Carnal Acts (32 page)

Later that morning Heck got news that made him curse. Michael Etherington had managed to shake off his tail in the back roads south of Alnwick. He wasn’t answering his phone and he wasn’t at home – two uniforms were sent to check and were allowed to look round the house by Rosie. Julian Dorries, the general’s lover, was brought in. Heck asked Joni and Pancake Rokeby to do the interview, this time formally. The man, pale-skinned and short-haired, waived his right to a lawyer. Heck watched the CCTV feed.

‘Mr Dorries,’ Joni began.

‘Julian, please.’ The interviewee smiled broadly, revealing gleaming and even teeth.

‘Mr Dorries,’ Joni repeated. ‘What time did Michael Etherington arrive at your flat on Sunday night?’

‘I told the other officer. Just after nine.’

‘I see. How do you explain sightings of him by several witnesses in Corham around that time?’

‘Who are these people?’ Dorries demanded, self-assurance in tatters.

‘I’m one,’ Joni said, looking at him sternly.

After a few moments, the interviewee looked down. ‘Well, maybe I made a mistake about the time. Maybe it was later.’

‘Maybe is unacceptable. This is a serious issue and I’ll charge you with wasting police time if you’re not more forthcoming.’

Julian Dorries raised his gaze. ‘Forthcoming about what?’

‘The nature of your relationship with General Etherington.’

‘He told you that himself, didn’t he? We’re lovers.’

‘Uh-huh. DS Rokeby?’

‘According to our records you’re married, Mr Dorries.’

‘Separated. When my wife discovered I was meeting men, she threw me out. That was over a year ago.’

‘We’ll be asking her to confirm that, sir.’ Pete Rokeby ran an appraising eye over the other man. ‘Perhaps you could give me the names of some gay pubs and clubs in Newcastle.’

Spots of red appeared on Dorries’ cheeks. ‘I … I don’t go to those places.’

‘But you must know some of them, even by reputation. We all do.’

It took Julian Dorries some moments to realise what Rokeby was implying. His gaze dropped again. ‘I told you, I don’t go out to meet people. Like I said to your colleague, I use an internet service.’

‘Could you give us its name?’

‘I … why should I? My private life’s none of your business.’

Joni intervened. ‘Michael Etherington’s grandson was murdered, Mr Dorries.’

‘I know that. What is this? Am I a suspect?’

‘We could make you one.’ Joni leaned forward. ‘That’s enough bullshit. I don’t care whether you’re gay, bisexual or hetero, but I know you’ve been lying about the general. Tell us the true nature of your relationship with him. Did you give him a false alibi because you became friendly when you did contract work for the Ministry of Defence’s computing division?’ Eileen Andrews had discovered that juicy piece of information on an obscure website.

‘I’d like a lawyer now, please.’ Dorries’ voice was almost inaudible.

Joni terminated the interview. She and Rokeby left him on his own.

‘What do you think, Pancake?’ Heck asked, when they gathered in the MCU.

‘It’s not something you can measure with a ruler, sir, but I doubt he’s gay.’

‘And I doubt Michael Etherington is,’ Heck said. ‘But Dorries will have signed the Official Secrets Act so he’s a dead end, at least as regards the MoD angle.’

‘Still no sign of the general?’ Joni asked.

Heck shook his head. ‘There’s an alert out for him and I’ve got uniforms at both ends of the village. Trails are going cold all over the place. The Albanian girl…’

‘Suzana Noli,’ Joni supplied.

‘Aye – she still hasn’t shown up anywhere. And neither has Ollie Forrest.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got a logistics meeting. You’d better go and talk to Rosie Etherington. See if you can get anything more about her father-in-law.’

Joni nodded. But there was something else she planned on doing first.

Ollie Forrest was eventually released from the cuffs by the goon in the balaclava. He thought about nutting him, but the man was no fool. He was holding the prod close to Ollie’s chest and, if he fell on him, he’d be jolted to Newcastle and back. Food and drink were left. Ollie gorged himself. He hadn’t been given anything but water for a long time – at least a day, he reckoned. Then he walked around the dark room, holding his hands before him, and got the circulation going in his extremities.

No sign of the woman who’d milked him for sperm. He’d worked out that was what she was doing. She was standing on her head afterwards to get one of the little swimmers to stick. What he couldn’t understand was why he was being kept in captivity. He’d happily have serviced the cow all day and all night. Then his hands touched a wall and he stopped.

Shit. Several pennies had dropped. The cuffs had been on the bed when he was first brought here. That suggested he wasn’t the first, especially since he’d been a chance victim. He thought back to the girl on the moors. What had happened up there? The copper had told him she was Albanian and a killer. It seemed likely her own people would be after her. In that case, why was he still alive? No, it had to be someone else who had caught him. Someone who had reason to be on the moor. It wasn’t hard to imagine who that could be. And the woman – well, she had a track record as long as his own.

He tensed as screams rang out from above. What was the fucker in the balaclava doing to the Albanian, assuming that was who the female captive was? Not hard to guess. Christ, this was all about shagging. Normally he’d have been up for that in a big way, but there was more. The woman who’d straddled him hadn’t shown up. If that went on, what kind of future did he have?

Ollie Forrest thought of Lizzie. He’d treated her like shit, going off to the tarts in Burwell Street and getting pissed on the nights he stayed home. She’d stuck with him. At first he’d assumed it
was because of their son Jack, but now he understood she really did love him.

There was another shrill scream, only partly deadened by the heavy walls. He had to get out. That poor girl didn’t deserve what was being done to her. For the first time in years, Ollie Forrest felt good about himself. He was going to rescue her and get them both out of this shithole. If that meant nailing Balaclava Bollocks, he’d be happy to oblige.

Joni watched as Heck left the MCU. She was working on her computer and taking notes about a different world. At Oxford she’d seen the scions of the aristocracy at a distance, heard them braying at each other across quads and marching around in dinner jackets, but she’d never had much contact with them. Viscount Andrew Favon and his wife were the real thing, the kind of people who would have been the parents of the chinless loud mouths at Oxford. At least Evie Favon wasn’t like that.

She checked an online register of the aristocracy and quickly got lost in a welter of names, dates and cross references to other families. Andrew Peter Dobie Draconis Massingberd Favon had succeeded to the title as seventh viscount in 1999, when he was thirty-one. He’d attended Eton and the Royal Agricultural College. In 1992, he had married The Honourable Victoria Flavia Stowe-Warner, born in 1974, elder daughter of a lesser peer. Following links, Joni found a photograph of Lady Favon shortly after her marriage. She was stunning – above average height, with a full figure and fine legs, her hair auburn and her eyes a piercing green. By contrast, her husband already had a paunch and his mouth was slack and unattractive. He had combed his hair over a large bald patch.

Before checking the online archives of the
Corham Bugle,
Joni ran a search on the Favons. The first site that came up was the family’s own, the home page showing the family coat of arms and photographs of Favon Hall. Going back to the search engine, Joni scrolled down the entries. Most were from the
Bugle
and other local rags, but there were some links to national newspapers and magazines. Lady Favon had appeared in the gossip columns early in her marriage – she attended a lot of parties, often without her husband, who was described by one hack as a ‘huntin’, shootin’, borin’ type’. That didn’t stop him being involved with many public and private organisations. Lady Favon’s name was also to be found on several charitable foundations.

Joni went to the
Bugle’
s site and typed in the name Favon. The most recent entry was from the day before. She clicked on to the article, which covered the opening of a new supermarket in north Corham. Victoria Favon was holding scissors, in the process of cutting the ribbon that had been strung across the entrance. Her eyes were wide and her smile crooked. She looked like she wished she was somewhere, anywhere else.

‘Ma’am?’ Eileen Andrews was standing in front of her desk. ‘Shouldn’t we get over to Mrs Etherington’s?’

‘Are we going together?’

‘That’s what the DCI told me.’

Joni logged off her computer, wondering what Heck was up to. Using Andrews to keep her in line? Maybe he was just showing who was in charge. Either way, she was unimpressed, though she didn’t make that obvious.

In the Land Rover Joni didn’t speak.

‘How do you want to play this, ma’am?’

Joni glanced at her. It was hard to be angry with the round-faced woman, especially as she wasn’t at fault.

‘All right, Eileen, how about this? I’m hard and you’re soft.’

The DC laughed. ‘I can’t argue with that.’

Their smiles faded as they arrived at the village. The idea of facing the grieving mother and widow was less than attractive. Michael Etherington’s Jaguar was nowhere to be seen.

Joni knocked softly on the door. It was opened surprisingly quickly.

‘Hello,’ Rosie Etherington. ‘I heard your Land Rover. It has a … distinctive sound.’

Joni decided against responding to that. It wasn’t her fault if everyone else ran their Landies with faulty tuning.

‘I suppose you have more questions about … about Nick.’

‘Yes. You remember DC Andrews?’

Rosie nodded. ‘Come in.’

They followed her into the sitting room and sat down on the sofa opposite the one their hostess had taken.

‘Mrs Etherington…’

‘Rosie, please.’

The invitation to informality made Joni feel worse about what she was about to say.

‘Rosie. There’s no other way to do this, so I’ll dive straight in. Were you aware that your son had a relationship with an older woman during the Easter holidays?’

It was hard to read the woman’s face. It was expressionless, only the eyes blinking more frequently than normal.

‘I … we had … suspicions.’

‘The general and you?’

Rosie nodded, but didn’t speak.

Joni glanced at Eileen.

‘What prompted these suspicions?’ the DC asked.

‘Oh … he would go off on his bike, fired up like he was before a rugby match. He…’ Rosie stifled a sob and Eileen Andrews handed her a tissue. ‘He looked … so happy. Even more when he came back. I thought he was meeting a girl, but Michael said he’d seen him with a woman. He wouldn’t tell me anything else.’

‘Why was that, do you think?’ Joni asked.

‘To … to protect me. Michael’s been doing that since Andrew died.’

‘Do you think the woman could be someone you know?’

Rosie wiped her eyes. ‘Maybe … I didn’t care. I just wanted my boy to be happy. Of course, it didn’t last.’

Andrews took over. ‘You mean it was broken off?’

‘Yes … not by Nick, I’m sure. He was upset for a few days. Hardly came out of his room. I think … I think Michael talked him round. By the beginning of term, he was much better. Concentrating on his work…’

Joni stood up. ‘Where is your father-in-law, Rosie?’

‘I … I don’t know. He was gone by the time I woke up.’

‘And you have no idea where?’

‘No … I told you. Michael lives here, but I don’t know what he does with his time.’

‘How was he last night?’

‘I … I didn’t see him. I was in bed, but I heard him on the stairs. I don’t know what time.’

Joni nodded. She believed the woman and didn’t want to make her feel worse.

In the Land Rover Eileen Andrews said, ‘I’d better check Nick’s computer for the Easter holidays. The phone records should be in later.’

Joni nodded.

‘Oh, and by the way, ma’am, I think this machine makes a lovely noise.’

They both laughed.

‘Not that I know anything about cars.’

Moonbeam Pax had a predilection for outdoor sex. Even when she lived in London, she’d taken every opportunity to drag often unwilling partners to Epping Forest, Hampstead Heath, even Green and Hyde Parks on several memorable occasions, one in broad daylight. That was the reason she was in a clump of trees
off a minor road north of Corham. Of course, taking a lover in the embrace of nature was a way of worshipping the old powers and she always made sure they received a libation from the bodily fluids that were exchanged.

She hard a car pull up and a door slam. Her heart began to beat faster.

‘Sorry, I’m late. Lot going on at work.’

‘That’s what you always say. I made the effort to come all the way down here.’

‘I’m ready to show my appreciation. Here, I brought a blanket.’

‘I told you, I like to feel my skin on the ground.’

‘Up to you. Hope there aren’t any nettles … or other prickly bits.’

‘I can see one prickly bit. You
are
a big boy.’

‘That’s what they all say.’

‘No, not yet. Put it here.’

‘If you insist. Aaaah…’

‘Slow down. I want you inside me.’

‘Oh, all right. Aaah. That’s … better.’

‘Yes, but take it slowly. And touch me … there.’

‘You know, you’re in very good shape for your age. Ow!’

‘You don’t even know my age. Keep going.’

‘I … don’t … think … I … can…’

‘Useless man. I’ll do it myself.’

‘Ready? Ready?’

‘Yes! Yes!’

Eventually the panting stopped.

‘I’ve got to go.’

‘So have I.’

‘You know, you should get a grip on your daughter. She’s a real ball breaker. Ow!’

‘Like mother like daughter.’

‘I promise I’ll never mention her again. Fuck!’

‘I doubt you can manage it again so soon.’

‘Not after you dislocated my knackers.’

Moonbeam watched him buckle himself up and leave, giving her a rueful smile. She put her hand between her legs and wiped the stickiness on to the grass.