Carnal Acts (5 page)

Michael Etherington had watched as his grandson stowed the bulky costume into the back of his mother’s Rover. ‘I hope you aren’t going to do anything illegal with that.’

‘Cool it, General Gramps,’ Nick said. He was a handsome lad, recently eighteen and taller than his father had been, his hair raven black and, to Michael’s mind, too long. ‘It’s a bit of fun. Remember fun?’

His grandfather, who had commanded British forces in Bosnia and Kosovo before ending up at a desk in Whitehall, didn’t have it in him to be strict with the boy. Not only was he in his last year at the Abbey private school and almost ready to leave home, but he’d lost his father. Michael’s only son, Alistair, had died of a heart attack fifteen months earlier. In addition, Michael’s wife Christine had died a few weeks later. She’d driven into a tree. Nothing had been found wrong with the car, though there was black ice on the road so suicide could at least not be talked about. Michael had realised Christine would never recover from Alistair’s death, but he couldn’t be sure if she’d killed herself. Helping out Nick and his daughter-in-law, Rosie, was a way of coping – that was why he had moved in with them. They needed help, too. Alistair, a lawyer, had invested badly and lost clients because of his drinking.

‘Of course he remembers fun,’ Rosie Etherington said, squeezing Michael’s arm. ‘That’s why neither of us is going anywhere near the town centre tonight. Omelette aux fines herbes and a nice Chablis will do for us.’

Nick rolled his eyes as he closed the car door. ‘Fun means a lot of things, but not those.’ He smiled. ‘Well, maybe the Chablis.’

‘One beer, all right?’ Rosie said, her tone hardening slightly.

‘Yes, Mum.’

‘And back by midnight,’ Michael added.

Nick, dressed in a grey boiler suit, clicked his heels together and saluted. At least the afternoons he’d spent in the school cadet force had taught him something.

‘Yes, Gramps.’ He got into the car and reversed smoothly down the drive.

They watched him head down the village’s main street.

‘He didn’t kiss me,’ Rosie said, lowering her gaze.

Michael put his arm round her thin shoulders. ‘He’s eighteen. Kissing his mother isn’t high on his list of priorities.’

Rosie gave him a serious look. ‘He was unhappy recently.’

‘You have to let him go,’ Michael said, remembering what he’d got up to at his grandson’s age.

‘Yes,’ Rosie said softly. ‘I suppose I do.’

They went into the former merchant’s house and turned on the lights.

Outside the brothel, Joni said, ‘Go home, sir. You need your sleep and we’ve got this under control.’ She glanced at Morrie Sutton, who nodded reluctantly.

‘I want to interview the boy,’ Sutton said.

‘Both of you,’ Heck repeated. ‘Then DI Pax can talk to the women. You’ve got plenty on your plate, Morrie. The house search, canvassing the neighbours – they must have known what was going on here.’

‘This street’s full of squats and dope dealers,’ Morrie said. ‘You think they’ll say anything to us? Plus, the Albanians will have put the shits up them.’

Heck ignored his objections. ‘You’ve also got to organise the search for the missing woman.’

Sutton shrugged. He knew of old that when Heck Rutherford was in this mood, there was no arguing with him. He walked over to his senior subordinate, DS Nathan Gray, and went into a huddle with him and his DCs.

‘Anything you want to tell me, Joni?’ Heck asked, his eyes 
on hers. ‘I hope you didn’t let the woman go. It looks like she’s responsible for three serious attacks.’

‘Having been forced to work as a sex slave for God knows how long,’ Joni said, in disgust. ‘No, she got over a gate and was away by the time I got there. I felt I’d be more use here. I gave Nathan the location.’

‘Anything else?’

Joni ran her fingers over the scar that bisected her right eyebrow. It was the result of a knife attack in Hackney when she was seventeen. The boy responsible hadn’t been able to walk for two weeks. She should tell her boss that she’d left her card with the message in Italian. ‘There’s blood on the gate. I’ll let the techies know.’

‘All right,’ Heck said, leaning against his Cherokee. ‘Don’t step on Morrie’s toes any more than you have to.’ He frowned. ‘And don’t let yourself get emotionally involved with the women. We need to keep our distance, especially as they may be illegals.’ He didn’t mention Maureen Hughes, but he’d had to tell Joni that he thought she’d lost her objectivity in the battered woman’s case. He’d been impressed that she hadn’t allowed the publicity to go to her head. If it had been Morrie Sutton, he’d still be walking around like a pigeon with its chest puffed out.

‘OK, I’m for my bed,’ he said, opening the door of the Jeep. ‘One last thing, Joni. Why did you follow the lad in the traffic light from the town centre?’

She looked at him, then dropped her gaze. ‘I don’t know, sir. Hunch?’

Heck looked at her dubiously, then got into the 4×4. There was something strange about her. At first he’d thought she needed time to get used to Pofnee and the north in general but, if anything, she was getting weirder – the faraway look; the intuitive leaps that usually turned out to be on the button; the quick reactions, like her pursuit of the woman earlier. Joni Pax wasn’t like any other detective he’d met. And then there was the issue of why she’d left the Met. There was no way of knowing how much the last operation she’d run still preyed on her mind.

He watched as she swung her long legs into a patrol car, then started his engine and pulled away from the scene. He was heading for bed, but he wasn’t sure how much sleep he’d get. He had hunches too, though he put them down to his years of experience. The people who controlled the now defunct brothel in Burwell Street wouldn’t be happy and someone would have to pay. He hoped the missing woman turned herself in to the police before the men who saw themselves as her owners found her.

Driving through the now quiet town, Heck Rutherford told himself to get a grip. Maybe Ag would wake up when he slipped into bed. Then his phone rang. It was ACC Dickie, requiring a status update – and telling him that she wanted a meeting at nine the next morning. So much for the May Day bank holiday.

Suzana had waited for at least ten minutes after the footsteps retreated down the street, then slipped forward and picked up the rectangular card. In the light from the street lamp beyond the gate she made out a name she could pronounce – Jo-ni Pax – under a red and blue shape, something like an old-fashioned shield. The word ‘Police’ was easy enough to understand – it was almost the same in Albanian. So the woman police had nearly caught her. Why hadn’t she tried to get over the gate? And why had she written in Italian that she wanted to help? It must be a trick. Her captors would have friends in the police.

She knew it wouldn’t be long until other police started searching. Men from Leka’s clan would be on her trail too. She retreated into a crumbling building, the remnants of its roof long collapsed to the floor. She cut the soles of her feet even more on the broken stone and wood. There was very little light, but she came across an old sack and tore it up, wrapping strips of the rough material around her feet. She shivered as she stood
up, her naked legs and groin covered with goose pimples. She fumbled her way round a corner and stopped dead. Ahead was a light, the smell of woodsmoke in the air. Suzana waited, then crept forward slowly, feeling gingerly with each foot before putting her weight on it. Finally she made out a motionless figure wrapped in ragged blankets on the other side of the fire’s dwindling flames. She clutched about with her hand and found a length of wood she could use as a weapon. Then she made her approach.

A loud snore broke the silence. Suzana waited, but there was no movement from the man lying on his side, the light playing over a long beard and filthy hands.

She saw an almost empty plastic bottle on its side by the sleeper, the smell of raw alcohol pricking her nostrils even through the smoke. It looked like she was in luck. The man was comatose. He never stirred as she went through the shopping trolley full of plastic bags to the rear. She found a pair of trousers that fitted her when she fastened an old tie round the waist, as well as a thick shirt with holes in the armpits, a pullover and – she stifled a shout of joy – some socks and a pair of trainers big enough for her rapidly swelling feet. Deep down she found a woollen hat that she pulled low, hiding her hair beneath it completely.

As the flames died, she took out the wallet from the jacket she’d stolen from the long-haired pig with the bristly moustache. She removed a couple of notes, both with the number twenty on them. She left them by his hand, hoping they would be enough to recompense her unknowing benefactor. Then she moved on, the length of wood still in her hand, and searched for a way out. She found one behind a makeshift door, climbed over another gate and hobbled painfully into the dark.

She had taken her revenge on Leka and his vile friends, she had escaped them, she had dressed herself and she had money. Now all she had to do was find out where she was. England, but where in England? There had been a long journey in a
windowless van. Could she even be in Scotland? The men wore skirts there, she had seen on Italian TV – but none of her rapists had worn those. So probably England, but far from London. After she had fed herself, she would disappear. The world was big; they would never find her.

Suzana almost dropped the police card in the gutter, but she stopped herself. It might be that she could use the officer if she had no other choice. There was no harm keeping it in the wallet. But she did drop the rapist’s credit cards through an evil-smelling grating, feeling another wave of exhilaration. The man, whatever his accursed name, was now in the sewer where he belonged.

Joni found Morrie Sutton in the entrance hall on the ground floor of Force HQ, arguing with a well-dressed couple. The man was quite a bit older than the woman. The building had been a tannery owned by the local big shot Favon family, but now it smelled of fresh paint and new carpets. Large windows had been cut into the walls and bushes planted outside. The conversion had been shortlisted for a prize, despite the fact that a committee had imaginatively decided to call it Force Headquarters – cue endless jokes about excessive force, forced labour, force majeure, forced entry and the like. Apparently top brass had also given serious consideration to Leather House.

‘… call our solicitor,’ the man was saying to Morrie. The wrinkles on his face and neck suggested he was in his early sixties, but his upright bearing and broad shoulders made him look younger. The woman he had his arm round was pale, her fair hair straggly. She looked like life had become too much for her.

Joni introduced herself, getting a glare from her colleague.

‘Michael Etherington,’ the man said, extending a hand. ‘I’m Nick’s grandfather. This is his mother, Rosie.’ 

‘I’ve been explaining that Nick isn’t under arrest,’ Sutton said impatiently. ‘We just need to talk to him.’

‘But he said on the phone he’d been handcuffed,’ Rosie Etherington said, her eyes damp.

‘Ah,’ Joni said, ‘that was my doing. Just a precaution. I didn’t want him to leave the scene. He’s a witness.’

‘The lad would have stayed put if you’d asked him to,’ said Michael Etherington. His tone and body language suggested he was in the habit of giving orders – in the services, Joni surmised.

‘His friends didn’t,’ Morrie Sutton said, with a slack smile.

‘Bloody cowards,’ the older man said, under his breath. ‘Well, may we be present?’

‘That wouldn’t be helpful, sir,’ Joni said, with an apologetic smile. ‘If you wait here, we’ll arrange some coffee.’

She headed for the secure door and punched in the code. Sutton caught up with her before it closed. ‘You know he was a major general?’ he said.

Joni had a dim recollection from the TV. ‘Was he in Yugoslavia?’

‘Allied commander in Bosnia. He was on the news all the time.’

‘Right.’ She turned to him. ‘And your reason for disliking him so vehemently is?’

‘Can’t stand the army, especially officers. Arrogant shits.’

Joni let that go. Morrie stank of smoke and she tried to put some space between them.

‘I’m handling the interview, OK?’ he said.

‘Whatever you like. It’s not formal, is it?’

‘Nay, lass. Meaning I can squeeze his nuts all the better.’

Joni stopped and put a hand on the arm of his cheap anorak. ‘Call me “lass” again and I’ll remove
your
nuts, Morrie. Without an anaesthetic. Lay off the boy. He saw some bad things and we need him.’

‘I’m handling it,’ Sutton repeated, spots of red on his cheeks. He suspected Joni could do him serious damage, but he wasn’t
going to let her scare him, at least on the surface. ‘I know what I’m doing.’

They went into the interview room. Only a few months in service and already it stank of sweat and something worse – a mixture of fear and deep unhappiness. Nick Etherington was sitting on the other side of a table that was bolted to the floor. He was no longer restrained and Joni was sorry to see a red weal on his right wrist. He was supporting himself on his elbows, his head bowed.

‘Bring him a fizzy drink, please,’ Joni said to the custody officer. ‘Are you hungry?’

The young man shook his head. ‘When can I go home?’

‘When I’ve finished with you, lad,’ Morrie Sutton said, taking off his anorak, then rolling up his shirt sleeves.

Joni gave Nick an encouraging smile, but didn’t speak.

‘So, a traffic light,’ Morrie said. ‘What was that about? You know how many regulations you contravened, especially with those lights that actually changed?’

‘Sorry,’ Nick said, his eyes narrowing. ‘But it’s May Sunday. Everyone dresses up. Surely you aren’t going to arrest the whole of Corham.’

Joni twitched her head. Giving Sutton lip was not a good idea.

‘Don’t try that on with me, boy,’ the DI said, his rheumy eyes locked on Nick’s. He broke away when the constable came in and put a can of cola on the table.

‘Right, what were you doing in Burwell Street?’

Nick Etherington drank thirstily before answering. ‘Heading for the Brown Bull. There was a band.’

‘Aye, right. You and your mates were off to the knocking shop, weren’t you?’

Joni closed her eyes, but otherwise sat still.

‘No, we weren’t!’ Nick said.

‘Don’t raise your voice at me.’ Sutton’s fist clenched and unclenched on the table.

‘No, we weren’t,’ the young man repeated at normal volume. ‘Jesus, some of our girlfriends were with us.’

Joni nodded, having seen that herself. Her colleague ignored her.

‘Been to the brothel before, have you?’

‘No. I didn’t even know that’s what it was.’

‘A likely story.’ Morrie Sutton leaned over the table. ‘If I find your fingerprints in there, you’ll be in deep shit.’

The door opened again and DS Gray came in. He whispered to his boss, who stood up immediately.

‘He’s all yours, DI Pax,’ Sutton said and left at speed.

Wondering what had got him so excited, Joni called in the custody officer before continuing. Although it wasn’t a formal interview, she didn’t want any complaints from the high-powered lawyer she was sure the ex-army man would bring in.

‘Listen, Nick,’ she said, smoothing her hair back with her hands. ‘I was watching you even before I saved you from a dousing in the river.’

‘Why?’ the young man asked, his brow furrowed.

‘I’d never seen a mobile traffic light before,’ she said, with a smile. ‘I know you were only messing around and I saw the girls. One of them yours?’

He shook his head, cheeks reddening.

‘Never mind. I’m sure you weren’t heading into the brothel.’

‘I didn’t even know there were brothels in Corham.’ Suddenly he looked much younger.

‘Are you still at school?’

‘A-levels next month.’

‘Bad news. I remember what they were like.’

‘Really? What did you do?’

‘English, French and Maths.’

‘No way. That’s what I’m doing too.’ He paused. ‘What did you get?’

This time it was Joni who hesitated. ‘Three As.’

‘Fu … sorry. I hope I manage that. I have to if I’m to get to uni.’

‘Where are you aiming for?’

‘Cambridge.’

‘More bad news. I was at Oxford.’

‘Bleurgh.’

She laughed. ‘All right, let’s get this over with. I’m sorry I handcuffed you, Nick, but I had to be sure at least someone would stay put.’

‘You didn’t catch the woman?’

Joni shook her head. ‘I need you to tell me exactly what you saw.’

The young man gave some thought to that. ‘For a start, you have to remember I had no peripheral vision in the box. My mate Pe—’ He broke off. ‘My mate let me know if there was anything I had to look out for.’ He looked at her entreatingly. ‘You won’t make me tell on them?’

‘They’ll have to be interviewed, Nick. It’s not a problem. None of them did anything wrong except leave you in the lurch. Your grandfather isn’t very happy about that.’

‘Gramps is here? Shit. I’ll be grounded for months.’

Joni smiled. ‘I don’t think so. He struck me as a reasonable type. Is your dad not around?’

‘He … he died last year.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Joni stretched her hand across the table and put it on his for a few seconds. ‘That must be really hard.’ She paused before speaking again. ‘Let’s get on. What did you see through the slit?’

‘Well, there were people hanging around the steps of the house. Then I heard a scream – really high-pitched, like when a fox catches a rabbit. The door opened and the woman came out. She was screaming too, but hers was more like a war cry. She only had on a leather jacket. I saw her face when she crashed into me. She was scary.’

‘You didn’t see any weapon?’

‘No. There was blood on her hand and … and her chest, but I’m sure she wasn’t holding anything. Then people pulled away
and I saw the guy lying inside the door.’ He paused and licked his lips. ‘Is he dead?’

‘I don’t think so, but he’s in a bad way.’

‘I could see the handle of a knife sticking up from his … belly. Blood everywhere…’

‘All right, take a deep breath. Now, this is important. Did you see anyone else run out?’

‘Well, no. I mean, most people who were near the house got moving, but I don’t think they were doing anything except getting clear before the co … before your people arrived.’

‘There were two other men inside who’d been injured. Did you see anyone else with a wound apart from the guy with the fork in his head?’

Nick’s eyes dropped. ‘With a … with a wound? No … no, I didn’t.’

‘Nick?’ Joni’s voice was harsh. ‘Don’t lie to me.’

The young man’s eyes stayed down. ‘I’m not,’ he mumbled. ‘I didn’t see anyone like that.’

Joni knew he wasn’t being straight with her, but it was better to change tack than have him clam up completely. ‘All right,’ she said lightly. ‘One more thing. Did you see anyone you know?’

The question made him rock back in the seat. ‘That I know? You mean apart from my friends?’

‘Obviously apart from your friends, Nick.’

‘Em, no … no, I didn’t.’ He looked up at her. ‘Can I go now?’

Joni studied him for longer than he was comfortable with. ‘I’m going to have a word with your mother and grandfather.’

That made his eyes widen. ‘Don’t … I …’

Joni waited, but he didn’t speak again. She left the interview room and went to find DI Sutton. She was told that he and DS Gray had gone back to Burwell Street.

She considered following them there – something interesting must have been found – but she had the women to deal with. Before that, she had one last go at Nick Etherington, but he stuck to his story. She asked one of Sutton’s team to take his statement and went to tell his relatives that he’d soon be out.

What she really wanted was to ask the major general to put the squeeze on the boy, but there was no point. Nick would either keep what he wasn’t telling her to himself, or he’d come clean to his family. Given that they were apparently upstanding members of society, she hoped they might pass the information to her, but there wasn’t much she could do if they didn’t. One thing was in her favour. Michael Etherington hadn’t shown the least reaction to her colour. Perhaps the general had commanded some efficient black squaddies.

In the meantime, she would tell Morrie about the men she’d seen outside the brothel: the monk with the obviously fake beard and the guy with black-and-white stripes tattooed on his gut, who had asked her earlier if she liked what she saw. They both struck her as likely regulars.