Carnal Acts (27 page)

A Traffic Division driver in plain clothes and an unmarked car had been tailing Michael Etherington since he left the village. Heck was about a mile behind in a squad car driven by a uniformed constable, ready to step in if things got rough. At the outset the general had stuck to main roads, but he’d recently turned on to a narrow B-road that led towards the National Park. There were tracks all over the place and he could easily slip out of contact if the tail wasn’t careful. So far he was keeping in touch, but there was a danger Etherington would realise the same car had been behind him for some time and take evasive action.

Heck thought through his options. He had the general’s mobile number and could stop this nonsense any time he wanted, but he was sure Michael Etherington would claim innocence. The question was, where was he going? There were only out-of-the-way farms and park rangers’ cottages ahead. Further north there was a large army range but if he was heading for that he was taking a very long way round. Maybe he was just going fishing. There were good trout to be had in the streams up here.

‘Target turning left,’ said the tail over the radio. ‘There’s a sign to Whelper’s End. Instructions?’

‘Stay on the main road,’ Heck said. ‘It’s a dead end according to the map. Looks like a cottage and a couple of outbuildings.’ He called the MCU, asking for DC Andrews. ‘Eileen, can you check the occupancy of a place called Whelper’s End, west of Rothbury? Call me back ASAP.’

They drew up behind the tail car. Heck got out and went to speak to the driver. ‘You’re sure he didn’t pick anyone up?’

‘Positive, sir.’ The officer was young and enthusiastic.

Heck was wondering if the general had tracked down his grandson’s killer already. He couldn’t risk waiting for Eileen Andrews to get back to him. ‘Come on,’ he said, waving at the driver of the other car. ‘You go left, you right and I’ll head for the door. Nail anyone who makes a break for it, OK?’

‘Yes, sir,’ the keen one said, his eyes gleaming. The uniformed officer, who was older and had seen plenty of bad things, nodded stolidly.

Heck walked down the rough track, avoiding damp patches the sun hadn’t reached. There were trees on each side and a lot of shade. Looking ahead, he saw a small cottage with a roof missing some slates and a thin trail of smoke coming from the right-hand chimney. It was markedly chillier up here than on the lower ground. Michael Etherington’s Jaguar was parked on the left, partially obscuring the windows on that side. On the right was a small green Renault that had seen better days a decade ago. There was an enclosed herb and vegetable garden that was in better shape than the lawn and flowerbeds nearer the house. A black cat slunk away under a bush near the first of two outhouses, which was in reasonable condition. The second had no roof.

Heck waited until the other officers had taken up position and then walked to the door, his thighs still hurting from the sprint after the Albanian. Dirty net curtains obscured the interior of the cottage. There would be little natural light in the place. He reached for his warrant card and knocked on the white-painted door.

A woman in her early fifties opened it. At least, that was his initial estimate of her age; as he took in the bird’s nest of dyed red hair, the face untouched by make-up and the wrinkled neck, he upped it to late fifties. She had a good figure though, her top half sheathed in a tight-fitting, multicoloured blouse and bottom half in green leggings. She wore wooden-soled sandals and there were rings on all her fingers and both thumbs.

‘Ah,’ he said, at a loss as to what the general would be doing here. ‘Police. DCI Rutherford. I wonder if I could come in for a moment.’

‘Be my guest,’ the woman said, with a wide smile. ‘I was just making some nettle and basil tea. Would you like a mug?’

Heck followed her into a living room that was like no other
he had ever seen. There were what looked like religious shrines in three of the corners, the fourth containing the skeleton of a monkey, the bones yellowed and the lower jaw resting against the sternum. There were vases containing dead, or perhaps dried, flowers and grasses everywhere and the place smelled like a stable. Michael Etherington got up from a low sofa with stuffing coming through gaps in the fabric.

‘Heck Rutherford?’ he said, frowning. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I was about to ask you the same…’

The woman reappeared, carrying a tray. ‘DCI Rutherford?’ she repeated. ‘You must know my Joni.’

Heck was seriously discomfited. ‘You’re Mrs Pax?’

She laughed – a loud, almost braying sound. ‘I’m not married. Moonbeam’s my name. Or Pax. No fuddy-duddy titles, please.’

‘Um, right.’ Heck had heard from Joni that her mother was ‘different’ – that looked like a major understatement.

Moonbeam poured out a brew that smelled less than enticing. ‘Oh, I know,’ she said, with another stentorian laugh, ‘but its reek is worse than its flavour.’

Heck kept the chipped mug at arm’s length, trying to find a way to explain his presence. Eventually he settled on one. ‘Mrs … Moonbeam. You may have seen in the news that—’

‘I only watch nature programmes.’ The hostess spread her arms wide. ‘I live for the earth, its powers, its beauties and its gifts.’

‘Right. Anyway, there’s been a series of murders – one in Corham and another not far from here. In the River Coquet?’ The woman stared at him blankly. ‘We’re looking for a young Albanian woman.’ He described Suzana Noli and ran through what she’d done.

‘The poor girl,’ Moonbeam said. ‘Only seventeen. She must have had her reasons for killing, but taking a life is the ultimate crime against nature. We are all receptacles of the spirits of earth, water and sky. None of us has the right to destroy any living being.’

Heck looked around the room. The body of what looked like a frog was splayed on a board, the extremities of its limbs pinned down.

‘That was already dead,’ Moonbeam said. ‘I never kill the creatures I use in my spells.’

In her spells, Heck thought; then his phone rang. He got up and went outside. DC Andrews told him that the cottage was owned by Viscount Andrew Favon and that Moonbeam Pax had been registered for council tax there for nearly two years. There were no other declared residents. When Eileen linked Moonbeam to Joni, Heck cut her off. He went back inside, having waved the officers back to the cars.

Moonbeam Pax and Michael Etherington were leaning towards each other over a table. It was covered in sheets of paper with a curious, almost hieroglyphic script on them. Heck searched for a word to describe the way the pair looked. ‘Complicit’ was the one he found.

‘So,’ he said, sitting down again. ‘Have you seen any sign of the woman … girl?’

Moonbeam shook her head. ‘If I had, I would have invited her in for sustenance. It’s every good person’s duty to help those in need.’

‘In which case, as a good person, will you call me if you see her?’ He handed over his card. ‘Do you mind if I have a look in your outhouses?’

The woman drew herself up. ‘Actually, I do. I have private things in them. I can assure you, the girl isn’t there.’

‘Have you checked today?’

‘As a matter of fact, I have. I went out to fetch various … utensils for Michael’s consultation.’

Heck looked at her and then at the general, who raised his shoulders.

‘Moonbeam has access to certain powers,’ he said, looking at the table. ‘I’m hoping she can identify Nick’s killer.’

Heck wasn’t buying that for a second, but there wasn’t much
he could do to counter such a barefaced lie; except put Michael Etherington on notice. ‘I see. You will, of course, share any such information with the police, general. It’s a serious offence to take the law into your own hands.’

Michael met his gaze. ‘Ruth Dickie has already made that very clear to me.’

Heck got up.

‘You haven’t drunk your tea,’ Moonbeam Pax said, in dismay. ‘It’ll do your system so much good.’

‘I’m on a restricted diet,’ Heck said, which was true – Ag was into dietary planning for the whole family.

The woman followed him to the door. ‘Give my love to Joni. Tell her to drop round.’ She smiled mysteriously. ‘I’ll be
expecting
her.’

Heck looked into Moonbeam’s green eyes. There was something powerfully sensual about her. He suddenly felt uneasy about leaving Michael Etherington there.

‘Excuse me,’ he said, stepping past her into the house. ‘General, you should come with me. DI Pax told me she thought your daughter-in-law needed a shoulder to lean on.’ He stood there until Etherington reluctantly got up.

‘Michael, you’re not leaving?’ Moonbeam said.

‘Another time,’ the general muttered.

Heck watched him go towards the Jaguar and turned back to the woman. ‘You will call me if you see the missing girl? She’s armed and distinctly dangerous.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Joni’s mother said. ‘Nobody can harm me. I’m a force for life.’

He left her to that illusion.

‘I don’t believe you!’ Evie Favon screamed. ‘It can’t be true.’ Her face was drained of colour and she was trembling.

Victoria stepped towards her. ‘Darling, I’m so—’

‘Don’t touch me!’ Evie limped towards the kitchen door, stopping as she dropped her crutch.

‘Here,’ Andrew said, bending down awkwardly and handing it to her.

She snatched it away, eyes on her mother. ‘Who told you?’

‘Cheryl. She heard it on the radio.’

‘I … I saw Nick on his bike. He was very careful.’

‘Dangerous things happen on the roads,’ her father said. ‘Especially in the country and at night.’

‘And the driver just … disappeared?’

Victoria nodded. ‘Hit and run is what the reporter said.’

‘How did he … how did he die?’ Evie slumped to the floor. She raised an arm when her parents moved towards her.

Andrew glanced at Victoria. ‘They didn’t mention that.’

‘I want to see him.’

‘I hardly think that’s appropriate,’ her mother said.

Evie was panting from the effort of pulling herself up. ‘You … you know a lot … about what’s appropriate.’ She limped to the door.

‘I mean, you’re not family. Think how Rosie and Michael will be feeling.’

‘I loved him!’ Evie screamed. ‘And he loved me.’ She burst into tears.

‘Come on, darling,’ Victoria said, stepping towards her.

‘No! Leave … leave me alone. This is all … your fault.’

The door swung to after her.

‘What did she mean by that?’ Andrew asked.

Victoria lit a cigarette. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’

Her husband looked as if he was going to speak, but held his tongue.

‘Are you going out?’ Victoria asked.

‘Meeting in Newcastle.’

‘With the new investors?’

‘Mm.’

‘Make sure you keep them on board. That mess in Corham on Sunday might be making them jittery.’

Andrew laughed brusquely. ‘I don’t think these gentlemen do jittery.’

‘Gentlemen?’ Victoria shook her head. ‘Your ancestors would be ashamed.’

‘My ancestors, as Evie daily points out, were slave traders and owners. It doesn’t get any worse than that.’

His wife blew out a plume of smoke. ‘Do you think so, Andrew? Do you really think so?’

Joni and Pete Rokeby were in the MCU, collating their notes.

‘Where’s the DCI?’ she asked.

‘On Michael Etherington’s tail,’ he replied, not looking up.

‘What do you think of this for an idea? The general could have been at Burwell Street on Sunday night.’

Rokeby’s eyes were immediately on her. ‘His daughter-in-law gave him an alibi.’

‘She seemed to be under a lot of strain when I spoke to her, even before her son’s death. Maybe Michael Etherington coerced her.’

‘What, and then got spotted by Nick, who he subsequently killed? I’m not buying that. Michael Etherington’s a hard nut, but he’d never kill his own grandson.’

‘I’m not suggesting he did. But maybe he saw the person who later killed Nick.’

‘It’s all a bit theoretical. How would he know that individual was the murderer?’

‘I’ve no idea. That’s why I’m going to ask Rosie if she lied to us. And find out if there’s anything else she omitted to mention about her son and her father-in-law.’ Joni stood up. ‘If Mrs Normal asks, I’ve gone to join the DCI.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Pete said uneasily.

Twenty minutes later, Joni was back at the house. ‘How is she?’ she asked the WPC who answered her knock. ‘And where’s WPC Shearer?’

‘Not great. I’m the duty FLO today – Mary Archer, ma’am.’ For some reason the bulky middle-aged officer seemed to be amused by her own name.

‘Who is it?’ The bereaved woman’s voice was weak. It came from the sitting room.

Joni identified herself.

‘I’m not … I’m not up to more questions,’ Rosie said. ‘Can you come back another day?’

Although she didn’t feel good about it, Joni played hardball. ‘Mrs Etherington, if I have to come back, it’ll be with a warrant for your arrest.’

‘My arrest?’ the white-faced woman on the sofa said. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I only need a brief chat.’

‘Oh, very well.’ Rosie reached for the phone. ‘I think I’ll call our lawyer.’

‘That’s your privilege,’ Joni said formally. ‘But if you do, this conversation will take place under caution at Force headquarters.’

‘I … all right, sit down.’ Rosie smoothed loose hair back from her face. ‘What’s this about? I’ve told you everything I know.’

Joni looked at her across the coffee table. There was a vase of wilting roses in the centre of it. ‘I’m afraid I don’t believe you.’

Whether the woman was still under the effect of tranquillisers or had been beaten down by grief, she made no response.

‘In particular,’ Joni continued, ‘I think you gave your father-in-law a false alibi for Sunday evening.’

‘I … what?’ Rosie Etherington’s eyes were wide, the pupils dilated. ‘No … no, I didn’t.’

Joni opened her notebook, for effect rather than necessity. She knew perfectly well what had been said. ‘You stated that the general and you had a light dinner, played Scrabble and went to bed, your father-in-law having gone upstairs while you were making yourself a cup of cocoa.’

‘He … he doesn’t like cocoa. Nick does …’ Rosie Etherington broke off, her eyes tightly closed.

Joni waited, watching as the woman felt for the box of tissues on the sofa and held one to her face. ‘You also said that you never slept when Nick was out and that you would have heard if the general left.’

‘That’s … that’s true.’

‘Except he’d already left, hadn’t he? After dinner.’ Joni was out on a limb, but she was sure she was right.

‘I … he…’ Rosie Etherington glared at her. ‘Why are you wasting time on this? Why aren’t you out chasing Nick’s … Nick’s killer?’

‘That’s exactly what I’m doing.’ Joni let her absorb the words.

‘No,’ Rosie said, with a whimper. ‘Not … not Michael. He couldn’t have…’

‘I’m not suggesting your father-in-law killed Nick. Certainly not. But I do think he knows more than he’s told us and that he went into Corham on Sunday night.’

‘Why?’ Rosie Etherington demanded.

‘I was hoping you could tell me.’

‘Me? I don’t know anything about Michael’s life. He may stay here, but he doesn’t tell me things. He’s a victim too, you know. He lost Christine as well as Alistair.’

‘What does he spend his time doing?’ Joni asked, changing tack.

‘He still has army-related work – a regimental committee he chairs, a think tank he contributes to. I don’t know, you should Google him.’

Joni had done so. As well as the activities Rosie mentioned, he was patron of a charity for service personnel who had been injured, both physically and mentally, in Bosnia. He wasn’t involved in anything to do with Kosovo, but that proved nothing. He could be maintaining contact with people on a personal level.

‘He did a lot of things with Nick since my husband died – fishing, hillwalking… they went shooting with friends of his once.’

That was another thing Joni had checked. Michael Etherington had a licence for a shotgun and a uniformed officer had visited the house to ensure he stored it in a secure location. Joni wondered if the weapon was there now – and if the general had souvenirs from the Balkans that he’d never declared.

‘All right,’ Rosie said, swallowing a sob. ‘It’s true. He said he had something to do after we’d eaten and that I was to say nothing about it. I don’t know where he went, but he came back to pick me up when we heard that Nick was with you.’

‘How long did it take him to arrive after you called him?’ Joni knew the dispatcher had called Rosie to tell her about Nick’s presence at Force HQ.

Rosie wiped her eyes. ‘How long?’ She gave that some thought. ‘Half an hour, I suppose.’

Meaning the general could have been in Corham or even further afield.

‘Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?’

Rosie shook her head slowly. ‘I’d like
you
to tell me something, DI Pax,’ she said haltingly.

‘If I can, Mrs Etherington.’

The twice-bereaved woman looked straight into her eyes. ‘How can I go on living?’

Joni felt the shock of the words. Then she did what seemed the right thing. She told her about what had happened to her in London and how she was struggling to cope with it. By the time she finished, Rosie Etherington looked at her in a different way.

‘Can I call you Joni?’ she asked, in a small voice.

Joni nodded, the weight she carried having lifted slightly. They spoke for another quarter of an hour before she left.