Carnal Acts (40 page)

Heck was settling down in front of the TV to catch up on the sport when the doorbell rang. His old man was asleep on the other sofa, Adolf on his lap, while Ag was in the kitchen, Kat in her room texting her friends with Cass no doubt flopped on her bed, and Luke playing some computer game involving balls – he was banned from anything overtly violent. Heck groaned and went to the door.

‘What the…’

‘Shut up.’ The man with the balaclava covering his face jabbed at Heck’s belly with a shotgun. ‘In the front room and sit down.’

‘What the fuck…’

The butt of the Benelli was slammed into Heck’s belly and his face creased in agony. ‘No talking, right?’ His assailant glanced at David and then went to the kitchen. He returned with Ag in front of him. ‘Get the kids down here,’ he said. ‘If you screw up, they die.’

‘Do … do as … he says … pet,’ Heck said from the sofa, doubled up. He wasn’t sure if he’d sustained internal injuries. Worse, he was trembling. The fear had returned and it was more debilitating than ever.

Ag stayed calm and called the children. Kat started to sob when she saw the weapon, while Luke ran to his father.

‘What have you done to him, you shite?’ he yelled.

‘Keep the noise down or it’ll be much worse.’ The gunman herded the woman and children towards the inner of the two sofas. ‘Wake the old tosser up. He may as well hear what I’ve got to say.’ The landline started ringing. The intruder picked up the handset and pressed the End Call button. Heck’s mobile on the coffee table started to buzz.

‘Leave it,’ he ordered. ‘In front of the fireplace, Rutherford. The rest of you sit down.’ The shotgun was pointed at Heck’s chest, but it quickly moved towards Ag, Kat and his father. They crammed on to the sofa.

Heck pushed Luke gently towards his mother.

‘What is this?’ Ag demanded.

Heck peered at the man in the balaclava, then turned to his family. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll sort this out quickly enough.’ He opened his arms. ‘Why don’t we go outside and talk this over?’

The intruder stared at him, then shook his head. ‘No chance. You’re going to die in front of your family.’

Kat and Luke gasped and started to cry.

Ag put her arms round them. ‘Don’t you da—’

The last word was lost in the roar of the shotgun. Plaster crashed down from the ceiling.

‘That got your attention?’

Ag, David and the children glared at the masked man, but kept quiet.

‘You want to tell me what this is about?’ Heck asked, his arms still wide.

‘It’s about you dying in agony, shithead.’ The shotgun swung towards the others. ‘Keep still or I’ll blow the lot of you apart.’

Heck had taken courses in handling armed assailants. The important thing was to keep them talking.

‘Whatever it is you think I’ve done, it can be sorted out.’

‘Like hell,’ the gunman scoffed.

There was something about the rough voice that was familiar, but Heck concentrated on getting his family out of the danger zone.

‘Let the others go into the kitchen, and you and I will sort this out between us.’

‘Fuck…’

There was a loud hammering at the door.

‘DCI Rutherford? Heck?’

‘Stand still!’ the man in the balaclava ordered. When Pete Rokeby’s face appeared at the window, he loosed off another shot then racked the slide. Kat was screaming.

‘Listen to this before your guts spill over the floor, Rutherford. Ned Sacker. This is for him.’ He pointed the shotgun at Heck’s midriff.

‘No!’ Ag shrieked, leaping forwards.

At the same time, Pete Rokeby reappeared at the window and threw a hand-sized stone at the gunman, glass flying inwards after it. The stone hit him on the side of the head and he staggered back, the shotgun wavering. Heck leaped towards him and grabbed the weapon. Pete came through the window and helped him wrest it from the man in the balaclava, who had one hand on the side of his head and the other inside his cagoule. It came out holding a black pistol, which he pointed at Heck’s head.

‘Out of my house!’ the DCI said, the shotgun to his shoulder. ‘Out!’ He glanced at Rokeby, who was on his knees with his arm wrapped round the intruder’s legs. ‘Let him go, Pancake.’

The gunman swayed, the hand holding the pistol unsteady. He backed towards the door slowly, eyes wide open in the balaclava slit. Then he went round the corner and out of view. The sounds of the front door opening and closing were clearly audible.

Heck kept the shotgun raised and followed as far as the sitting-room door.

‘No!’ Kat said, gulping for breath. ‘Don’t, Dad!’

Heck made sure the street door was firmly closed. ‘Right, all of you behind that sofa, heads down. We don’t know this is
finished
. Pete, come with…’

There was a shot from outside, but the house wasn’t hit.

Heck went to the front door and lifted the flap of the letter box. ‘Jesus,’ he said, under his breath. Then he listened as a high-powered motorbike revved and raced away to the east.

Rokeby was already calling for backup and an armed response unit. Heck waited for a couple of minutes, then opened the door. He looked out cautiously, and then went over to the body in the grass on the other side of the road. There was no more gunfire and he lowered the shotgun. When he got to the man who had threatened to kill him, he saw that he was done for. He’d been shot in the neck and the blood was coursing between his fingers. He knelt beside him and pulled off the balaclava.

‘Not So Lucky,’ he said. ‘I thought I recognised your voice.’

Ian Sacker coughed, blood wetting his lips. ‘Fuck … you.’

‘This was all about your brother? You were going to kill me because the tosser’s inside?’

‘You … deserve … it,’ Not So Lucky panted, then his hand fell away. The blood coursed unimpeded over his chest and on to the grass.

‘You were going to kill me in front of my family because of your headbanger of a brother?’ Heck said, then he realised. ‘It was the Albanians, wasn’t it? They put you up to this.’ He leaned closer. ‘Give me your contact. At least you won’t have thrown your life away for nothing.’

Sacker tried to spit in his face but his breath and blood ran out, and he died.

‘The Albanians turned
him
into a hit man?’ Pete said from behind, in astonishment.

Heck waved Ag and the others back inside. ‘Yup. And when he failed, some bastard on a big boy’s bike shot him to make sure he kept quiet.’ He stood up, keeping hold of the shotgun.

‘He was a fuckwit, though,’ Pete said. ‘Lucky for us.’

Heck nodded, then caught a glimpse of a fast-moving object in the corner of his eye. The motorbike was returning. ‘Back to the house!’ he said, grabbing Rokeby’s arm. Shots from a machine pistol kicked up asphalt and earth as they made it to the front door. Heck slammed it shut and slid the bolts. The roar of the motorbike was followed by the screech of tyres outside.

‘Everyone upstairs,’ Heck shouted.

The rhomboid window in the front door was smashed and bullets thudded into the carpeted steps. ‘Shit! On all fours, into the kitchen, everyone! You too, Pancake. We’ll see if we can get out the back.’

‘Shouldn’t be long till the ARU gets here,’ Rokeby said.

Heck grinned at him ruefully. ‘We haven’t got long. Come on, everyone!’ He waited by the sitting-room door as the others crawled to the rear of the house. ‘Pancake, we’ll try and block the way with the sofas.’

They did their best to manhandle the heavy furniture to the door, but a rattle of shots came through the already broken window.

‘Forget it!’ Heck said, on his knees. ‘Get in the back.’

The two of them made it to the kitchen as more shots drilled across the floor.

‘This lunatic isn’t giving up,’ Rokeby said.

Heck closed the kitchen door. ‘That’s the problem. From what Joni said, the worst of the Albanians are like the Terminator.’ They shoved the table against the door. ‘Let’s see what’s going on outside. Everyone stay on the floor, hands over your heads.’ He went to door that led to the garden and opened it slightly. Splinters of wood flew past his face.

‘Bloody hell. Either there’s more than one of them or he knows exactly what we’re doing.’ Heck pulled Pancake down. ‘Kitchen cutlery drawer’s over there. Get the big knives out.’

Ag looked up. ‘Heck, why don’t we wait for the other officers?’

‘Because we aren’t going to be allowed to. He or they have made enough noise to wake up even the doddery old couple down the road.’ He smiled reassuringly at the kids. ‘You two, in the larder with Granddad. Go on, now! Lock the door and get on the floor. Don’t worry, it’ll be all right. Ag, you too.’

‘No chance. You need all the help you can get.’

A fusillade of shots came through the windows and they were sprayed with glass and wood fragments. Fortunately no one was hit in the face.

‘How about playing dead?’ Pete said. ‘Then we nail him when he comes in to make sure.’

‘Aye, good idea.’ Heck looked at the gashes on the backs of his hands. ‘But we need more blood.’

Ag opened a low cupboard and took out a plastic bottle of tomato ketchup.

‘Genius,’ Heck said, as she slid it across the debris-littered floor. He squirted it on his head and upper chest, then passed it to his colleague.

‘How are we going to get him?’ Pete asked, when he was equally drenched.

‘Leave that to me,’ Ag said. She waited until another blast of shots came, then scrambled on to the Raeburn. It was only a foot from the back door. Above the stove hung a row of long-handled, cast-iron saucepans.

‘You realise that if there’s more than one, we’re dead,’ Heck said.

‘Thanks for pointing that out.’ Ag pressed her back against the wall and took down a heavy frying pan.

There were more shots, this time through the door. Heck and Pete lay still as they were spattered by more splinters. Then there was a light step outside and the door was pushed slowly open. Heck knew this was the worst moment. If the killer decided to shoot them in the head before coming any further, at least it would be a quick death.

But he didn’t do that. Looking down at Heck and Pete, a machine pistol in his hand, the young man in the tatty German army jacket and black motorbike helmet seemed satisfied. Then came a loud thud as Ag played a perfect square cut against the right side of his head. The machine pistol dropped to the floor and the gunman crashed sideways. He was pulled down by Heck and Pete, the latter holding a carving knife to his throat below the helmet.

The sound of a siren came closer up the road. Heck grabbed the machine pistol and waited to see if anyone else took the plunge. As uniformed officers ran around the house and entered it from front and rear, he realised that, after Not So Lucky Sacker, the partially conscious man on the kitchen floor had been their sole attacker.

‘And what’s the moral of all that, Pancake?’ Heck said, as he helped Ag down and embraced her. ‘Women. Don’t go up against them.’

‘You’d better not.’ Ag nudged her husband in the ribs and went to get the kids and David.

Heck shook his head in admiration. Then he realised two things. One, his belly hurt like hell but, two, he’d lost his fear. This time he didn’t think it would be back.

Victoria Favon was at the kitchen window.

‘Andrew!’ she cried. ‘Come here, now!’

Her husband arrived, newspaper hanging from his hand.

‘Evie managed to get out of the window. She’s in the tower.’

The paper fell to the floor.

‘What?’

‘Don’t just stand there, you fool!’

Andrew was looking out of the window. ‘I shouldn’t worry. The Hilux is there. Dan will handle her.’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of. Get over there immediately.’ As he reached the door, she added, ‘And take your shotgun. You saw how distraught Dan was about the dogs. God knows what he might do. I don’t care about the slut you’ve been fattening up or that oaf of a farmer, but I’d prefer Evie to remain alive.’

‘I don’t suppose you’re coming with me.’

‘You don’t suppose correctly. I’m going to talk to our Albanian friends. We need professional help.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Victoria, we owe them enough already.’

‘Get over there!’

Lord Favon beat a retreat.

Lady Favon went to her bedroom and called the number she’d been given. She smiled when she was told that a man was already in the vicinity.

From the floor Joni looked at the others when the shooting stopped. By some miracle she hadn’t been hit. Her mother was clutching her right shoulder, while Morrie Simmons was on his back, blood oozing from several chest wounds. Moonbeam stared at her in agony and Joni put her finger to her lips. The ARU and backup would arrive soon. Two things occurred to her. The shooter, who must have a machine pistol or an automatic rifle, was the real thing compared with Marcus Ainsworth. And, being a pro, he was going to make sure that at least she was dead. As she crawled towards Ainsworth’s pistol, she had another thought. Maybe there was more than one of them. She glanced at Morrie. He was breathing, but he’d been hit by at least three bullets. She called 999 and directed an ambulance to the cottage. Then she waited for their assailant. He was a Popi, she was sure.

There was a shadow at the window. Joni waited until it darkened, catching sight of a stocky man in black leather jacket and cap. She was behind the door so he couldn’t see her, but the comatose Ainsworth, her mother and Morrie were visible enough. She heard a metallic object hit the paving stones outside the window and then the slap of another magazine being loaded. She’d been on a firearms course at the Met, but it had only been to familiarise officers with the weapons they would come up against – specialist firearms units did the actual shooting. There was a small lever on the right side above the butt of the pistol that Ainsworth had dropped. She pushed it down to reveal a green dot. She was surprised he had the safety applied, but what bothered her now was whether there was a round in the chamber. She bet there would be, moved out of cover and emptied the magazine at the window. The noise made her ears ring and at first she couldn’t tell if her shots had provoked a similar response. Grabbing the garden fork, she crawled to the front door and stretched up to open it slightly. There was the roar of a car heading away to the right of the cottage. Had she actually scared off the bastard?

Then Joni made out another sound – the wail of a siren. She let out a gasp of relief and looked outside. There was blood on the grass beyond the paving stones. She had hit the shooter at least once.

‘Are you all right, ma’am?’ said a constable, who came running towards her.

‘Yes.’ She got to her feet and dropped the empty pistol. ‘If any of you guys know first aid, there are three wounded people inside – but don’t waste your time on the one in restraints. I’ve already called an ambulance.’

Three more uniforms arrived, one of them a sergeant. She gave him a brief run-down of what had happened. Then a black van appeared and men in combat fatigues jumped out. The Armed Response Team leader came over.

‘Chief Inspector Bonnett,’ he said, glancing into the house.

Joni introduced herself and told him what had happened.

‘Do you have any idea where he might be heading, DI Pax?’

‘I imagine he’ll be going back to Newcastle. The Albanians are there in numbers.’

‘We haven’t got much to go on,’ Bonnett, ‘given you didn’t see his vehicle. I’ll liaise with uniform about closing off the roads in the vicinity.’

Joni nodded and left him with the sergeant. She went inside the cottage. One of the officers was kneeling by Morrie Simmons, head close to his chest. He looked up as she drew close and pursed his lips.

‘He’s been hit badly, ma’am. I’m doing what I can, but let’s hope the paramedics get here soon.’

Joni knelt down on the other side. ‘Come on, Morrie,’ she said. ‘Stay with us.’

He blinked, his breathing rapid. ‘Sorry … Jack … fucking … hell…’ His voice trailed away.

Joni looked up and saw that his eyes had closed.

There was a pounding of boots as the paramedics arrived. They took charge immediately. Joni stepped back and went to her mother.

‘Is he…’ Moonbeam choked.

‘He’s still alive, I think,’ Joni said, looking at the wound in her mother’s shoulder. ‘We need attention here too.’

One of the paramedics, a short young woman, raised her head and took in Moonbeam’s condition. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’ She was attaching a drip to Morrie’s wrist.

‘Hold on, Mother.’ Her phone rang and she went outside.

‘Joni, thank fuck.’ Heck sounded desperate. ‘You OK?’

‘I am, yes.’ She told him about Ainsworth, and what had happened to Morrie Simmons and her mother.

‘They tried to get me as well,’ he said. ‘Thanks to Ag and Pancake, we’re all OK. The brother of an evil fucker I put away was going to kill me with a shotgun in front of the family.’

‘Jesus Christ, Heck.’

‘Someone – an Albanian, I’m guessing – took him out and nearly did for the rest of us. He’s got a serious concussion. What happened to your second shooter?’

‘He drove off to the west. Could be miles away by now and I didn’t see the vehicle.’

‘OK, hold fast. I’ll talk to the ACC and see if the helicopter’s
available
. We might pick your gunman up if he’s driving like a lunatic.’

Looking to the right, Joni made up her mind. ‘I’ve got to go. See you later, Heck.’ It was only as she cut the connection that she realised she’d called her boss by his first name twice. She’d resisted doing so when she was at his house despite Ag’s stipulation. She watched as one of the paramedics and a uniformed officer carried Morrie, another holding up the drip. Her mother followed, a blanket round her and the female paramedic leading her by her good arm.

‘Joni, you’ll … you’ll follow … us to the hospital?’ Moonbeam sobbed.

‘I’ll be there,’ Joni said, squeezing her mother’s wrist.

‘We’ll secure the scene, ma’am,’ the sergeant said.

‘Such as it is after we’ve stomped all over it,’ Joni replied. ‘Do what you can. I need to go to the hospital.’

Back down the lane, Joni got into the Land Rover and checked the map. Just as she’d thought, if she carried on past the turn-off to her mother’s cottage, she’d reach Favon Hall in about ten minutes. Something was going on there, but she knew Heck would forbid her to approach without approval from Mrs Normal. By the time a team was organised, it could be too late. She was sure Suzana Noli and Oliver Forrest were there – perhaps even Michael Etherington. She also reckoned the gunman was on his way to the Favons.

She drove past the cottage turn-off, seeing CI Bonnett turn and stare. He would pass on the direction she’d headed when asked. It was the opposite to that taken by the ambulance, but there were plenty of junctions between here and the Hall. She picked up her phone and turned it off.

Joni felt as if some strange power was directing her. She didn’t usually feel this way before cases broke. Then again, she wasn’t usually the target of two hit men in one afternoon.