Carnal Acts (39 page)

The man known as Gazelle had been outside Moonbeam Pax’s cottage since midday. He was fifteen feet up an old oak tree and had a viewpoint that was both safe and panoramic if he shifted the branches. He didn’t need the binoculars he’d brought in his backpack. He’d parked the car about three hundred yards
further down the road, in a concealed turn-off that led only to the gate of an empty field. There was just an old Renault outside that he knew went with the house. Smoke was rising from the chimney on the right side of the low building and the woman with the crazy name didn’t come out until mid-afternoon. She spent some time cutting from plants in a fenced patch of ground, then went back inside. Her hair looked like a buzzard had been nesting in it and her clothes were hippy but definitely not chic. He could imagine she’d once been an attractive woman. It was hard to see in the small windows, but he reckoned she was on her own. When he was watching her in the garden he thought he heard the door to one of the outhouses bang, but he must have imagined it. There had been no sign of anyone else.

After eating a sandwich and an apple, his back against the gnarled trunk, Gazelle looked at his watch. Nearly four. The sun was still up in the west, but a chill was beginning to settle. He saw no reason to wait any longer. He took the pistol and ammo clips out of his bag, slapping one in and racking the slide. Then he slipped the sheathed knife into the pocket of his dark green combat jacket. One pocket was already stuffed with plastic restraints. After pulling the balaclava over his face, he was ready to rock.

Dropping down from the tree silently, he went to the door and knocked three times. If the woman wanted to know who he was before opening up, he would say he was a police officer, but that turned out to be unnecessary.

‘Wha—,’ Moonbeam Pax said, the smile dying on her lips.

Gazelle had the pistol raised. ‘Inside. No noise, no pissing about.’

The woman backed into the cottage. He glanced into the room on the left past the open door and saw only heaps of cardboard boxes.

‘Christ!’ he said, gagging as he followed her past the foot of the stairs and into the other room. ‘What
is
that?’

‘A herbal remedy for gout,’ Moonbeam Pax said, showing less fear than he was used to.

‘Sit down,’ he said, pointing to a wooden chair by a rickety table. She did so and he quickly secured her arms and legs with ties.

‘What do you want?’ she asked. ‘I have nothing of value, at least to those who do not believe in nature’s powers.’

Gazelle slapped her hard on the left cheek. He was wearing thin leather gloves and the blow made a loud crack.

‘Why … why did … did you do that?’ she asked, her eyes wet.

‘Because you’re a stupid cunt.’ He pressed the muzzle of the pistol against the side of her head. ‘Now start taking deep breaths. In a few minutes you’re going to call your daughter and tell her you’re feeling poorly. You need her to look after you, got that? You need her now.’

Moonbeam Pax nodded slowly as she tried to control her breathing.

Michael Etherington was wedged in the braches of an old oak at the top of the wood. Favon Hall was over a mile to the west. He’d watched as Dan Reston, covered in blood, had dragged the dogs’ bodies through the hedge and loaded them on to the Hilux. His head was down and his shoulders slack as he lit a cigarette. It was too far to hear, but it looked like he was bellowing. Then the factor’s body language changed. He straightened up and pounded his fists against the bodywork. He got in and drove at speed across Andrew Favon’s lawns, heading for the old dower house on the other side of the gardens.

The general considered his options. If he went home, he’d have to find a secure place to hide the camo gear and his weapons – the police would no doubt take him in for questioning about the explosion at the nightclub. He could go back to his friend’s 4×4 and drive as far away as he could, but there was no honour in
that. No, he had to go to the Hall and question the Favons about Nick’s death.

He got down from the tree and made his way through the wood to the eastern edge of the gardens. He was surprised that the shots hadn’t brought Andrew to the door, but maybe he was still pissed from the night before. Although booze wasn’t too high on the list of his vices… Then he heard the roar of an engine and saw the red Hilux speed across the gravel. It swung round the edge of the Hall and drove towards the medieval tower. He raised the scope and watched as a figure dressed in black – no sign of blood – got out. A balaclava had been pulled over the face. Moving quickly, the man took a cattle prod from the back of the pickup and opened the steel door. He disappeared inside, leaving the door ajar.

Michael Etherington had a bad feeling. As far as he knew, the tower was full of junk and was also unsafe. One thing he was sure of – there weren’t any cattle in it. So what was the prod for? Jesus, he said, under his breath. Has the mad fucker locked Andrew and Victoria up in there?

He broke cover, running in a crouch. There was open space between the wood and the tower, but he had no choice.

The man with the codename Leopard was getting impatient. He’d been among the trees across the road from Heck Rutherford’s house for nearly three hours. He’d seen Joni Pax arrive and the whole pack of them go inside for a lunch that seemed to last forever. Then they reappeared and played rounders in the garden, their leaping, running forms visible from his hiding place. He looked at his watch. At last it was nearly time. He checked his clothing. It was all brand new, bought with cash from different shops: a black cagoule and waterproof trousers,
black hiking boots that pinched. He hoped he wouldn’t have to run further than the stolen car he’d been supplied with and had parked down the road.

Leopard had his weapons in a shooting bag: a Benelli M4 Super 90 semi-automatic shotgun, with seven 12 gauge rounds already inserted and another twenty in his pockets; a Korean pistol which he only intended using in the last resort; and a combat knife. He didn’t want to inflict any more damage than he had to, but he would do anything to punish Heck Rutherford. The Albanians had discovered how much he wanted revenge, even though he thought he’d concealed it from all except close family. The money was great too, but it was the icing on the cake. Slaughtering the bastard Rutherford in front of his family was motivation enough.

At last the black cow left – he’d been given strict instructions not to start until she’d gone – and Leopard checked his gear. He pulled on thick latex gloves and rolled down his balaclava. This was it. Payback in blood and guts. He moved to the edge of the wood, checked the road in both directions and headed for the front door. The westering red sun made him blink, but only once.

Evie was at the rear-facing window of her bedroom when the Hilux drove up to the tower. Was that Dan Reston with a balaclava over his face? Why was he taking a cattle prod in there? The way he moved, it was frightening. Could there be someone else inside? She made her mind up – it was time she got out. She wedged a chair under the door handle so her parents would have a struggle to get in. Then she stripped the bed and pulled off the sheet and under sheet. She twisted the fabric and then tied the ends to make a form of rope that would at least get her
close to the gravel-covered ground below. There was a basement that increased the distance.

Andrew had forgotten about her second crutch. She smashed it against the worn wooden frame, breaking as much glass as she could, then threw the duvet over the jagged edges. After securing one end to the leg of a chest of drawers, she threw the rope out and sent the crutch after it. She took a deep breath and climbed out. Her upper body strength was good after using the wheelchair for months, but she still almost lost her grip as she went down and had to pull her legs up to prevent further damage. She straightened them until her feet reached the gravel and stood panting before she picked up her crutch. The silver-coloured metal had taken a battering, but it still held her weight. She limped over to the tower, stopping when she heard what sounded like a man scream. Then she started moving again, her heart pounding.

As she passed the pickup, she had a thought and looked in the window. The key wasn’t in the ignition.

‘Bollocks,’ she mouthed.

There was nothing else for it. She had to go in. It would be the first time in her life. The old building had been out of bounds since she was a small child. She smelled the musty air. There was something else in it – something animal. As she started on the first set of stone steps, she heard another scream, this one more highly pitched. She glanced at her crutch. She had the feeling it wasn’t going to be anything close to adequate as a weapon.

The call came when Joni was about five miles from her mother’s. She immediately knew something was wrong.

‘Joni? I’m … not well, darling. Can you come and … look after me?’

Moonbeam’s tone was almost the standard mixture of laid-back charm and neediness, but Joni caught the tension in it. She didn’t say she was on her way, as arranged, because she knew her mother wouldn’t have forgotten that.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, as evenly as she could.

‘Oh, I’ve got this bug. I’ve … I’ve thrown up twice already and I hardly have the energy to get to the loo.’

‘That doesn’t sound good. All right, I’ll be with you in half an hour.’

‘Thank you, darling.’ The connection was cut, too quickly Joni reckoned, but she’d bought herself some time. She drove on, trying to work out what was happening. A burglary, a home invasion – or something worse? She called Heck. The landline was engaged and his mobile switched to voicemail. Parking about five hundred yards before Moonbeam’s track, she found Pete Rokeby’s number.

There was a lot of noise in the background when he answered.

‘It’s Joni, Pete. There’s something going on.’ She explained the situation.

‘You think your mother and DCI Rutherford are in danger?’

‘I don’t want to take any chances, given what we know the Albanians can do. I’m calling uniform to both places, but I want you to get to Heck’s … to the DCI’s, as quick as you can. Where are you?’

‘Restaurant in Corham. It’s a friend’s birthday and I’ve been drinking.’

‘Too bad. Get over there now.’ She terminated the call, called the uniformed branch and then got out of the Land Rover. She had a toolbox under a blanket in the back. She knew she should wait for backup, but she couldn’t leave her mother in danger, for all their problems. She put a screwdriver in one jacket pocket and took a two-foot socket wrench in her hand, before cutting across the fields and approaching the cottage from the rear. She reckoned backup from Alnwick would be at least twenty minutes. She stooped as she approached the back window of
the main room. Raising her head cautiously, she saw her mother sitting on one of the chairs at the table. The white restraints round Moonbeam’s wrists and ankles immediately caught her attention. She looked around slowly. A figure in dark clothes and a balaclava was standing behind the door that led to the small hall. The height and bulk suggested it was a man. He was holding a pistol in his right hand and what looked like a combat knife in his left. He couldn’t be seen from the front windows. If she knocked at the front door, she’d make a large target.

Joni rocked back on her heels. She was seriously outgunned and there was nothing she could do about it. Moonbeam hated shooting and certainly wouldn’t have any firearms about the place. Maybe there was something useful in the outhouse, the one her mother had been so snippy about being searched. Joni headed there and dropped to her knees to look through the keyhole. It was blocked on the inside. She tried the door and it opened immediately. She stared up in amazement at the
familiar
figure rubbing sleep from his eyes. Getting to her feet, she pushed him back and closed the door.

‘Morrie? What the hell are you doing here?’

‘Had a bit of lunch with your mother. She very kindly drove me up here so I could hit the home brew. I was having a snooze till you woke me up.’

Joni’s eyes were wide. ‘Never mind. There’s a man with a pistol and a knife in the cottage and he’s tied her to a chair. I got a call from her that I realised was made under duress. She knew I was coming this afternoon.’

‘Did she now? Oddly, she didn’t mention it to me.’ Simmons smiled. ‘Looks like she was going to introduce you to her new man.’

Joni tried to ignore that. ‘I don’t suppose there are any weapons in here? Backup’s on its way but I don’t want to wait.’ She looked around the small room. It had been refurbished as a kind of bedsit, with a single bed along the back wall and a desk at the shuttered window. There was some kind of altar in the far
corner. The mingled smells of fruit and herbs filled her nostrils.

‘There’s a garden fork outside,’ Morrie said. ‘That might make him fill his shorts. Besides, I know how to look after myself.’

‘Really?’ Joni said doubtfully. ‘OK, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll knock at the front door. When he goes to open it, you get in the back. Is the door locked?’

‘Wasn’t when I went out an hour ago.’

‘He might have secured it. If he has, break the kitchen window and get inside as quickly as you can.’

‘There are plenty of knives in the kitchen,’ Morrie said. ‘You sure you don’t want
me
to go in the front?’

Joni shook her head. ‘She’s my mother. You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.’ She caught his eye. ‘Then again, it sounds like you have an interest in her.’

‘You could say that.’ Morrie followed her to the door and went to the rear of the cottage with unexpected stealth.

Joni dismissed the thought of her mother and Morrie Simmons together. She went to the front door, crawling beneath the window, and stood up. Holding the socket wrench behind her back, she knocked with her left hand.

‘Mother? It’s me.’

There was a pause, then the door opened quickly. The pistol was pointed directly at her face.

‘Inside, you stupid bitch.’ She recognised the voice immediately and her stomach clenched. The man holding a gun on her was Marcus Ainsworth, the armed robber who had crippled Roland Malpas during the raid in south London and managed to escape.

‘You!’ she said, expelling breath rapidly.

A smile appeared on the mouth in the balaclava slit. ‘Me. Show me what you’ve got in your right hand. Slowly!’

Joni brought the socket wrench round and dropped it. She was struggling, so shocked was she by the reappearance of the vicious piece of shit who had stabbed her after she’d taken Roland Malpas’s place.

‘Come on,’ Ainsworth ordered, the pistol aimed at her abdomen as he backed into the main room.

‘Joni!’ her mother wailed from the chair. ‘He forced me to phone.’

‘What’s this about?’ Joni demanded.

Ainsworth laughed. ‘You’ve pissed off some powerful people. They’re smart as well. Hired me to get rid of you.’ He glanced at Moonbeam. ‘It’d be a good idea if you don’t tell your mother who I am.’ He laughed emptily. ‘Otherwise I’ll have to kill her too.’

Joni was suddenly aware that Morrie was behind her captor, crouching with the garden fork held horizontally.

‘Leave her alone,’ she said. ‘I don’t care what you do to me.’

Marcus Ainsworth stared at her. ‘What’s happened to you, woman?’ He glanced at Moonbeam. ‘Didn’t you like what I did to you down south?’ Then his head cracked to the right as the curve of the fork’s tines hit the left side of his skull. He crashed to the floor.

‘Fucker,’ Morrie said, leaning over the motionless man and pulling off the balaclava. He started emptying his pockets. The knife and pistol were pushed out of range and more plastic restraints tossed out. ‘Secure his hands behind his back, Jack,’ he said. ‘I’ll tie his ankles together. Come on. He could wake up any second.’

Joni, who had been replaying the scene outside the warehouse, came back to herself. In seconds she had Ainsworth’s hands fastened. Blood was flowing from four lines on the side of his head, but he had a pulse. His face was still covered in the acne she remembered.

‘Good job,’ Simmons said, going over to release Moonbeam.

‘That was a terrible thing you did, Morrie,’ she said. ‘No living creature deserves to be treated like that.’

Joni burst out in laughter bordering on the hysterical. ‘Mother,’ she said, when she’d calmed down, ‘that’s Marcus Ainsworth, the bastard who nearly gutted me. He was going to kill me – you
too, probably – but you’re more worried about offending the essential equilibria?’

‘Didn’t have much choice,’ Simmons said, his arm round Moonbeam’s shoulders.

‘Is that really
him
?’

‘Yes, Mother,’ Joni said. ‘Did you think he was after your dope stash?’

‘It … it must have been terrible for you, to be confronted by him again.’

Joni couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her mother had never shown such empathy before. Maybe Morrie Simmons was good for her. No, that was too hard to believe.

‘Why was he going to kill you?’ Moonbeam asked.

Joni sat down. ‘The cases we’ve been working on – Michael Etherington’s grandson, the dead man from the brothel in Corham – there’s an Albanian clan involved. They don’t take prisoners.’

‘But he’s no Albanian,’ Morrie said, glancing at the comatose figure.

‘They used him to make it worse for me, I suppose. And to cover their tracks.’ She took out her phone. ‘I’d better call the DCI. Is this some kind of a joke, Morrie? Are you cosying up to my mother to get at me?’

Moonbeam’s laughter was like a peal of large bells. ‘I was the one who cosied up to him.’

Morrie Simmons shrugged. ‘Mutual attraction.’

Joni shook her head. Then threw herself to the floor as multiple gunshots turned the windows into lethal fragments.