Her father-in-law tried to disguise his unease. ‘Don’t worry. He’ll be back any minute. You know how enthusiastic he gets on his bike rides. He knows every bump in the road, even at night and with those inadequate lights. As for his mobile, he turns it off when he’s in the saddle. Says he doesn’t want to be disturbed.’
‘What if he’s had a puncture?’
‘He’ll turn his phone back on and call us.’
‘Please, Michael, go out and look for—’
Then the house phone rang. Rosie moved towards it and then stopped, waving for him to answer.
Michael took the receiver from the wall and identified himself. After listening for a time, he felt the strength go from his legs and squatted down, his back against the wall.
‘Are you … are you sure?’ he asked, then listened again, avoiding Rosie’s desperate eyes. ‘I see. All right, I’ll be over immediately.’ With difficulty he raised himself to a standing position and put the phone back.
‘What’s happened?’ His daughter-in-law’s voice was almost a scream. ‘Tell me, Michael!’
‘The … the police…’ He stepped over, legs like jelly, and drew Rosie close. ‘There’s been … there’s been … an accident.’
Rosie was already crying. ‘My baby, my boy … what’s happened to him?’
‘It seems … it seems he went off the road.’
‘But he’s … he’s all right, my Nick, isn’t he? Isn’t he?’
The major general tried to extricate himself from her clutch. ‘They want me there, Rosie. I have to go.’
‘I’m coming with you.’ She was holding on to the arms of his sweater. ‘I’m coming, Michael, you can’t stop me.’ There was fire in her eyes, despite their dampness. ‘It’s Nick. He’s all I’ve got left.’
He looked at her, his heart clattering, and nodded. The police would know what to do, they had experience with devastated parents. What he’d been through as a raw subaltern and later in senior command seemed useless now – a different life from this one.
‘Come on, then,’ he said, taking her to the Jaguar with his arm around her thin shoulders. It was still warm outside. There had been many such evenings in Bosnia and Kosovo. The mountains there were swarming with armed men, but it seemed those great peaks were no more dangerous than the gentle hills where he had grown up.
‘Where is he?’ Rosie demanded, her voice firmer. Michael had seen this with soldiers. They became calmer and more confident before they saw what had happened to their comrades close up.
‘Near the bottom of High Edge, this side.’
He drove on to the road and went past the houses at 30 mph, discipline still in place. As soon as they were out of the village, he upped his speed, the car taking the corners smoothly. Neither of them spoke, but the tension was wound tighter than the armature of a generator. It increased when they saw the lights ahead. The police had cordoned off the nearside of the road.
Michael pulled up behind a police van. Before he could react, Rosie opened her door and dashed forward, evading a burly uniformed constable and ducking under the blue-and-white tape.
‘Nick!’ she screamed. ‘Where are you, Nick?’
Michael went after her but she was a woman possessed, feinting to slip past a thin man in a suit he vaguely recognised and heading for an area lit by arc lamps. A second before he reached Rosie, the black woman detective came out of the trees in pale blue overalls and bootees. She clamped her arms around his daughter-in-law.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Etherington,’ she said, ‘you can’t go down there.’
‘Nick!’ Rosie screamed. ‘I’m here, Nick!’
Joni Pax held the distraught woman, looking past her to Michael. Rosie started screaming.
‘Major General Etherington?’
He looked to his side and took in the haggard suited man.
‘Detective Chief Inspector Hector Rutherford,’ he said, extending a hand. ‘We met at one of the rugby club balls.’
‘Heck Rutherford, of course.’ Michael took his hand. ‘You were a hell of a number eight.’ He looked to the front again. ‘What happened here? The officer on the phone said my grandson had been badly injured.’
‘I’m afraid it’s worse than that. It’s a pity his mother came out.’
Michael felt his hands tremble. ‘I couldn’t stop her. You mean … you mean that Nick’s …’
Heck nodded. ‘There can’t be much doubt it’s his body. There are name tags on his socks. Normally we would have waited for a formal identification – we still will if you prefer – but I thought you’d want to be involved from the beginning.’
‘I … I appreciate that. But we’ll have to do something about Rosie.’
‘I have another female officer here. She can take her home.’
‘She’ll have her work cut out.’
‘She knows what she’s doing.’ Heck signalled to a soft-faced woman and introduced DC Andrews to the major general. ‘I need you to look after Mrs Etherington, Eileen. Take her home and keep an eye on her, all right?’
If Andrews resented being reduced to family support duty, she didn’t show it. She went over to Rosie and gently prised her from Joni’s embrace, speaking to her in a calm, low voice. When she had got her into a squad car, Joni came over, pulling off her latex gloves.
‘What did you tell her?’ Michael demanded.
‘That Nick was killed in an accident.’ She glanced at Heck. ‘But that isn’t the case.’
‘What?’ The major general’s voice was faint.
‘Force HQ received an anonymous phone call,’ Heck said. ‘A male voice, giving us the exact location and saying that a large black 4×4 had knocked your grandson off the road.’
‘Have you found this black car?’
‘We’re doing what we can.’ Heck dropped his gaze. ‘But there’s more.’
‘Oh, Christ.’
‘The officers who arrived first immediately realised they weren’t dealing with a traffic accident or even a hit and run.’
‘I want to see him,’ Michael said firmly. ‘Now.’
Heck and Joni exchanged glances. It would be useful to have a positive identification at this early stage. The injuries were such that they couldn’t be sure, even though there was an Abbey School photo ID card in the victim’s backpack.
‘All right,’ Heck said. ‘You’ll need to get suited up. It’s a steep slope, but you look to be in good shape.’ He gave a slack smile that wasn’t returned. ‘DI Pax will take you down. And Michael?’ He hoped the use of the major general’s first name wouldn’t offend. ‘Prepare yourself. It isn’t pretty.’
Etherington nodded and followed Joni to the SOCOs’ van. When he was kitted out and she had put on another pair of gloves, she led him to the side of the road. A rope had been tied to the tow bar of a Traffic Division Volvo. About three metres to the left, markers had been placed around a narrow tyre track on the verge.
‘I imagine you’ve done this kind of thing before,’ Joni said.
Michael nodded.
‘Wait till I give you a shout.’
He watched as she stepped backwards down the surprisingly steep incline, moving her hands rapidly. The leaves and branches of the surrounding trees were lit up, as was a crumpled form in Lycra at the bottom. Michael took a deep breath and slithered down, the bootees giving him little traction. When he reached the end of the rope, he found himself held up by Joni’s hands on his arms.
‘Sweet Jesus,’ he said, stepping past her. ‘He’s … he’s had his head smashed in,’ Michael’s throat was drier than it had ever been. ‘Who … who could have done this?’
Joni raised her hands. ‘Slow down, sir. Please don’t step near the markers. To start with, is this your grandson’s bicycle?’
Michael bent over the twisted frame and nodded. ‘That’s his helmet too,’ he said, pointing to the seemingly undamaged object in a bush to the right. He moved closer to the body. Nick was lying on his back with his arms and legs splayed. Hi
s face and head were a mass of red and grey.
‘Sweet Jesus.’ Michael Etherington squatted as close as he could get to his grandson. Such was the damage to his features that he couldn’t be sure it was Nick. ‘Can I open his top?’
‘The doctor will do that,’ Joni said, watching as a thickset woman in white coveralls picked her way past the markers and pulled down the zip from neck to lower abdomen.
‘That’s far enough,’ the major general snapped. He extended his index finger. ‘It’s Nick all right. See those scars on his chest? He got raked on his debut for the first fifteen.’ His eyes filled with tears. ‘He should have gone to hospital, but he insisted on being patched up and sent back on. He scored a try and won the match for the school.’ He took a deep breath. ‘He was only fourteen.’ He started to sob and stood up, pushing Joni away when she went to him. Then he dragged a sleeve across his face and there was a rapid transformation.
‘Detective Inspector Pax, I confirm this is the body of my grandson Nicholas Michael Etherington. Do I have to sign something?’
Joni shook her head. ‘We’ll do the paperwork later, sir.’
Michael grabbed her arm and took her back from the corpse.
‘Let go, sir,’ she said, in a firm voice.
He stared at her and registered what he was doing. ‘Sorry. Look, what the hell happened here? Why would someone do that to him?’
‘It’s too early to say,’ Joni said, blocking out the pain in her arm.
‘Who was it you thought he saw at the Albanian brothel? Is there a connection?’
It seemed likely there was, but Joni didn’t intend to speculate now. ‘I’ve no idea who your grandson might have seen. I only know he was lying.’ She caught his eye. ‘Do you know? Can you cast any light on why this might have happened?’
‘Me?’ The major general frowned. ‘What would I know?’
‘You live in the same house.’
‘I don’t know what you’re getting at, DI Pax. He’s … he was a healthy eighteen-year-old. He took his schoolwork seriously, hoped to get to Cambridge—’
‘Yes, he told me.’
Michael stared at her. ‘Really? When? Oh, during your interrogation.’ He clenched his fists. ‘You’d better be sure everything was done right because my lawyer’s going to be combing through the paperwork.’
Joni didn’t respond to the grief-stricken man’s provocation. ‘Did he have a girlfriend?’
‘What, now you think one of his school friends did this?’ Then his expression changed.
‘What is it, sir?’ Joni asked, immediately aware that something had struck him.
‘Oh, nothing. Look, can we do this tomorrow? I have to get back to Rosie.’
‘Of course, sir.’
Michael Etherington looked around. ‘What about his phone? Have you found it?’
‘Not yet. He had it with him?’
‘Never even went to the bog without it, though he turned it off when he was on his bike.’ He took out his own and pressed a speed-dial button. There was no sound in the vicinity. ‘The bastard who did this must have taken it with him.’
Joni stepped closer. ‘Any reason why you think the killer is male?’
The major general’s eyes opened wider than they might have. ‘You think a woman could do that?’ He glanced at Nick’s body, then bowed his head.
Joni didn’t answer. If pressed, she’d have said she doubted it, but she’d investigated domestic abuse cases where women had done equally terrible things to their abusive men. She suspected a female was involved in some way in the boy’s death and that Michael Etherington thought so too; she’d noticed how he brushed off his question about Nick having a girlfriend. The trick would be to find out who she was – and get to her before the ex-soldier did.
85
Moonbeam Pax was sitting on her kitchen floor, head in her hands. She felt sick, but all she’d brought up in the bowl were strings of spit. What she had been told was terrible. Every human soul was precious, no matter what actions were committed by its bodily form.
She pulled herself to her feet, legs tangling in her robes. When she heard the news, she had been casting sage into the pot, her nostrils twitching as the combination of odours came right. She had been going to use the potion on her eczema, but now she didn’t care. There would be no supper tonight either. Who could eat after such a vile act?
Gradually Moonbeam felt her troubled spirit slip back into the envelope of her flesh. Perhaps she would steam kale and boil potatoes. There was still some hot sauce in the larder.
No, what was she thinking? She had to call Joni – she would know what to do, things like this were her job. But Moonbeam stopped before she reached the phone on the wall. There was no need. Joni would be involved anyway. Despite the tragedy, her plan to bring her daughter on was progressing – if anything, it was now further ahead than she could have hoped. No, leave Joni alone. She would be more likely to accept advice later.
Moonbeam Pax leaned by the dirty chopping board, ignoring the ram’s head that she’d bought at considerable expense – after the outbreaks of mad cow disease, heads and spinal columns were hard to obtain. The story of the headless man in the river had made her look through her grimoires. Previously she wouldn’t have used such a thing in her spells, but it seemed she wasn’t the only wielder of hidden powers in the vicinity now.
Looking out of the kitchen window across her garden, Moonbeam watched the bats flitting around. Innocent creatures, their spirits free and unspoiled. Why did man think he was superior to the animals, why did man harm the earth? The first of the wind turbine shafts had been erected on the hills. Soon there would be lines of metal giants along the ridges, their cross-shaped propellers trying to harness the wind. As if the wind could be tamed by man. She knew the landowners were despoiling the land to obtain government subsidies. That was one of many reasons to put pressure on them.
Moonbeam’s face was still damp with tears. The struggle would be bitter and people were already paying the price.
86
Joni was sure she wouldn’t sleep, but she’d gone to bed after having a shower on returning from the scene. It was too hot in her flat, even though she turned down the heating and opened the windows in the bedroom before lying naked on top of the duvet. She knew the ambient temperature wasn’t high. The heat was coming from inside her, as if guilt and responsibility had become lava coursing through her veins. She knew Nick Etherington had been lying, she knew he’d seen someone significant in Burwell Street, but she hadn’t been able to break down the barriers – those of an eighteen-year-old schoolboy, for God’s sake. It hadn’t helped that Morrie Sutton had acted like a pig at the beginning of the first interview, or that both Major General Etherington and his mother had been present at the second, but she was an experienced detective. She should have got him to crack. Now the poor boy was in the morgue, his fine features destroyed and his head smashed open. His killer was armed with a prodigious hatred, whatever other motivation there had been to kill him.
She heard the start of the dawn chorus and was about to get up and watch the light spread over the garden, when exhaustion hit her like a church bell and she dropped into profound sleep. Not for long. She remained unconscious but her senses, operating at a deeper level, were accessible to her. She could smell the sweat and semen of the brothel, she could hear the whispers of the figures ahead of her and, when they turned, she could see who they were. There was a bittersweet taste on her tongue like burnt sugar. It was cloying and she tried to lick it away. Then, aware that her heart was no longer beating fast, she reached out to touch the first figure. She made out her blanched grandfather, Ted, a steelworker who had spent the last five years of his life on oxygen – the tank on a trolley beside him. Julien, the bald Frenchman whom she had loved in Marseilles, strode ahead, never looking back, his head and upper body drenched in blood. Then Joni saw Aubrey Stein, one of her Oxford lovers as he was when they were together, curly hair on his shoulders. When he t
urned she saw the gaping wound in his throat – he committed suicide a couple of years into his career as an investment banker. She didn’t have the nerve to attend the funeral in Golders Green. Others she didn’t know crowded around. She understood they were the early and unjustly dead.
The last figure to appear was Nick Etherington. Unlike the rest, he was as he’d been before he’d left the surface of the earth. He stopped and let the others move on to a destination Joni did not know; perhaps there was none and the endless tramping was their fate.
Facing her, the young man spoke in a soft voice. ‘You were right. I did see someone at the brothel.’ He gave a sad smile. ‘I’m sure you’ll find out who. You know, I don’t think I’d have got the grades for Cambridge. It was all for nothing.’ He turned and moved away, fading into a curtain of dust or ash, and Joni was alone.
She woke with a start and put a hand on her heart. It was beating slowly, as if her body had been in some kind of suspended animation, and she felt the chill of dawn on her naked body. She pulled on her dressing gown, then closed the windows and got under the duvet. She knew she wouldn’t sleep again, but she wanted to cling to the remnants of the spirits.
When the birds were in full voice and the traffic below the Abbey was building up, Joni got ready for work with studied concentration. It wasn’t all for nothing, whatever Nick might have thought. She would find out who killed him no matter what it took.
87
Kyle Laggan was driven to Corham first thing in the morning. His face was grey before he reached the mortuary. He’d tried to fob the job off on Pumpkinhead, but the sod had kept his head down. Ha-ha. No, not funny. They hadn’t found Gaz’s head or hands yet. He hoped he could identify him from the scars on the knees. Mrs Frizzell had been told about the police’s suspicions and refused to have anything to do with her son. She was a hard cow. No wonder Gaz had turned out the way he was.
Carnal Acts Page 23