George Taylor
Jim Bolam, a deputy head in a secondary school, thinks he knows a thing or two about handling difficult situations. However, he's about to face a challenge that will test him to breaking point, when he finds himself caught up in a murder investigation.
"A real page turner. The first book I've read in one sitting." Christopher Cameron
"Hatred, evil, fear and power, versus love and kindness. A thrilling novel that pulls no punches." Hugh Royle
George Taylor has taught in secondary schools for twenty five years in a variety of settings. He is married with two teenage children and three cats, one of whom is not very bright. This, his first novel, came to life six years ago in his car, passing the time while his eldest daughter went to clarinet lessons.
The old railway line which supplied the nearby quarry had long since echoed to the last train whistle, and had been stripped of its rails and other industrial ironmongery. Its snaking route was now shaded by a canopy of trees which, after the trains had left, seized the chance to stretch their arms towards the sun. During the day, the route was well used by cyclists and dog walkers, but come the evening there were often gatherings of a less savoury sort, local youths, intent on drinking and drug taking.
It was at one of the typical gathering places, just off the path, that Josh McKenzie sat, his large backside balanced on the remains of a wall which looked like it had been the base to an old hut or something. Saplings and other vegetation had gradually covered the low ruins and the outline could now barely be made out. A circular area free of any greenery, roughly two metres across, spread out in front of the seated youth. Worn bare by regular use, it was framed with a liberal scattering of empty beer cans, bottles, cigarette butts, food containers of different sorts and the odd sliver of tinfoil.
Although it was early evening, the summer sun still sent light beaming though breaks in the canopy, and here and there in the undergrowth the rustles of small animals and birds foraging could be heard. Not that Josh McKenzie noticed any signs of beauty surrounding his oasis of human waste, he was already draining his fourth can of strong lager, tipping his head back allowing the final drops to slip into his eager mouth, where it would mix with the remains of the beef burger he’d finished moments before. This was a typical start to the evening, a warm up before he joined with a few others of a similar mind. In the last three months, he and his gang had been responsible for a rapid increase in local crime. Mostly vandalism at first, but more recently he’d turned his expanding bulk to assault, and two or three younger teenagers had received beatings, simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Of course the newspapers blamed the rise in youth crime on everything from bad parenting and sloppy education, to poor policing and community resources, and when interviewed, youths like McKenzie would say, “There’s nothing to do around here.” In reality there was plenty to do and McKenzie neither suffered from poor parenting nor a poorly policed area. He had realised early in life that he could use his size to intimidate and manipulate his peers, and had turned this to his advantage, developing his art as he grew even larger. His size helped his bullying and with his developing alcohol habit it was consistently fertilized, as was his ego.
Using his sleeve to wipe a beer drip from his greasy mouth, he twisted, eased forward and tossed the empty can into the edge of the clearing. As if timed to match the clattering of the can as it hit the others building up in the undergrowth, McKenzie rocked back and stretched, his arms flung apart like wings. “Time to go.” he smiled, feeling relaxed and ready for his evening’s sport.
