Carnal Acts (43 page)

‘How’s Joni?’ Ag was at the wheel. They were on the way to her sister’s in Bardon Mill, the Cherokee packed with clothes and other gear. The house was full of SOCOs, drafted in from Newcastle, and the damage to the windows and doors meant it would need work before they could go back. The kids and David were in a squad car behind them.

‘I called her before we left. She sounded knackered, which is hardly a surprise. Moonbeam’s OK, but they’re keeping her in for a few days. She’s had an operation on her shoulder.’

Ag laughed. ‘I still can’t believe someone would choose that ridiculous name.’ She glanced at Heck. ‘What on earth was Morrie Simmons doing at her place?’

‘Shagging her, apparently.’

‘Lovely, Heck Rutherford. But you don’t sound very convinced.’

‘I don’t know. There’s something strange about the whole thing. According to Joni, Michael Etherington knew that Andrew Favon was being blackmailed.’

‘And you think it was Morrie?’

‘There isn’t going to be any evidence, especially if Morrie doesn’t make it. He’s still in surgery.’

‘I never liked the man, but he seems to have acted pretty heroically.’

‘As did Joni, more than once.’

‘She’s a remarkable woman.’

Heck put his hand on her thigh. ‘So are you. I’ll never forget the hit you landed on that scumbag’s helmet.’

‘Lioness defending her kin. You’re no slouch yourself, mind.
You were in full command while the shots were flying. I was impressed. How’s your gut? That was a heavy blow you took.’

‘Weirdly, it feels better.’

‘Away with you.’ She put her hand on his. ‘Though if that’s really the case, the night is ours.’

‘You fancy messing about?’

She laughed. ‘You take your time, but you get there in the end.’

‘Uh-huh. Given your sister’s married to a vicar, you’d better keep the lead vocals down.’

Ag stopped her elbow just before it made contact with Heck’s lower abdomen.

The morning briefing, Tuesday, 14 May.

Heck Rutherford was at the front as usual, with ACC Ruth Dickie at the back, looking mildly pleased with herself.

‘DI Pax?’

‘Thanks, sir. We’ve still got a way to go with the details of the Etherington-Favon-Albanian clan case, but here’s where we stand now. Suzana Noli. There have been no sightings of her since Sunday. Her description has been passed to all neighbouring forces north and south of the border.’

‘I don’t suppose she could have doubled back,’ Nathan Gray said. With Morrie Simmons still in intensive care, he was acting chief of Corham MCU.

‘If she has, you’d better make sure she doesn’t slip through your fingers, DS Gray,’ Mrs Normal said. ‘That wouldn’t look good at all.’

Heck suppressed a smile. He knew the ACC was actively looking for a replacement for Morrie. If he recovered, his career was in jeopardy because of the suspicion he’d been blackmailing the Favons.

‘Lord Favon has been released from Corham General,’ Joni continued, ‘and is being held in the cells here. Along with his wife, he’s been charged with kidnapping and false imprisonment – their fingerprints are all over the beds in the old tower – as well as aiding and abetting a murderer. On advice from Richard Lennox, neither is talking. Lady Favon claims that everything she said when Michael Etherington was holding a gun on her was a lie. However, her daughter Evie is keen to testify on that and other matters.’

‘We won’t need her,’ Heck said. ‘We’ve got enough evidence to send Lord and Lady F down for years. And that’s before the fraud squad has crawled all over their business interests. They’ve developed close ties to companies potentially linked to the Spahia clan.’

‘As for Dan Reston,’ Joni said, ‘his prints were found on the stone that was used to kill Nick Etherington. A pair of Adipower Howard baseball boots whose soles match the prints found in the proximity of Nick’s body was found in his house.’

‘Has he started talking yet?’ Ruth Dickie asked.

‘No, ma’am. He’s still in the psychiatric ward. The doctor in charge told me that he’s suffered a major psychotic breakdown and it may take months, or even years, to bring him back to reality.’

‘What about his wife?’ Eileen Andrews asked.

‘Cheryl’s at the opposite end of the spectrum. She shouts and swears at anyone who comes near her and has refused representation. The wound in her neck wasn’t as deep as it initially looked. Her prints have been found in the tower and on Greg Frizzell’s head and hands. She’s been charged with false imprisonment, and aiding and abetting his murder. More charges, some of them pretty nasty, will follow.’

Heck put a hand on Joni’s arm. ‘Ollie Forrest told me the person who cuffed him and brought him food and clothes always wore a black balaclava. I reckon Dan and Cheryl Reston took turns to play warder and use the cattle prod. Ollie also said it was Dan Reston who clobbered him up on the moor.’

‘Delightful people,’ Pete Rokeby muttered.

‘You have several other men to account for, DI Pax,’ said the ACC.

‘Yes, ma’am. Marcus Ainsworth, who tried to kill me in my mother’s cottage, was, as you know, the man who attacked me in London. There’s no way we can link him to the Spahia clan unless he talks – and he may not even know the clan name – but it’s a reasonable assumption that they hired him.’

‘You and DI Simmons dealt with him effectively enough. The Albanians obviously didn’t trust him since they had backup on the scene.’

Joni nodded. ‘My research showed that outside contractors are often used, as I told you. They are often killed to silence them. As for Ian Sacker, I think he’s DCI Rutherford’s special subject.’

Heck smiled grimly. ‘Some of you’ll remember a sick gangster called Ned Sacker. I put him away for a long stretch when I was in Newcastle. His brother Not So Lucky thought he’d have a go.’

‘He really was not so lucky,’ Nathan Gray said, grinning.

Nobody laughed.

‘As for the Albanian killed by General Etherington,’ Joni resumed, ‘he was carrying no ID. According to Suzana Noli, he was a Popi, their unofficial equivalent of the SAS.’

Ruth Dickie walked to the front, but didn’t speak.

‘Michael Etherington ran an organisation dedicated to fighting the Spahia clan, with whom he’d clashed in Kosovo.’ Joni looked at Nathan Gray. ‘Have you got anywhere with the Steel Toe Caps?’

‘Em, not really, ma’am. They’ve all done a bunk. Even Dorries, the computer nerd.’

The ACC shook her head. ‘You let them get away? That’s not very impressive, DS Gray.’

Nathan’s head dropped.

‘That’s all, ma’am,’ Joni said. ‘DI Rokeby?’

Pancake looked as uncomfortable as ever, but he stepped
forward. ‘DCI Rutherford asked me to talk to DI Pax’s mother, Moonbeam. She’s still in Corham General. She told me that she and Morrie had been … together for over a month. She said she knew nothing about the blackmail General Etherington mentioned and was adamant that he had visited her for a spell consultation to help find his grandson’s killer.’

Ruth Dickie cleared her throat eloquently.

Pancake went on. ‘Ms Pax also said that DI Pax knew nothing about her relationship with Morrie … DI Simmons, or about anything else.’

Heck looked at Joni. She was holding her head high, but he could tell she was mortified.

‘Thank you, DI Rokeby,’ the ACC said. ‘Now, I want to make something crystal clear. Some of you will have heard that DCI Lee Young of Newcastle MCU has been arrested on corruption charges that directly relate to these cases. He has admitted to receiving bribes from Albanians belonging to the Spahia clan, both for supplying information and for protecting their illegal activities. As a result, Newcastle MCU is being thoroughly investigated by Professional Standards. If anyone in this room has relevant information, it must be reported to me in person by end of shift today. Am I clear?’

There was a lot of nodding, but no one spoke.

‘One last matter. The chief constable and I are committed to driving the Albanians out of Force area. This is our number one priority. I expect all of you to respond appropriately.’ Mrs Normal headed for the door.

After Heck had allocated duties to both MCUs, he called Joni into the glass cube.

‘Nice one by your mother.’

‘I’ll kill her.’

‘Don’t be stupid. She’s protecting you.’

‘Huh.’

Heck took his suit jacket off and sat down. ‘There are still some things we have to clear up.’

Joni nodded. ‘Such as, who made the anonymous call about Nick Etherington being forced off the road by a black Suzuki?’

‘Aye. What do you think?’

Joni sat down opposite him. She was wearing a scarlet blouse, no longer committed to white for work. ‘It must have been Morrie. He was on the Favons’ backs already about Andrew using the brothel. Nick’s death would have made him even more greedy.’

Heck was looking out of the window towards Ironflatts. ‘You’re probably right. Professional Standards will be over his house and his accounts like beagles after a fox.’

‘You used to work for them.’

‘Doesn’t mean I like them. Then again, I don’t like dirty cops either. If Morrie was one of those, he can go to hell.’

‘He saved my life.’

‘I know. The question is, where has Morrie hidden his stash?’

‘Oh, Christ.’ Joni smacked her forehead.

‘What?’

‘My mother. The money’s probably at her place.’

Heck smiled. ‘That would explain why she covered your backside and every other part of your anatomy.’

‘Maybe they won’t think to look there.’

‘Don’t bet on it. I won’t drop them any hints.’

‘Stupid cow. It’s so like her to mess things up for me.’

Heck opened a file. ‘Here, guess what? Kyle Laggan and his mates have been let loose. The charges against them have been dropped as the Albanians concerned seem to have left the area.’

‘They were lucky. If they’d been in prison much longer, the Albanians would have got to them.’

Heck nodded. ‘Do you think the Spahia clan will leave them and us alone?’

‘It’s not their style.’

‘No, but Mrs Normal’s on a mission.’

‘Rather them than me.’ Joni yawned before she could get a hand over her mouth.

‘Come on, lass, you’re out on your feet.’

‘Lass? What kind of patronising…’

‘Take the day off. That’s a direct order.’ Heck grinned. ‘Go on, bugger off. And don’t give me any bollocks about homophobic language. I love Pancake dearly.’

Joni gave up and went home.

Joni slept into the early evening. Her dreams weren’t as vivid as they had been the previous two nights – they didn’t wake her – but she relived the most heavy-duty scenes from what had turned out to be one large interlinked case: the stabbed
Albanian
in the brothel, the body in the river without head or hands, Nick Etherington’s bloody, crushed features, the shootings in her mother’s cottage and the deaths in Favon Hall. The last sight was of Gary Frizzell’s putrefying extremities in the Restons’ fridge. That did rouse her.

She went into the sitting room and put on a CD of Mozart’s clarinet concerto. Sitting by the window, she looked at the birds swooping around in the twilight. She felt curiously relaxed – Heck had been right to send her home. She considered going to visit her mother, then decided against it. She and Moonbeam had quarrelled the previous evening and she didn’t trust herself to keep calm after what Pancake had said in the briefing. Her mother always thought Joni had some kind of special powers and that she was denying them by cutting herself from black culture. Joni had always resisted, but now she felt less determined – which was paradoxical, given that there was scarcely any black culture in north-east England. The truth was that she herself had always felt she was special – not in terms of powers, but intellectually. Suddenly she understood how arrogant she had been. She thought of the portraits of the previous viscounts in Favon
Hall, the slaves bending earthwards in the background. The latter were her ancestors, at least on one side. She shouldn’t have ignored black history and everything that went with being black for so long. The insult one footballer had used about another came back to her – she was a classic choc-ice and that couldn’t be good. She got up and changed the CD to one by Duke
Ellington
. A friend had given it to her for her birthday years ago and she’d never even opened it. She found herself enjoying the music from the first notes. That would show Moonbeam.

Her mother was recovering from the wound in her shoulder. The bullet had damaged only muscle and the surgeon expected her to regain full mobility in her arm in time. She told him she would treat herself when she was allowed home, which went down like a lead jumbo jet. Joni hated to imagine the animals – already dead, of course – that would be chopped up and boiled to make poultices.

Her mobile rang.

‘DI Pax,’ said a female voice tentatively.

‘Evie? I told you call me Joni.’

‘Em, Joni. Could we … could we meet?’

‘What, now?’

A pause. ‘Yes.’

‘All right. How about Old Mother Mary’s Tea Shop? It stays open till ten.’

‘I … I’d prefer not to be seen in public. Could I … could I come to your place?’

Joni felt a twinge of concern. Inviting people connected to ongoing cases into your home was a no-no for police officers, especially detectives. But the girl had been through so much and sounded so broken that she decided to make an exception. She gave her the address and Evie said she’d be there in ten minutes.

Joni studied her in the entry-phone screen. She was leaning on one crutch, a bag over the other shoulder, and she looked like she was about to collapse. Joni went down to let her in.

‘You’re all in,’ she said, taking the girl’s arm. ‘Sorry, there’s no lift, but it’s only the first floor.’

‘I’ll … I’ll manage,’ Evie said, but she didn’t try to shake Joni off.

They went into the flat and Joni led her to the sofa.

‘Lie down if you like. What can I get you? Have you eaten?’

Evie shook her head.

‘Hold on.’ Joni made her a mug of coffee and a cheese sandwich. Both disappeared in a few minutes.

‘Thanks,’ Evie said, wiping her mouth.

‘More?’

‘No, I’m OK now. I’m sorry…’

‘There’s no need to apologise. I’d say you’re in at least mild shock.

Evie picked up her crutch and rested it against her thigh. ‘I don’t know … I might be, but the thing is … I don’t care what happens to my parents. They … they disgust me.’

Joni sat down in the armchair facing her. ‘Shall I turn the music off?’ she asked, suddenly aware of the big band.

‘No, don’t.’ Evie gave a small smile. ‘I listen to a lot of black music. Not just jazz, but blues and reggae too.’

‘Really? How come?’

‘Well, for a start, I like it. And then … there’s the fact that Favon wealth was built on the exploitation of slaves.’

Joni nodded. ‘But you aren’t responsible for that, Evie.’

‘No, but I still benefited from it – private schools, ponies, dance lessons, whatever I asked for. I don’t want anything to do with the estate or my parents. From now on I’m going to pay my own way – student loans, bar work, whatever it takes.’

‘Good for you. I finished university when grants still existed. Actually, I’d probably have had my fees paid. I was a serious smartarse with a single parent in Hackney.’

‘Nick told me you went to Oxford. That’s amazing.’

‘I told you, I was a swot. A bluestocking too, not that I ever wore those.’

‘Well, I want to be like you, not the offspring of aristocracy.’

‘I can understand that, Evie.’ Joni studied her. ‘You know, your parents might be in prison for a long time.’

The girl nodded. ‘And I won’t be visiting them. They’re so … immoral, so grasping. I’ll never forgive them. I sometimes think my father ran me over deliberately. He was angry about paying towards my gap-year trip.’

Joni shook her head, though nothing would have surprised her about the Favons. ‘There’s no benefit in thinking like that. They’re human beings like the rest of us. Everyone makes mistakes.’

‘You can’t defend them,’ Evie said, her eyes flashing. ‘Not after everything they did.’

‘No. I’m just saying we all have weaknesses. Theirs were worse than ours.’

‘And they had the influence and wealth to do what they liked.’

It had become clear that the Favons’ finances were in free fall, but there was no point telling Evie that.

The girl stood up. ‘I … I wanted to say thank you, Joni. I
probably
won’t see you again.’

‘There’s the trial.’

‘Of course. I’ll come back and tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing, et cetera.’

‘Come back?’

‘I’m going down to Exeter later this week. I’ll find a room and a job before uni starts.’ She smiled, this time less reservedly. ‘Maybe learn to surf. Being in the water’ll be good for my legs. I still believe I’ll get full movement back, even though the doctors don’t.’

‘I’m sure you will.’

Joni went down with her. At the door they embraced – awkwardly at first and then with real warmth.

‘You’re a brave lass, as my boss would say.’

‘So are you.’ Evie kissed her on the cheek and took a folder from her bag. ‘These are copies of notes I took from old books in
the family library. I did some writing of my own based on them. You should read it. There’s a lot about how black people were treated.’ She turned away and limped towards the Abbey.

Back upstairs, Joni flicked through the thick file. There were passages on how the slaves were shipped to the Caribbean, the work they were forced to do, the punishments they endured and the gods they brought with them. She sat down and started to read. She had ignored her heritage for too long – and it wasn’t only a question of heritage. Slavery, whether in the plantations in the Caribbean or the brothels and fields of Europe, destroyed people’s humanity. Lethal acts, carnal acts like those of the Favons and the Albanians were still part of life in every supposedly civilised country.

Through the window came a strange wheezing noise that made her start. She looked down and saw a small bird standing on a fence post at the back of the garden.

The little owl turned its head 180 degrees.

Suddenly Joni Pax felt enlightened. Although the weight of the past, both distant and recent, was oppressive, for the first time in months she realised that she could be happy in the future. That lifted her enough to make her laugh out loud. The owl was startled and flitted away. Something from her went with it into the warm darkness.