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.
17
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.
18
While her parents were out doing their thing on May Sunday, the Honourable Evelyn Favon, Evie to her friends, had spent the day in the library, as usual. The table in front of her was covered in books, many of them over two hundred years old. She put carefully cut slips of white paper between the pages and made notes on her laptop. The family’s history had become her obsession.
The door at the far end of the long room opened and Cheryl came in.
‘Can I get you anything, Miss?’
‘No, thanks,’ Evie replied, glancing up briefly.
‘I’ll be off for the night, then.’ The dumpy middle-aged woman turned away.
Evie didn’t wish her good night. Although Cheryl Reston and her husband Dan had been with the family for over a decade, Evie had always sensed antipathy from them. It was a class thing, her mother explained. Lord and Lady Favon were the Restons’ employers and provided them with a cottage on the estate. It was natural for them to feel resentment – the underprivileged always did – but completely unacceptable for them to show it.
‘But, Victoria,’ Evie had said – since she’d left school the previous summer, she occasionally used her parents’ first names, much to their disgust. ‘Isn’t it natural for the dispossessed to feel aggrieved? We have the Hall and thousands of acres, not to mention stocks and shares and the wealth our ancestors built up so … assiduously, while they have our grace and favour.’
That hadn’t gone down well. Although Victoria wasn’t born a Favon, her father had been Bishop of Tyne Tees and she’d been sent to the best schools. She was very defensive of the family name, though her behaviour could be what the mother of one of Evie’s friends described as ‘erratic’. Andrew, Viscount Favon, had given Evie a talking to, but she paid no attention to him. The accident had dissipated what little trust she had in him.
Although Evie was fascinated by the story she was transcribing, she couldn’t help thinking about the foggy morning the previous October. It was a week before she was due to fly to Nairobi to spend her gap year teaching in a primary school in the Ngong Hills. She had skipped down the Hall’s main steps for her favourite walk around the lake. The geese were honking louder than usual, probably because the factor Dan Reston’s dogs were in the vicinity. Perhaps that was why she didn’t hear her father’s 4×4 reversing towards her at speed until it was too late.
Evie felt no pain in her legs initially. She was more aware of the gravel that had been embedded in her scalp when she hit the ground. Then her father tried to lift her and she screamed before fainting. She woke up in the ambulance with tubes attached to her arms. Her mind was mushy and she kept thinking of the cries of the outraged geese. Again, her legs were not hurting … nothing was hurting at all.
That state of affairs continued in Corham General, at least until the physiotherapy started. Both her legs had been broken above the knees. Fortunately the fractures were clean, but months of agony in the hospital exercise hall had scarred her mind, turning her from a happy and enthusiastic schoolgirl to a sceptical and suspicious young woman. She still needed a forearm crutch, but at least the wheelchair had been sent back to the hospital.
Her parents had reacted in different ways to the accident. Victoria had been surprisingly supportive, at least during hospital visits. Whe
n Evie finally got home, her mother was openly less involved, even complaining when the sewing room on the ground floor, which she never used, was converted to a temporary bedroom. Andrew had never apologised for running into his daughter and was unhappy when the cost of the Kenya trip was not fully refunded. The burden of care fell on Cheryl. Evie had thought that might bring them together, but she was wrong. The factor’s wife, heavily built with a face twisted from permanent scowling, resented what she saw as the extra work, even though Evie had insisted on doing as much for herself as she could. There were nearly five months to go until she started her course at Exeter. She had deliberately chosen a distant university for her history and politics studies.
Apart from the toxic atmosphere in the Hall – which was nothing to do with her – there was only one problem. Going to uni meant Evie wouldn’t see Nick for many months. He was planning on spending his gap year in the Far East. She wasn’t sure how she was going to cope with that.
19
Heck rolled over in bed, away from Ag’s warm back. It had been against his abdomen all night and the residual pain from his wound had been soothed. Then he remembered the previous night. She had been accommodating, very much so.
‘Where are you going?’ she said, sleepily. ‘It’s a holiday.’
‘Got to head in,’ he said, heading for the en suite bathroom. ‘People got stabbed in a brothel.’
‘Oh, for goodness sake,’ Ag said, sitting up and ruffling her hair. She usually confined herself to pupil-friendly expressions, though she could swear like a constable when necessary. ‘Can’t Joni and Morrie handle that?’
‘They both need careful monitoring. No, Ruth Dickie’s expecting me.’
Carnal Acts Page 5