Carnal Acts (29 page)

Heck was up on the moor with Pete Rokeby and the SOCOs. He’d spoken to the DS and decided that what he was doing warranted support. Clouds had come out of nowhere and it was drizzling.

‘Great,’ he groaned. ‘How are those moulds?’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Yates said. ‘This stuff’s waterproof.’ They had located another tyre print a few yards beyond the first.

‘Aye, but anything else’ll be obliterated if this gets worse.’

‘Something wrong, sir?’ Rokeby asked.

‘Well, I’m not exactly jumping for joy about the way things are going, Pancake.’ Heck pulled the cord of his rain-jacket hood tighter. ‘There’s no sign of Suzana what’s her name, Michael Etherington claims he’s using a witch – Joni Pax’s mother, no less – to find his grandson’s killer and a chap I was at school with has disappeared.’

‘This Forrest fella,’ Pete said. ‘I hear he has an eye for the ladies.’

Heck gave him a suspicious glance. ‘Who told you that?’

The DS grinned. ‘I need to protect my sources, sir.’

That got him a glare, but it was short-lived. ‘Aye, well it’s not exactly a state secret.’ He shook his head. ‘I was at prep and senior school with him. He was never one to pass up an opportunity to play with other boys’ cocks. He moved on to girls as soon as he could and he’s been playing away ever since. I don’t know how Lizzie stands it. Then again, maybe he’s changed. I haven’t seen much of him since I hooked up with Ag. She took one look at him and knew exactly what he was. Won’t have him in the house.’

‘I was thinking,’ Pete said, turning his back to the rain. ‘Maybe he was chasing the Albanian woman. There wasn’t a sheep anywhere near here yesterday.’

‘You might be right, Pancake, but it doesn’t get us anywhere. There’s no sign of her and I don’t fancy asking Lord Nose in the Air for leave to search his estate on the off chance. He’s got friends in high places – including the chief constable.’

‘Yes, but maybe one of the estate workers kidnapped your pal Forrest.’

‘We can have a go at checking his people’s vehicles when the prints are ready, though I doubt it’ll be worth it. With the kind of legal firepower he can afford, we need much more evidence. It would be easy enough for an expert witness to cast doubt on how recent the tracks are. This is the first soak we’ve had in – what? – ten days.’

‘Besides, according to Yates, two of the three roads lead elsewhere.’

‘Exactly. I doubt Mrs Normal will want to go into battle with Favon unless we provide her with several pairs of armoured knickers.’

Rokeby laughed. ‘Not a pleasant image.’

‘Sod this. Let’s get into the car.’ Heck led him to the Traffic Division Volvo he’d commandeered. ‘Listen, Pancake, I need to ask you something. You’ve met Michael Etherington, haven’t you?’

‘Not exactly. I’ve seen him a few times. I’ve got a mate who served with him.’

‘Oh aye? What does he say about the general?’

‘Nothing but good things. The best officer he ever worked for, tough but fair, always thinking about the men, cool under fire. I remember he was really pissed off when he heard General Michael had been taken off operational service. Said it was a disgrace and a terrible waste.’

Heck watched as the SOCOs collected up their gear and carried it back to the van. ‘Speaking of disgrace, did your pal ever mention anything about the general’s sexual um … proclivities?’

‘No.’ Rokeby stared at him. ‘You’re not saying he’s gay?’

‘What makes you think that?’ Heck said, looking away. ‘He could be a serial shagger like Ollie Forrest or an S&M type.’

‘I’ll tell you exactly why I think that, sir,’ Pete said
combatively
. ‘Because you’re asking
me
.’

‘Right enough. Don’t get uppity, lad. I just wondered if you’d heard anything. Or noticed anything.’

‘What, you think we have antennae that pick up signals from other poofters?’

‘Er, not exactly.’

‘Not exactly, but sort of?’

‘Well, yes, I suppose so.’

Pete was shaking his head. ‘No, my mate never said anything. No, I never clocked anything. And no, we don’t have antennae – at least, no more than you heteros have when you zero in on women.’

‘It’s been a long time since I did that.’

‘You’re not getting away so easily, sir. Has someone told you that Michael Etherington’s gay?’

Heck nodded. ‘
He
did, actually. Gave us the contact details of his lover in Newcastle too. DC Andrews is checking him out as we speak.’

Rokeby sat back. ‘Does this have any connection with the death of his grandson?’

‘It’s how he explains what he was up to on Sunday night. Joni broke his alibi this morning. His daughter-in-law covered up for him.’

‘Do you think he might be being blackmailed?’

‘I don’t know, Pancake. He didn’t admit to that. Anyway, why would he care? His wife’s dead and he’s out of the army.’

‘Maybe he was worried what Nick would think.’

Heck took that in. ‘Good point. But I still don’t buy that he was using Joni’s mother to track the killer down.’

‘That does sound weird.’

‘You should see what she looks like.’

Joni spent the afternoon going through the statements made by Nick Etherington’s friends. She was still puzzled about the walk they had taken to Burwell Street, apparently led by him. Maybe she was reading too much into it: youthful high spirits, drink (although his friends said Nick had only had three halves of bitter and she herself hadn’t got the impression he was drunk), the desire to slum it, score dope and/ or listen to a covers band in a downmarket pub? Or could he and his grandfather have been up to something more sinister? Eileen Andrews had visited Michael’s lover – a Julian Dorries – who confirmed that the major general was there until after ten on Sunday and that he’d left in a hurry after receiving a call from his daughter-in-law.

‘Do you think he was lying?’ she asked DC Andrews. ‘The general talked Rosie into covering for him. Maybe this guy’s doing the same thing. He isn’t or wasn’t in the army, I hope.’

Eileen shook her head. ‘He’s a freelance computer programmer. If he was lying, he convinced me. I asked for some background to their relationship and he gave me a lot. Too much, frankly.’

‘How long have they been together?’

‘Three months. They met in a pub in central Newcastle after checking each other out on an internet dating service.’

‘Is that how it works?’ Joni asked. ‘You check each other out?’

‘Don’t ask me. I’ve been married twenty years and I don’t need any more men.’ It was common knowledge in the MCU that Eileen Andrews wore the trousers in her marriage, her husband being a soft-spoken and very tall train driver. She gave a sly smile. ‘Maybe you should try it, ma’am.’

Joni managed not to bite her head off. She knew the others thought it strange that she was without a partner. She went back to her desk. There were various reports in from the SOCOs and the labs. Curiously, there was no paint anywhere on Nick Etherington’s bike or clothing from the car that had supposedly hit him. Neither were there any tyre marks on the road, suggesting that the killer slowed to a halt after driving the young man off the road and went back to deal with him, or that someone else smashed his head in. That got her thinking. How reliable was the anonymous phone call? Had Nick perhaps not been knocked from his bike at all? Had he stopped to talk to someone – maybe someone he knew – and been thrown down the slope and killed, and his bike smashed up afterwards? Only his fingerprints were on it, some of them smudged. His assailant had presumably been wearing gloves.

‘Where are we with the victim’s laptop?’ she asked.

‘There are three of us on it,’ DC Andrews said. ‘Plus a geek from Technical Services who’s looking for any hidden files. He says Nick Etherington doesn’t seem to have been much of a technical whiz – some games, a lot of schoolwork, and the usual email and social media sites on his browser, the latter not much used. I’ve been trawling his emails. Some of the teen stuff is hard to decipher, but I haven’t come across anything that’s set off alarm bells.’

‘Have we got the records from the phone company yet?’

‘Later today.’

‘I don’t suppose his or the anonymous caller’s handsets have turned up.’

Andrews shook her head.

Joni looked round as loud male voices came through the MCU’s swing door. Morrie Sutton was wearing a scowl the width of the River Derwyne, while Nathan Gray was ranting about football.

‘Get your behind spanked?’ Joni asked. Andrews had told her that Morrie had been called to the ACC to face the disgruntled parent of an Abbey boy he’d interviewed.

The inspector muttered something before looking at her. ‘Nothing I couldn’t handle, Jack. Found your murdering Albanian whore yet?’

Joni stared back at him, but she couldn’t come up with a cutting response.

‘Thought not,’ Morrie continued. ‘Not to worry, we’ve been doing your dirty work for you.’

‘Aye,’ said DS Gray, holding a file to his chest. ‘Guess what’s in here.’

Joni said the first thing that came into her head. ‘Your transfer to Family Liaison?’

Gray’s reaction was striking. His cheeks reddened and he glared at her, then lowered his head and whispered to his boss. Morrie Sutton shook his head and extracted the file from his grip.

‘Nathan’s wife has walked out on him and taken the kids,’ the inspector said. ‘That’s no laughing matter.’

Joni shrugged. Nathan Gray’s marriage had been creaking since she’d arrived at Pofnee, when he’d been having an affair with one of the catering staff. That had stopped when the woman’s husband slashed Gray’s tyres. She wasn’t going to show any sympathy, especially since he seemed to care more about Newcastle United’s defensive frailties.

‘Am I supposed to get on my knees for the file?’

‘Go on then,’ Gray replied, trying to get it back from Sutton.

‘Enough, Nathan,’ Morrie said harshly. ‘You can be a right tosser.’ He handed the file to Joni. ‘We’ve been following up on the men who were in the brothel on Sunday night, the ones whose fingerprints were on record.’

Joni flicked through the pages, the photographs ranging from a wide-eyed, pimply young man to a puffy-faced, shaven-headed older man whom she vaguely recognised.

‘That’s the one,’ Gray said, putting a finger on the page. ‘Alfred Peter Shackleton, also known as “Goat Skin”.’

‘What?’ Joni asked.

‘Don’t ask me. He certainly doesn’t smell too good.’

‘I know why,’ Morrie Sutton said. ‘He used to go around in this manky coat he bought from a towel-head when he drove a VW van to Afghanistan with some pals in the seventies. The story is they brought back enough heroin to supply Newcastle for a month. Being a world-class waster, he pissed all the money away. Oh, and he got arrested for taking a dump in the Bigg Market on a Saturday night.’

‘I saw him,’ Joni said, recalling the man she’d seen first in Corham centre and then in Burwell Street on Sunday night.

‘What, taking a dump?’ Nathan Gray asked.

‘Outside the brothel. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and he’s got…’

‘The Toon colours tattooed on his belly.’ Morrie nodded. ‘That’s him.’

‘All right, so you interviewed him,’ Joni said.

DI Sutton nodded. ‘He didn’t see any of the woman’s knife work, though when we showed him her photo he said he’d screwed her a couple of times. Didn’t like her, said she made him feel like he was raping her.’

Joni glanced at Eileen Andrews. ‘Which he was.’

Morrie stared at her. ‘He’s got needs like all of us. Besides, you saw the size of him. His wife’s a stick insect. It’s not a happy home.’

The conversation was making Joni feel very soiled. ‘Is there a point to this?’

DI Sutton gave her a thin smile. ‘Oh, yes, DI Pax. You see, Goat Skin Shackleton might have been a regular at the knocking shop, but he wasn’t just satisfying himself on Sunday night. He was checking the place out for one of the local gangs. They’re
pissed off with the Albanians and they want them out. He was quite happy to talk about them. Your scrubber … I mean, stabber, did the Steel Toe Caps a good turn.’

‘I want to talk to him,’ Joni said. ‘Where does he live?’

‘Ah, there’s the rub.’ Morrie, a classic rock addict, had an old Wishbone Ash album of that name. ‘His residence is in Ironflatts which, as you know, is within the boundaries of Corham.’

Joni sighed. ‘All right, will you take me to him, please, DI Sutton?’

‘In the spirit of inter-MCU cooperation, it would be my pleasure, Jack.’ He raised a hand. ‘Not you, Nathan. I’m sure DC Andrews has got something you can help her with.’

Joni followed him out, trying to get her mind back on the case. She felt disoriented, even out of her depth, remembering the sweaty fat man. Goat Skin Shackleton – what sort of a name was that? And the Steel Toe Caps? Worst of all, she was about to go south of the river, to the levelled industrial zone with its dilapidated tower blocks and cramped streets lined with thin-walled, two-up two-down houses. One of the few times she’d ventured there, the Land Rover had been pelted with rubbish.

Still, anything that might help save Suzana Noli from the retribution of her countrymen.

Ruth Dickie finished looking at her notes and called DCI Lee Young at Newcastle MCU.

‘What can I do for you, ma’am?’

‘What’s the status of the four men you arrested for attacking the Albanian Fatlum Temo outside the Stars and Bars nightclub?’

There was a pause. As she’d expected, Young hadn’t been expecting the question.

‘They’ve been remanded to Durham Prison.’

‘Having been charged with?’

‘Assault occasioning actual bodily harm.’

‘I see. You’re aware they were trying to ascertain the whereabouts of the man now identified as Gary Frizzell, found without his head and hands in the River Coquet?’

‘Yes, ma’am. I’ve been liaising with DCI Rutherford.’

‘Have you interviewed Mr Temo about the alleged sighting of him with the dead man?’

‘Yes, ma’am. He denied it and the witness, John Joseph, motor mechanic, also denied that he saw Mr Temo with the dead man.’

‘Did you ask him why he lied to Frizzell’s friends?’

‘Yes. He said he was drunk and didn’t know what he was saying.’

‘Who’s the Albanian’s brief?’

‘One of Richard Lennox’s people.’

‘What a surprise. Tell me, DCI Young, have you considered getting a warrant to search the Stars and Bars?’

There was silence on the line. ‘Em, no, ma’am.’

‘You’re aware that an Albanian brothel was operating in Corham and that an Albanian working there was murdered?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Very well. Let me be absolutely clear. From now on we’ll be operating a zero tolerance policy with Albanian-run businesses where there is the slightest suspicion of illegality. These gangs, or rather clans, are gaining a foothold in the north-east and I want them stopped. So, I might add, does the chief constable.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘One more thing. I took the opportunity to speak to Kyle Laggan, the man who identified Gary Frizzell, when he was here. He struck me as a run-of-the-mill loud mouth, but not a professional criminal. Your background searches back that up, do they not?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘So, although I in no way condone the serious charges that he and his friends face, I think your energies should be directed at
the real criminals in this matter. That instruction has been sent to your commanding officer. Good afternoon.’

Ruth Dickie sat back in her leather chair. That would shake the Newcastle MCU up. She’d never liked DCI Young. He knew that and now he’d be wondering why she’d called him instead of his boss. It wouldn’t take him long to work out the reason.

She had him in her sights as well as the Albanians.