Carnal Acts (31 page)

‘Right,’ Heck said at the morning briefing. ‘The Nick Etherington murder. Where are we?’ DI Simmons raised a hand. ‘Morrie, you look unusually keen.’ Then he saw the ACC at the rear. She didn’t approve of first names in briefings.

‘Yes, sir, I’m full of the joys of spring.’ Simmons glanced at Joni. ‘The victim had an affair with an older woman.’

There were several sharp intakes of breath. Joni glared at Morrie.

‘My team interviewed the staff at the Abbey,’ he continued, unperturbed. ‘They were about as much use as chocolate
lamp-shades
. As far as they were concerned, Nick Etherington walked on water. The kids weren’t much more use, except for the one who said he was the victim’s best friend. Percy Hurston-Woods, Perce to his mates. He said the victim had been shagging … having sexual relations with an older woman during the Easter holidays. He doesn’t know who she was.’

The ACC’s eyes bored into Morrie. ‘This would be the Percy Hurston-Woods whose father and lawyer we met yesterday afternoon, DI Simmons?’

‘Er, yes, ma’am.’

‘Why didn’t you share the information about the older woman with me?’ Ruth Dickie asked acidly. ‘Or, for that matter, with DI Pax? Her thunderous expression suggests she didn’t know till now.’

Joni bit her tongue. She was livid with Morrie – he’d deliberately withheld what could be vital information in order to upstage her at the briefing.

Morrie hung his head. ‘I had to verify it.’

‘And did you?’

‘I tried, ma’am, but none of the victim’s other friends knew about it. I called them all in the evening.’

The ACC let the issue go.

‘Excuse me,’ Joni said. ‘There’s nothing in the reports, but did the boy – or any of the others – say whose idea it was to go to Burwell Street on Sunday evening?’

Morrie stared at her. ‘What … yes, he did actually. He thought the victim led them down there. Said something about a pub with live music. I reckon they were after scoring dope. He got nervous when I mentioned that.’

Joni made a note.

Morrie stumbled through the rest of his report. It was agreed that his team re-interview the staff and pupils who had been closest to Nick Etherington.

Joni caught Heck’s eye. ‘I’ve been collating the technical reports. Neither Nick’s … the victim’s phone nor the mobile used to make the anonymous call has been located. Neither has been used again. They’ve may have been turned off, dumped or destroyed. The companies’ servers will show if they become active again. I’ve arranged for that to be flagged up, as well as lists of incoming and outgoing calls.’ She glanced at Morrie Simmons. ‘I’ll extend that backwards by several months now. A search of the area has failed to locate the phones, the murder weapon or any other traces that might identify the murderer. We have the tracks of size ten, wide-fit shoes, now identified as
Adipower Howard basketball boots, with a modicum of wear on them.’

‘A what?’ Nathan Grey said.

‘A fair amount,’ Joni said, not bothering to look at him. ‘There’s been a preliminary report from the linguistics professor. He thinks the voice is male, but he doesn’t exclude a female in the contralto range – don’t ask, DI Grey.’ No one dared laugh, given the ACC’s presence. ‘It’s almost impossible to specify an accent because the voice was muffled, but he’s going to do some testing on rhoticisation and frication loss.’

‘Good idea,’ said Nathan Gray. He didn’t seem intimidated by the stare he got from Ruth Dickie.

‘There are several other issues,’ Joni continued. ‘DC Andrews has been liaising with the technical team regarding the victim’s laptop.’

Eileen Andrews stood up and said there was a lot of material on it to be examined, but nothing striking had been found so far. Nick Etherington hadn’t used either Facebook or Twitter much – apparently he preferred to text.

‘I’ll assign you some help,’ Heck said.

‘And there’s a report from the Traffic Division,’ Joni said. ‘DS Rokeby?’

‘All large 4×4s and other vehicles with dark paint in the
vicinity
of the incident were checked,’ Pete said, ‘but as we know now, the bike wasn’t hit. It’s unclear how the victim ended up off the road.’

‘What about the canvassing of the area?’ Ruth Dickie asked.

‘I’ve been looking at those reports too, ma’am,’ Rokeby said. ‘It’s a pretty deserted road and no local residents saw a vehicle of that description at that time. It was dark, of course.’

‘Did they see any other vehicles?’ Joni asked.

Pete shook his head. ‘I don’t have that information.’

‘Find out if the question’s been asked,’ Heck said. ‘If not, get uniform to go back. Monitor that, please, DS Rokeby.’

‘Suzana Noli,’ Ruth Dickie asked.

‘Still unaccounted for,’ Joni said.

‘The SOCOs have taken moulds of some tyre tracks in the vicinity of Ollie Forrest’s quad bike,’ Heck said. ‘We’re waiting for the results. The bike itself has been examined and has no suspicious damage or marks. Ollie’s – Mr Forrest’s –fingerprints are on record following a bar brawl years ago. They are the only ones on the machine.’ He looked around the room. ‘Oliver Forrest is still missing.’

Joni wanted to mention what the ganger Garston had told her and Pete about the Spahia clan and Dan Reston, Lord Favon’s employee, but she decided to discuss it further with Heck. The ACC wouldn’t like the aristocrat’s name being tossed around in the briefing.

‘I gather there have been some unexpected developments with General Etherington,’ Ruth Dickie said. She raised her hand. ‘Those can remain confidential to DI Pax’s team for the time being. I presume you’ll be following them up and talking to him again?’

Joni nodded. ‘I’ll be asking him about the older woman his grandson was seeing too.’

‘What about the Steel Toe Caps?’ Morrie Simmons asked hurriedly. ‘Some of them are connected to the general as well. Do you want me to talk to them?’

‘The Steel Toe Caps?’ the ACC asked.

Joni filled her in.

‘Another link to the Albanians,’ Dickie said. ‘Interesting.’ She stared at Morrie. ‘No, DI Simmons, I expressly forbid you to have further contact with those individuals or anyone with ties to them. I want a full report on their activities so far by eleven o’clock, understood?’

Morrie nodded glumly.

‘As regards Gary Frizzell, the headless man,’ the ACC said. ‘Since he was from Newcastle and was last seen alive there – even if that testimony has since been denied – I’ve assigned the case to DCI Young’s team. I’m confident he’ll come up with the goods.’

There was an uneasy silence.

‘Right, DIs Pax and Simmons, here are your tasks,’ Heck said, handing out stapled sheets of paper. ‘We need results, people. Results and arrests.’

The meeting broke up.

Evie was in the library, the door locked. She’d hardly slept and had got up at dawn.

‘Darling, are you all right?’ her mother had called after nine. ‘Come and have breakfast, won’t you?’

‘No!’ Evie shouted, the single word covering both questions.

Her father tried too. ‘Evie, at least let us see how you are.’

‘No!’ she replied again. She knew Andrew had been put up to it by Victoria. If left to his own devices, he wouldn’t have shown that he cared.

Evie got under the table and lay face down, taking in the smell of the old rug she and Nick had lain on. There was the faintest trace of him and she inhaled it. It was cold comfort but at least there was something of him in her again.

‘Nick,’ she said under her breath. ‘Where are you? What happened to you?’

She stayed there for some time and then couldn’t take any more. She had to distract herself. If she’d been mobile, she’d have gone to stay with a friend. She suspected her parents wouldn’t drive her anywhere when she was in a state, as Victoria referred to the dark moods that had afflicted her since she became a teenager. No, she had to find something to take her mind off her dead lover. She got up and sat at the table. There were plenty of books to look at, but she turned to the catalogues. When she’d first started working on her history of the family, those heavy tomes had been her way in. There were hundreds of handwritten
pages, the first volume completed by the original librarian, Dr Rodney Costello, who served until 1843. He may have died at his work, as the final entry, ‘Bullingdon, George – A Description and History of the Sugar Plantations of Barbados, Milton of St Paul’s, 18…’ was incomplete, the downward scrawl of the nib going off the page. Some months later the entries were taken up by a more certain hand, that of Joshua Hilfer MA, who was replaced by Arthur Plain Esq. and, finally, by Doctor Steven Horsley. After he stopped work in 2000, there were no more entries. Her father rarely bought books and obviously deemed a librarian surplus to requirements, despite the size and significance of the collection. Evie had been its sole recent reader.

And she had learned much. Now that Nick had passed to the realm of spirits, she felt the proximity of the slaves’ old gods. The
loa
were whispering around her. Baron Samedi and the others deliberately used language that frustrated her – words that were almost comprehensible but lingered between conscious thought and dream. She caught glimpses of his top hat and bony white face, and heard the rattle of bones as he took his pleasure with Maman Brigitte.

Evie was the last of the Favons and she knew her parents would have preferred a boy. Still, she was responsible for what had been done in her name. However, her injuries had kept her to the Hall for months. She wasn’t forced to work, but the removal of freedom was the basic condition of the slave and so, although her ancestors had owned thousands, myriads of slaves, she had become one herself. Victoria and Andrew were too stupid to understand that, let alone the danger. If they had, they would have realised that people deprived of their freedom revolt. There were plenty of descriptions of slave rebellions in the books. She had to make a stand against her parents and their secrets. Some were already partially in the open. She was sure there would be others. It was up to her to find them, as well as to get justice for Nick.

Evie got up and limped to the door. She unlocked it, but didn’t go out. The library was her haven, the place where she
had reached levels of joy with Nick that she had never believed possible.

‘What do you think of that, sir?’ Joni asked. She and Heck were in his glass box.

‘Which bit?’ he said, with a scowl.

‘DCI Young.’

‘Not sure. I think Mrs Normal’s got his balls in a vice, but I’m pissed off she took the case away from us.’

‘And then there was Morrie’s little bombshell. I could kill him. I was on my own with him in Ironflatts and he never said a word.’

Heck leaned back in his chair. ‘An older woman. It’s probably nothing. Over and done with.’

‘It’s only a few weeks since the Easter holidays. We have to look at it.’

‘Aye, we do. Means talking to the Etheringtons again.’

‘Though they may have known nothing about it.’

‘Michael drove Nick up to the Favons every day this week, didn’t he?’

‘Yes, he was doing revision with their daughter.’

‘Wonder if that was all they got up to.’

Joni saw the lines on his forehead. ‘Do you know the daughter?’

‘Evie? Not in person. I’ve seen her at local events with her parents over the year. Her father ran over her last autumn and broke both her legs.’

‘Really?’ Joni felt a frisson of anticipation. ‘We need to get a statement from them about Nick’s visits.’

Heck raised a hand. ‘Hold your horses. I’m waiting for the SOCOs’ report on the tyre tracks on the moor. Oh-oh, here’s trouble.’ He stood up.

Joni did the same when Ruth Dickie came in.

‘Sit down, both of you. I just had a phone call from Lord Favon, DCI Rutherford.’

‘Been badmouthing me, has he?’

‘Not exactly.’ The ACC glanced at Joni, as if she was considering whether to eject her. ‘To tell you the truth, I wasn’t too impressed by his tone myself. His hand couldn’t have been heavier. As far as he’s concerned, his estate’s off limits to everyone, including us.’

‘Even if there’s an armed killer on it,’ Heck said.

‘Apparently. Do you think he has something to hide?’

‘Everyone has secrets. Then again, Andrew Favon’s on the board of almost every major company and charity in Northumberland, as well as having close contacts in most of the councils. His more than ugly mug is in the
Bugle
at least three times a week.’

‘As is his wife’s,’ Dickie said.

‘Hers is rather easier on the eye than his,’ Heck said, the smile dying when Mrs Normal frowned. ‘She’s on all sorts of boards and committees too.’

‘Why are these people so important?’ Joni asked.

‘They’re Northumbria’s main aristocrats apart from the chap in Alnwick,’ Heck said. ‘Andrew Favon lost his seat in the Lords when the hereditaries were cut back, but he spent most of his time up here before that anyway. Old family, old house – they’ve got a medieval tower next to the main hall – and old-fashioned ideas about the likes of us. We’re servants, theirs first and then the public’s.

Ruth Dickie nodded. ‘That characterisation strikes me as pretty accurate.’

‘Do they know Michael Etherington?’ Joni asked.

‘Now that
is
a good question,’ the ACC said, turning to Heck.

‘Oh yeah,’ he replied. ‘I’ve seen them together at the Corham Sevens.’

‘Maybe we should investigate their relationship,’ Joni said.

‘And others,’ Heck said. ‘Lady Favon’s been known to grant er … favours to deserving men. A few years back, she was caught coming out of the deputy leader of Corham council’s weekend cottage at dawn, when his wife and kids were in the Canaries.’

‘All right, do it,’ the ACC said, ‘but go gently. We’ll need good grounds before we question them. His lordship’s friendly with judges and magistrates as well.’

‘Nick Etherington was on his way home from Favon Hall when he was killed,’ Joni said.

Mrs Normal chewed her lip. ‘That might do for a start.’

‘Also, Garston the ganger said he dealt with the Favon estate via one Dan Reston. I suspect he was in the red pickup on the other side of the road when Suzana Noli was trapped.’

Dickie looked even less convinced by that angle.

‘And we’re waiting for the techies’ evidence from the moor,’ Heck said.

‘Very well.’ The ACC turned on her heel and left.

Heck caught Joni’s eyes. ‘See what I mean. Andrew Favon may look like a double-chinned fool, but he knows how to pull people’s chains.’

‘Not mine, he doesn’t.’