed from behind, having tape placed on his mouth, hands and ankles tied and a hood pulled over his head, before being bundled into the back of a van.
Julie and David's route had taken them out into the countryside, at first heading towards Lethamfield where Allan was working on the new by-pass, before making a right turn onto a road she recognised as leading to the coast. She and Allan used to go on holiday in the area when the kids were small, to a caravan park. Usually they would be accompanied by his mum and dad, who would look after the kids in the evening while Julie and Allan went out for a meal or to a club. Latterly they had been able to afford to go to Spain, and last year it had been Turkey. It had been a little too hot there for Julie's taste, but the hotel was gorgeous and the kids had loved the pool and the beach.
She came back to the present with a jolt as they passed the entrance to a grand hotel situated a short distance up a hill on their left. It was the Bonnyton Hotel, the place she had told Allan she and Emily would be staying in. She prayed Allan didn't decide to call the hotel looking for her, she hadn't thought of an excuse for not being there.
Just after the entrance to the Bonnyton, David made another right turn, now they were on a single track road, with passing places marked with little diamond shaped signs and high, overgrown hedges cutting off their view. They crossed an old stone bridge then came to a fork in the road, where David again took to the right. A few hundred metres further they passed a deserted-looking farm, then almost immediately came to a whitewashed cottage sitting in isolation, facing onto a small lake and some empty fields.
She read the hand-painted sign “Honeysuckle Cottage”.
'Sounds lovely.' she said.
'Wait till you smell it.' David replied as he parked the car next to the gable end of the cottage, which she could now see was adorned with the flower that gave the cottage it's name.
'Oh my goodness, it's gorgeous!' she exclaimed as she opened the car door and took a deep breath. David was smiling as he opened the boot, and took out the two overnight bags.
'Thought you would like it.' he said, as he carried the bags towards the small porch at the front of the cottage. Behind him, she stopped to sniff the roses growing at the front wall, and ran her hand over the flowers at the side of the path.
'They're beautiful, absolutely beautiful.'
'Not as beautiful as you, you're more gorgeous than all these flowers put together.'
'You're such a liar!'
But she was delighted and flattered anyway, and kissed him to show her appreciation.
'Hang on, at least let me get in and put these bags down.'
He moved a small garden ornament to reveal a door key.
'That's not very safe surely?'
'You're not in the city now you know, nobody bothers you out here, and even if a stranger came around, the locals would spot them a mile away.'
'Do you think someone's watching us just now?'
'Bound to be, but don't worry, they'll recognise my car. I've been here before.'
'With another woman?'
'Yes.'
He laughed at the look on her face,
'Only She Who Will Not Be Mentioned. And the kids.'
'Oh well, I'll let you off with that then.'
He unlocked the door and they stepped inside. A small hallway led to a comfortable, homely kind of a sitting room with a wood-burning stove and comfortable old-fashioned armchairs. On the opposite