Minds That Hate (3 page)

‘Suppose Vickers was protecting somebody and found out that the person he was shielding had paid someone to top him. He had death threats, remember. That might have been the spark that set him off on his campaign.’

‘But his campaign fell short of an appeal.’

‘That ties in with him sending a message. An appeal needs solid evidence. Vickers isn’t stupid. He’d know he didn’t stand a chance of clearing his name. So he doesn’t appeal, he just makes a nuisance of himself. If I’m right, that also explains his insistence in returning to Helmsdale.’

‘You think he has an agenda?’

‘Yes, and I’ve an idea what it is. I think Vickers wants to settle matters with whoever ordered him to be killed. I think he believes they’re responsible for the girl’s death.’

‘You really have serious doubts about his guilt don’t you?’

‘In some ways I do. What the prison officer told us about the photo worries me too. That’s not the action of a guilty man. There’s one thought that scares the pants off me, though.’

‘What’s that?’

‘You remember I asked him why he wants to come back to Helmsdale? Although he didn’t reply, he was looking at me as I said it. There was an expression in his eyes I found frightening. It was the closest I came to getting a reaction from him.’

‘What sort of expression?’

‘It was like a boxer before he steps into the ring or a soldier going into action. Psychedup for the battle ahead. Unless I read him wrong, Vickers is going back expecting there to be trouble. In fact, I believe he’ll provoke it. Maybe he no longer cares what happens? Or maybe he sees it as the only way the truth will come out. Either way, I’m sure of one thing. We’re in for one hell of a summer.’

Chapter three

‘Councillor Appleyard?’

‘Speaking.’

‘Carl Rathmell here. I thought you might like to join me for lunch at my place. I’m inviting one or two friends. I believe our discussion might prove mutually beneficial. What do you say?’

‘That’s very kind. When do you suggest?’

‘Are you free tomorrow?’

When Appleyard arrived, the gravel sweep in front of Rathmell’s house was almost full. Alongside several luxury cars were some run-of-the-mill vehicles, including a worse-for-wear Toyota pick-up.

Rathmell
opened the door. ‘Good afternoon, Councillor. We’re in the drawing room. Follow me.’

Appleyard
glanced round the wide hall. Everything suggested wealth, status and power. He’d heard that Carlton Rathmell, Member of European Parliament, had married into one of the richest families in the county. Seemingly, the report wasn’t exaggerated.

Heads turned as they entered.
Appleyard recognized several guests at a glance. His host performed introductions.

As
Appleyard joined in the social chit-chat, he speculated on those present. Rathmell’s agent seemed the most obvious. The two businessmen, heads of local electronics and plastics firms, were no surprise. Slightly more obscure was the presence of a trade union convenor, a man well known for his outspoken views.

Two others seemed totally out of place. Jake Fletcher, a building contractor with a reputation for toughness,
who’d worked on several of Appleyard’s properties. Their business relationship had been more than satisfactory. Appleyard couldn’t imagine how Rathmell was acquainted with the builder, whose upbringing on the Westlea council estate was a world away from these surroundings.

The last guest caused
Appleyard to give up speculating. Why Rathmell would need an alliance with a senior police officer, he couldn’t imagine.

The conversation over lunch was more small talk, although here and there politics entered via questions from one or other of the diners.
Rathmell and Appleyard were naturally expected to reply to these. Both took their part, but the whole business was managed so skilfully that Appleyard didn’t suspect an ulterior motive.

It was only when they were having coffee that
Rathmell provided an explanation. ‘Gentlemen,’ the MEP began. ‘With one exception,’ Rathmell smiled apologetically at Appleyard, ‘you all know the reason for this gathering, and most of you know Councillor Appleyard. Before I go further, I need everyone’s reassurance that we’re of the same mind.’

Rathmell’s
remarks were greeted with a chorus of approval. He turned his attention to Appleyard. ‘It’s time to put our cards on the table, Frank.’ Rathmell sipped his coffee. ‘We propose to create a new political entity. A break from the traditional parties involved in that sham at Westminster. We intend to create a social force that will attract people disaffected by politics. We mean to step outside the existing structure. It will cause disapproval and condemnation. That won’t bother us. If it didn’t, I’d be worried we weren’t doing it right. We believe our radical policies will appeal to voters. They’ll bring us to the forefront of British politics and sweep the others into the wilderness.’ He gestured to his agent. As the man filled Rathmell’s cup, the MEP continued. ‘The average Englishman feels trapped and powerless. What happens on their own doorstep is beyond their control.’

Appleyard
listened intently. He’d attempted to put across similar fears in council, but met only hostility. It felt good to hear someone voicing the same concerns.

‘I agree,’
Appleyard told his host approvingly. ‘I’ve longed to find someone prepared to take a lead in such matters.’

Appleyard’s
words were greeted with smiles of satisfaction. They’d definitely made the right choice.

Rathmell
continued. ‘Local people see politicians toadying to incomers and resent it. They see council officials bending over backwards to give immigrants the assistance they need. They see foreigners getting benefits locals aren’t entitled to. Crime on the Westlea and similar estates is out of control. Ask Jake. Ten years ago he wouldn’t have needed a sign on his vans that there were no tools left inside overnight. Now, it’s dangerous for a woman to walk along the street at night because foreigners have the wrong impression as to what that signifies. The police have neither the manpower nor the willpower to combat crime on the estates.’

Rathmell
turned to the police officer. ‘I’m sorry if that sounds like criticism, Martin. I have great admiration for your officers, but they lack the necessary support. They need a judicial system that doesn’t protect the guilty and a sentencing policy that doesn’t make them a laughing stock. They’ve lost control of the streets.’

The policeman threw up his hands despairingly. ‘Once, I’d have argued with you. If any of you have any doubts about what Carl has just said, my presence here should cast them aside.’

Appleyard leaned forward in his chair, his face animated. ‘You’re dead right. I know from constituents how bad things are. But what’s to be done? Nobody has come close to identifying the problem, let alone suggesting a solution.’

‘The only way is by forcing the issue. Bad has to become worse before anyone will act. Look at the symptoms. Those who get the best treatment are the immigrants, legal or otherwise, the asylum seekers and those who are already a drain on society.

‘We’ve just paid millions for that smart new facility for travellingpeople to the east of Helmsdale. Do the gypsies use it? No way. Instead you see them camped on every bit of grass verge. Their caravans are unsightly, they leave litter and God knows what other unpleasantness behind.

‘Go into the Good Buys convenience store on the
Westlea and listen to the conversation. You’d struggle to hear a Yorkshire accent. You’d be more likely to hear Latvian, Polish or some Baltic tongue. Even the shopkeeper’s an immigrant. If we don’t see action soon, there’ll be trouble on a big scale.’

‘How can it be prevented?’ As
Appleyard spoke, he wondered how Rathmell knew so much about the Westlea.

‘It may already be too late. But I’m not sure it should be stopped. Not completely. We need direct action to focus on the problem, to highlight how serious the situation’s become.’

‘Direct action?’ There was concern, but no alarm in Appleyard’s voice. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘If folk can’t communicate their fears by orthodox methods, they’ll use other means. It’s the only way left open to them. Let the authorities know how deep their resentment goes and send a message to the parasites that they’re no longer welcome.’

‘It sounds like a recipe for trouble,’ Appleyard commented.

‘Sometimes the cure’s as painful as the complaint. Our task would be to co-ordinate and guide the local population so they can act without fear of reprisal.’

‘How do we go about it?’

Rathmell
leaned forward. ‘We,’ he gestured round the group, ‘need someone on the inside. Somebody who’s trusted, maybe even feared. If you and I control the policy, a man like that would plan the actions and ensure they were carried out successfully.’

‘He’s talking about me, Frank,’ Jake grinned.

Two hours later
Rathmell watched the cars leaving.As the lead vehicle turned onto the main road he picked up his mobile. ‘It’s me,’ he said. ‘It went like a dream. Appleyard and Jake will start work tomorrow. Speaking of tomorrow, are you going to be free?’ He listened. ‘You don’t have to worry about that. My beloved wife has taken her money to London on a shopping spree. Usual time and place?’

Billy was excited. The younger of the Floyd brothers and unarguably volatile, Billy had suffered as a child. That changed when he was twelve. He’d been watching TV at home. He wasn’t supposed to be alone. Billy’s parents had gone to the pub. Billy’s sister was baby-sitting.

She’d interpreted her duties freely. She’d made Billy a sandwich and disappeared upstairs with her boyfriend. After they’d been gone half an hour, Billy decided to see what they were doing. He forgot that the bedroom door creaked. Confronted by his sister’s angry boyfriend, Billy stared in wonder at the huge thing sticking from between his legs. He failed to see the punch. The pain in his gut underlined the message as clearly as the accompanying words. ‘Get back downstairs, you pervert, or I’ll stick this up your
arse.’

Billy crept back downstairs. A film had started on TV during his absence. As he watched a couple on the screen doing what his sister and her boyfriend had been doing, Billy’s interest grew. As the tower block they were in caught fire, his interest turned to excitement. Billy discovered that his thing was getting bigger too. Thereafter
Billy’s confused mind linked the conflagration of fire with the passion of lovemaking. A year later he put this to the test. He took a girl from his class across the fields to a barn. He told her he’d seen some newly born calves. When they were inside, Billy forced himself on the girl. He’d grown and filled out in the last year and the girl was no match for him. Despite her muffled screams and writhing protest, he managed to achieve what he’d seen his sister enjoy. Just before his climax, Billy paused and withdrew. The girl was quiet now, barely breathing.

He walked over to a corner and took a lighter from his pocket. He set fire to the edge of a straw bale and watched the flames grow and flicker. As the polythene covering the bales took hold, the fire began to roar and Billy’s arousal became unbearable. He went back and stood for a second, looking down at the girl’s naked form, before flinging himself on her. He began to thrust, harder and harder, deeper and faster.

The smoke was all round them now, writhing, curling and choking. The roaring in Billy’s ears was part excitement and part the engulfing sound of the barn crumbling to destruction. Barely a minute later, Billy ejaculated. As he lay panting, something hot and heavy dropped close by. He staggered to his feet and stumbled outside, before collapsing on the ground. He turned to look back. A huge display of sparks flew up, as the roof timbers collapsed on the unconscious girl.

Despite exhaustive enquiries, the cause of the blaze and the reason for her presence in the barn were never discovered. Billy realized he’d been lucky. After that he became more careful.

Now Billy could pay girls to pretend to enjoy doing it with him. He also learned to be more selective about where and when to practise his love of fire.

Today he was excited, because he’d been asked to indulge his second passion. What was even better, he was going to be paid for it. That would mean he’d be able to afford
Trudy. She was his favourite, but she cost more than the others. He’d been promised enough money to be able to visit her a few times. The job wasn’t even difficult. A caravan’s an easy target. The confined space, the single exit and the gas cylinders would make it easy. After all, he was an expert.

The caravan and its occupants shouldn’t be there. Danny told him that. They didn’t belong there. They didn’t belong anywhere. ‘They’re not like us, Billy,’ Danny explained. ‘They’re
gippos and we don’t want gippos round here. They don’t contribute anything. They cost us money. They don’t pay tax, they don’t work. All they do is steal and beg. They’re sub-human parasites living in filthy squalor just like rats.’

Billy had no idea what sub-human parasites meant. But he did know rats. Knew them and detested them. ‘They need driving out, Billy. They’re just like rats.’ Danny was Billy’s hero. Although he was only three years Billy’s senior, Danny was like a god to the impressionable youth. Danny had a gun. Billy knew that. He’d seen it. What’s more, Danny had used it. Billy knew that too. More than once, Billy reckoned. If Danny said something was right, Billy would never argue.

Billy might have rushed the job, but that wasn’t the way it had to be. Danny had left him in no doubt. ‘You must make sure nobody suspects us, Billy.’

Billy took his brother’s words for gospel. ‘Plan it carefully. Take your time. We need to scare the lot of them off for good, just like rats.’

As Billy watched the caravan, making his plans, he had no doubt he was doing the right thing; a good thing. He muttered the mantra over and over. ‘Just like rats. Just like rats. Just like rats.’