Carnal Acts (22 page)

Joni spoke to Pete as Heck was driving them to Newcastle. He and his team up on the moors hadn’t seen any sign of Suzana Noli. Except for a sheep.

‘What?’

‘Get this, ma’am. She – I’m presuming it was her as there’s no one else up here – she killed the beast, skinned it and cut the meat off its back legs. We haven’t come across a fire so I’m guessing she ate it raw.’

Joni thought about the Albanian girl. Desperate she might be, but she could clearly look after herself.

‘Keep at it. I’ve asked the ACC for the Force helicopter. Apparently it’s chasing some dope dealers on the A1, but it should be heading your way soon.’

‘OK, ma’am, thanks.’

Joni updated Heck.

‘Skinning sheep isn’t straightforward, you know,’ he said. ‘She’s handy with a knife, which is one of the reasons we have to catch her. Why do you think she went up on the moors?’

‘Because it was the only option she had. You said the patrol car had its siren on, so the road was no good to her. The forest offered her cover.’

‘You’re probably right.’

‘Probably?’

Heck laughed. ‘There isn’t much certainty in our line of work. Maybe she had a rendezvous up there with someone we don’t know about. Maybe she’s using the sun as a compass and heading in some particular direction.’

Joni shook her head. ‘You’re theorising, sir. Might as well say that a spaceship is coming to pick her up on the high ground.’

‘Don’t rule anything out, lass.’ Heck paused. ‘Oops.’

Joni groaned. They’d had more than one discussion about his use of patriarchal language. It was a never-ending struggle. She opened her file and looked at the notes on the Popi she’d taken from the internet.

‘If the Popi were a law enforcement agency, they’d be the best in the world, sir. They’re suspected – and much of this is hypothesis because they don’t leave witnesses – of taking out much of the leadership and many soldiers of the Sicilian Mafia, the Camorra in Napoli, the Calabrian ’Ndrangheta, the Nuova Mala del Brenta in the Veneto, and the Sacra Corona Unita in Apulia. For example, the Popi lured twelve Sicilians to a meeting where cocaine and women were to be handed over and killed the lot. All twelve suffered post-mortem mutilation—’ Joni stopped and took a deep breath. ‘Their genitalia were hacked off and put under their arms.’

‘Jesus,’ Heck said, his face blanching.

‘There’s also a rumour that only four Popi were involved, along with some hired killers.’

‘Now I come to think of it, Mrs Normal attended a conference at Europol headquarters last year,’ Heck said. ‘I read her report. The Albanians are turning to legitimate business as well as expanding their standard operations.’

‘That squares with what I’ve read,’ Joni said. ‘They set up front companies, make sure they have top quality briefs and invest much of their black income in whatever legal activities are currently profitable.’

‘Not much of those around here,’ Heck observed. ‘I haven’t noticed many south European businessmen over the river in Ironflatts.’

‘Actually, there are computer software and pharmaceutical companies in the new industrial zone. The ACC told me the Regional Economic Growth Forum’s putting a lot of money and effort into attracting businesses to Corham. She spent an evening at some tedious presentation.’

‘What was she telling you for?’

Joni shrugged. ‘Female solidarity?’

‘Aye, right. Then again we’ve had two murders, one of them Albanian on Albanian. Not a massacre like in Italy, though.’

‘True.’ Joni looked out of the window at the view down the Tyne. It was another clear day and the bridges formed a collage of different shapes. To her surprise she found herself impressed. The little she’d seen of the city since she’d arrived hadn’t been to her taste.

The Toon MCU, as it was known in the trade, was on the fifth floor of the police building near the Central Station. DCI Young met them at the security door.

‘Hallo, Lee,’ Heck said. ‘You’ve met Joni Pax.’

‘Indeed I have. How’s things?’

‘Good enough, sir.’ Joni had taken an instant dislike to the bulky man when she’d met him on her familiarisation tour. His type was common in the Met: hyper-ambitious, superficially charming, quick to stab colleagues in the back (Heck had confirmed that) and arrogant as hell.

‘Good enough?’ Young echoed. ‘Seems to me you’ve got big problems with the Albies. Is that killer still on the loose?’

Joni nodded reluctantly. ‘I hear you’ve got some Albanians here for us.’

Lee Young stared at her. ‘Dunno where you got that idea from.’ He grinned at Heck. ‘You must have misunderstood me, old son.’

Heck bridled, but kept a grip on himself. ‘You said it was complicated. How?’

Young led them to his office. A few heads turned as they passed and Joni knew she was being inspected. The chocolate DI who got herself attacked in London and took Mrs Normal’s eye, she imagined them thinking. She wondered if it had got around that she had a Judo black belt. She’d be happy to demonstrate her abilities…

‘Coffee? Tea?’ Lee Young asked.

They both shook their heads.

‘All right, here’s how it is. There’s a club called the Stars and Bars near the Baltic.’

‘Don’t know it,’ Heck said.

‘Used to be the Brass Monkey.’

‘Oh aye. A real scumbag magnet.’

Young smiled. ‘It’s gone up-market – not a lot, but it attracts a better class of scumbag these days. It’s owned by a company that’s based in Panama, but it’s run by—’

‘Albanians,’ Joni put in.

‘Very good,’ the DCI said condescendingly. ‘Last night we got a call from them.’ He looked at his desk. ‘One Fatlum Temo.’

‘Fatlum as in “wide chimney”?’ Heck said. He and Young laughed, but Joni didn’t.

‘It seems friend Fatlum, who was on the door with a mate, was abducted the night before last by five local headbangers. The other Albie was beaten by baseball bats. Anyway, Fatlum managed to escape after doing some damage to one of the idiots. Guess what they did last night?’

Heck sighed, having seen Newcastle lowlife in all its tawdry lack of glory. ‘They had another go.’

‘Exactly. This time Fatlum saw them coming and called our lads in.’ Young smiled. ‘They’re in the cells. Four of them, that is. The other one’s in the Royal Vic with a throat wound. He’s lucky to be alive.’

‘He was the one hurt by Mr Temo?’ Joni asked.

‘Correct.’

‘I take it you haven’t held Mr Temo because he was defending himself. And he has a heavy duty lawyer.’

‘You’ve got a smart one here, Heck.’ Lee Young put his hands behind his neck. ‘True enough, Tricky Dick Lennox is Fatlum Temo’s brief. What do you do for an encore, Joni?’

‘I prefer DI Pax, sir,’ she said coldly. ‘I’ll tell you exactly what I’ll do. I’ll go down to the cells with my boss and question your headbangers.’

‘Not without one of my officers present.’

Joni gave him a tight smile. ‘What would be the point of that? You’ll be watching us on screen anyway.’

Heck laughed. ‘She got you there, Lee.’ He stood up. ‘Come on.’

DCI Young handed him a folder. ‘You’ll find their names and details in there. Along with the sheet on your headless man.’ He glanced at Joni. ‘Of course, I’m only too happy to help Force HQ with their enquiries, but I would ask that the prisoners are afforded every courtesy.’

Heck shook his head. ‘Come on, Joni. I can’t take any more of our host’s wit.’

They were escorted to the cells by a uniformed officer.

‘Give us a minute to get our bearings, lad,’ Heck said. ‘Oops, my patriarchal attitude strikes again.’

Joni raised an eyebrow. ‘It seems DCI Young is contagious. You’ve suddenly become an even bigger—’

‘That’ll do. Well played about Lennox, by the way. Interesting these Albies, as Lee calls them, having the same lawyer as the ones in Corham.’

‘And Alnwick.’

‘Right.’ Heck had opened the file and was running his eye down the list of names. ‘These look to be your standard tossers: Kyle, aka ‘Kylie’ Laggan; Daryll Spencer; Edward ‘Hot Rod’ Miller, the one in hospital; Paul ‘Pumpkinhead’ Pearson; and John ‘Jackie’ Brown. Oh.’

‘Never mind,’ Joni said, shaking her head. ‘I wonder why Daryll Spencer hasn’t got a nickname.’

‘I thought Daryll was a nickname.’

Joni laughed.

‘This Kyle Laggan made a missing persons report two days ago. Gary Frizzell, 27 Harvey Street, Benwell. Height six-one, weight about twelve stone, hair brown and short – not much use to us – feet size twelve, lives with his mother, works as a park attendant. Last seen – get this – in the car park of the Stars and Bars nightclub on Friday night around two a.m., getting into a black Bentley Continental GT Speed. And guess who was holding the door open for him.’

‘Fatlum Temo.’

‘You really are good. DI Pax, that isn’t a very ladylike gesture.’

‘Ladylike is also off limits. Who are we going to talk to first?’

‘Much though I’d like to see Pumpkinhead in the flesh, it’s going to have to be Kylie.’

‘I’ve heard that name somewhere.’

Heck stared at her to check she was serious. On further enquiry, he found that his DI really didn’t have a clue about the owner of Australia’s most famous backside.

Close to the far side of the moor where she’d spent the night, Suzana heard the sound of the quad bike on the breeze. She recognised it instantly. Some of the local youths had bought
such machines to drive like madmen down her village’s narrow streets and across the fields. She was about fifty metres from one of the huge metal columns. She ran to take cover behind it. A barbed-wire fence made that impossible. Looking up, she tried to work out what the great propeller with red tips on the blades was for as it turned rapidly in the wind. There was a sign on the fence that she recognised – a jagged bolt with an arrow pointing downwards. Were they making electricity from these lonely giants? If they put them on the wind-blasted peaks above her village, they could light up the whole of Europe.

The angry buzz of the bike – ‘sows’ in her language – came closer and she looked round the circular metal wall. There was a single man wearing a black woollen hat, with a weapon – a shotgun, she thought – over one shoulder. He was coming straight for her column. She took out the longer of her knives and crouched down. Beyond the ridge was a steep and rocky slope. If she could make it there, the sow wouldn’t be able to follow.

Taking a deep breath, she made a dash for it, trying to keep the column between herself and her pursuer. The sheepskin was tied round her neck with the dried blood outwards, and it occurred to her that the man might get angry when he saw it; perhaps he’d already found the carcass and it was his. She ducked as she heard the shot, the wind carrying the pellets away. Bastard. She started to change direction, running only a few paces before cutting to one side. Another shot rang out, the pellets whipping by, not near enough to hit her. He was trying to scare her into submission. The sow was getting nearer and the rocky chasm was still at least fifty metres away.

Suzana kept ducking and weaving, but the quad bike was close. She was about to turn and face the man when she was hit in the side by a boot and went crashing down on a piece of rough ground. The knife she’d been holding skittered away across the dry mud. Before she could get up, the man was on her, the stationary sow’s engine sputtering. He straddled her,
his weight forcing all the air from her lungs. He was talking but she couldn’t understand the words. She struggled to reach the shorter knife inside the leather jacket. He understood she was up to something and grabbed her hand.

Aware of what was going to happen, Suzana forced herself to go limp. She had done that with Leka and it sometimes reduced his lust. This time it didn’t happen. The man, heavy-faced, unshaven and probably in his forties, was desperate for her. He tore open the jacket and ripped at the clothing beneath. She lay still, averting her eyes. She knew that staring at the pigs only made them deal out more pain. His rough fingers found her breasts and pulled the nipples, then they went lower, tugging at her zip.

‘Sheep,’ he kept saying, ‘sheep.’ She couldn’t understand why he was referring to her country, even though the pronunciation was way off. What did he care where she came from and how did he know that Albanians called the country Shqipëri? Or was he one of those foreigner-hating thugs who came to the slave house and swore at her as they penetrated her from behind?

Then she saw a blur to the right and heard a solid thud. The man on top of her crashed downwards, his face hitting the ground as she rolled quickly to the side. He was pulled away. Suzana sat up and looked into the eyes of a wet-mouthed and growling dog. Turning her head slowly, she saw another one. Then a man stepped up. This one was wearing a woollen hat that covered his face. He’d hit her attacker with a heavy piece of wood.

That was all she saw before her head exploded in a burst of stars.

Nick went up the steps to Favon Hall. The door was opened before he got to it.

‘Ah, Nicholas,’ Victoria said, smiling. ‘How lovely to see you.
Michael not staying again? He really must have something against me.’

‘Maybe he does,’ Nick said, sidestepping his hostess. ‘Evie’s in the library, I suppose.’

‘Where else, darling boy?’

Nick stopped and looked over his shoulder. ‘I’ve turned eighteen so technically I’m not a boy any more. And as for darling…’ He smiled harshly. ‘I don’t think so.’

Evie met him at the library door and caught sight of her mother standing like a pillar in the hall.

‘What happened?’ she asked, after they’d kissed.

‘I might have said something she didn’t like.’ Nick told her what had happened.

Evie laughed shrilly. ‘Oh Nick, good for you! That’ll teach the old man-eater.’

He raised his shoulders. ‘I didn’t want to hurt her. I just think she’s out of order.’

‘What a sweet soul you are.’ She kissed him again.

‘I hope we’re not doing slavery, torture and voodoo again.’

‘No, I know you don’t like that. I’ve made a vow to ignore my family history.’ She gave him a crooked smile. ‘Anything to keep hold of you.’ She pulled him towards the table, jettisoning her crutch.

‘Evie … I’m sorry about last night. I … you frightened me. It isn’t right to hate your family so much. It’s not your parents’ fault that they have the house and estate. What do you want them to do? Sell it all off and give the money to charity?’

‘That’d be a start,’ Evie said, under her breath. ‘You’re right, Nick, you’re right.’ She put her hand on his groin.

Soon they were naked. Their limbs entwined and they both started to sigh.

Then the library door opened. From beneath the table they could see Lady Favon’s black pumps and red-sheathed legs below the hem of her skirt.

The laughter was unexpected and coarse.

‘Really, Nicholas, I hardly think this is appropriate,’ Victoria said. ‘I’ll have to tell my husband.’ She turned to go. ‘And Rosie and Michael, of course.’

Evie sniggered after the door closed. ‘What’s happened to you? I’ve seen harder chocolate eclairs. Forget it. We’re both over the legal age. Who cares if she tells?’

Nick looked away. He wasn’t keen on his mother finding out, not least because she would demand that he revise at his desk in future. Gramps wouldn’t be a problem. He had a woman himself somewhere, Nick was sure – he was forever disappearing on drives that were curiously vague. No, what really worried him was Lord Favon’s reaction. Not on behalf of his daughter – as if he cared about Evie – but because of the other thing…

‘Come on, handsome,’ Evie said, grinning. ‘I’ve been looking forward to the pole vault.’

It took some time, but she got her wish.