Carnal Acts (44 page)

Heck thought about Ag as he drove into work. She was doing a great job of making Kat and Luke feel safe after the terrors of Sunday. And she’d done a great job on him. Ag had the gift of joy. His old man was drinking more whisky than usual, blaming himself that he hadn’t done enough to help during the attacks, but Heck had embraced him and told him to stop talking bollocks. The previous evening they’d gone fishing and David had
hooked a beaut of a trout. Neither of them felt the need to talk further about what had happened.

After the morning briefing – nothing significant had come to light – he went down to the Crown Court for the arraignment of Lord and Lady Favon. It was a formality, but he wanted to be there. Joni and Pancake came with him. They stood outside the golden stone Victorian building, talking to the CPA solicitor. A crowd was building up and the press was there in a swarm, cameras and microphones at the ready. The narrow streets of central Corham meant that the vans carrying the defendants – one each to prevent them communicating – had to pull up at the front entrance, beneath the wide steps that led to the pillared entrance.

‘Are there enough uniforms?’ Joni asked.

Heck looked at the inspector who was marshalling the officers. ‘I reckon Mac Albert knows what he’s doing.’

The first van arrived and backed down the tunnel formed by lines of uniforms. Boos rang out as Lord Favon was led up the steps, his face and bald head still covered in dressings. His eyes were down and he looked years older.

The van moved away and the second one took its place. This time the jeering was louder. Both local and national media had gone to town on Lady Favon’s activities. As usual in such cases, someone in the Force or the CPS had succumbed to the lure of lucre and leaked. Heck wasn’t hugely concerned.

‘Whore!’ a woman shouted, as Victoria Favon climbed down.

‘Murdering bitch!’ yelled another.

Lady Favon was dressed immaculately, her hair in a chignon and understated make-up on her eyes and lips. She looked around haughtily as she was led up to the entrance.

The first shot hit the right side of her head, removing most of the ear. The second ruined her profile and the third penetrated her upper back, passing through her left breast and heart.

Heck and Joni pushed through the crowd, the former almost falling as the screaming crowd fled. It soon became obvious that they didn’t need to rush.

Rosie Etherington had dropped her father-in-law’s pistol and was kneeling on the ground, eyes filled with tears and the faintest of smiles on her pale lips.

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Heck.

Joni caught sight of Evie in the middle of the square. She was leaning on her crutch, her face expressionless. Then she turned and walked slowly away.

Sam Alexander is a pseudonym for a highly regarded crime novelist. Do you know who it is?

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