‘I told your colleague everything I know last night,’ Michael said, pouring the tea.
Ruth Dickie glanced at Joni. ‘But you omitted to mention Evie Favon and the fact that your grandson was cycling back from Favon Hall when he was hit.’
Michael looked at them. ‘I’m sorry about that. Shock, I suppose. And Nick only started his fling with Evie a few days ago.’
The ACC held his gaze. ‘Do you have any reason to suppose the Favons are connected with his death?’
‘What? No, of course not. Why should they be?’
‘I don’t know, perhaps they didn’t approve of Nick. Perhaps he said something to upset them.’
‘Forgive me, Ruth, but that’s ridiculous. You don’t get killed for upsetting people, not that I can imagine Nick having done that. He’s … was very mild-mannered.’ A haunted smile appeared on his lips. ‘Except on the rugby pitch.’
‘How did you feel about this … liaison?’
‘How did I feel? Good luck to the lad. Rosie was worried it was distracting him, but Evie was helping him with his English literature. She’s a fine lass.’
The ACC nodded. ‘I know. I’ve met her. Have you noticed any change in her since her father ran her over?’
‘I couldn’t say. I’m not close to the Favons. We move in some of the same circles, but I wouldn’t say we’re friends.’
‘I see.’ Ruth Dickie paused.
‘What do you mean?’ Michael said, in irritation. ‘I suppose you’ve heard rumours that Victoria and I were involved. Well, the answer’s no. I lost my wife under a year ago. I’m not interested in that tart.’
Joni watched him intently. She was impressed by Mrs Normal’s technique. She’d successfully needled a self-assured man into blurting out potentially useful information. Then again, he was emotionally vulnerable. The ACC’s lack of compassion was less of a surprise.
‘What about Nick?’
‘For God’s sake, Ruth, what do you mean?’
‘Was Nick interested in Lady Victoria?’
‘He only had eyes for Evie.’ Michael looked away. ‘Besides, his exams were coming up, as was his last cricket match.’ He paused, breathing deeply. ‘Not that it matters now, but he took both work and sport very seriously.’
‘Really?’ Ruth Dickie managed to sound both sincere and disbelieving, a talent Joni wished she had. ‘DI Pax?’
Surprised to be given the chance, Joni took up the questioning. ‘I gather his school work had been slipping.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Nick. He said he didn’t think he’d get his Cambridge grades.’
The major general’s expression was impassive. ‘He never told me any such thing.’
Joni wasn’t going to let that opportunity go. ‘Maybe your relationship with your grandson wasn’t as close as you imagine.’
‘That’s preposterous. Nick and I saw each other several times a day. We talked a lot.’
‘But not about his studies.’
Michael Etherington looked from Joni to Ruth Dickie. ‘I can assure you, he told me everything that was troubling him. He was completely fine, even after you lot hauled him over the coals on Sunday night.’
The ACC cut in. ‘General, I’ll be frank with you. I don’t think you’re being frank with us.’
Spots of red appeared on Michael’s cheekbones.
‘Other officers are interviewing Nick’s friends about Sunday night as we speak, so we’ll shortly have more information.’ Ruth Dickie clicked her pen three times, as if that had some significance. ‘We’ll also be talking to the Favons. Surely you don’t want us coming back every time we find out more about your grandson’s activities. That would hardly help Mrs Etherington with the grieving process.’
There was a pause. Joni considered how limited her own interviewing technique was, as well as what a bastard Mrs supposedly Normal was.
‘Have you found his mobile?’
‘No. Do you think it will be useful to us?’ Ruth Dickie spoke softly. She was skilful at modulating her tone.
‘Maybe.’
‘Is there anything else you can tell us, general?’ the ACC asked.
He remained silent.
Joni decided to try a different angle. ‘Your grandson’s murder couldn’t have any connection to you, could it?’
Michael Etherington’s eyes sprang wide open. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He was outside an Albanian-run brothel, in which three Albanians were injured, one fatally,’ Joni said evenly. She took a breath and went for the jugular. ‘You served in Kosovo, general.’
At first she thought he was going to lean forward and grab her, such was the anger that twisted his features. ACC Dickie stood up and that put a stop to whatever he was about to do.
‘What exactly is the relevance of that observation, DI Pax?’ she asked, her voice marginally above freezing point.
Joni got to her feet too, still holding Michael Etherington’s gaze. ‘I wondered whether the general had antagonised Albanian criminal gangs when he was there. I understand the majority of the population of Kosovo is Albanian. Could you have attracted the attention of those notoriously violent clans? Did you command raids on such criminals?’
The colour had gone from his face. ‘It was a very complicated situation, DI Pax. Freedom fighters and criminals are often the same people. However, we were there as peacekeepers, not as gangbusters. I can assure you, what happened to Nick has nothing to do with me.’
Joni and the ACC took their leave shortly afterwards.
‘That was what the Americans call a curve ball, was it not, DI Pax?’ Ruth Dickie said, by her car. ‘Do you seriously think Albanian gangsters are getting at Michael Etherington via his grandson?’
‘Anything’s possible, ma’am. Maybe he’s been involved with them in the bad sense since Kosovo and wants out. You don’t retire from that business.’
‘I’m without your capital city experience of such things. If you think it’s worth investigating, do so.’ She opened the door of her Audi. ‘He was definitely prevaricating earlier.’
Joni nodded. ‘I think he’s going to take action of some kind himself.’
‘I agree.’ The ACC stayed standing and closed the car door. ‘I’ll go back in and give him a last chance to come clean. If he doesn’t, I’ll make clear to him the consequences of taking the law into his own hands.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Oh, and DI Pax? You came perilously close to crossing the line back there.’ Ruth Dickie smiled emptily. ‘Fortunately for you – and me – you stayed on the side of the angels. Just.’
Joni watched her go back to the door, unsure whether she’d been complimented or given a dressing-down. Possibly both. It had turned out that Mrs Normal was about as ordinary as a purple swan.
95
Morrie Sutton was enjoying this. The ACC was out, Heck Rutherford was out, Jackie Brown Pax was out, so he was in charge. DC Eileen Andrews had come into the MCU with a sheaf of notes from interviews with the dead schoolboy’s friends and was transcribing them, not that she offered him anything more than an ‘Afternoon, sir’. His own people were doing the same, those who weren’t still asking questions. He didn’t know where Nathan Gray was – the bugger wasn’t answering his phone. He did that sometimes. Morrie reckoned he had a woman somewhere, probably married. His DS was a terrible shagger.
Morrie had spent the middle of the day with Nick Etherington’s teachers. It wasn’t the first time he’d been inside the Abbey School and the luxury of the place got to him. The poncey male teachers in their tweed jackets and college ties looked down their noses at him, as if his council estate background hung around him like a bad smell. The women were even worse – flowery skirts and shoes that were halfway between boringly flat and fuck me over the desk heels. They resented being taken away from their lessons and they didn’t like talking about one of their pupils. The headmaster – a white-haired loon who rumbled about the staffroom like a St Bernard who�
�d lost his brandy cask – had asked them to cooperate, but that didn’t mean they were going to spill their guts. He’d done the men, while DC Viv Stammers, a middle-aged woman with years of experience in the old Newcastle vice squad, did the females. He’d had a thing with her about a decade ago and it had led to the end of his less than stable marriage. That had been when things had begun to go really wrong for him, but they were looking up now.
The upshot was that Nick Etherington had been the school’s golden boy: a hero on the sports fields, a smartarse at his studies, the kind who supposedly had no enemies – as if rich folk didn’t get jealous. One of the fools, the vicar, had actually come out with the ‘no enemies’ bollocks, to which Morrie had responded that somebody had hated him enough to smash his face in. That didn’t go down well; the truth rarely did. The teachers went all coy when he raised the question of the victim’s extracurricular activities. They were taken aback when he said Nick had been taken in for questioning on May Sunday night, and even more astonished when he mentioned the Burwell Street brothel. He wasn’t buying that. He was certain that at least one of them would have been a customer at some time, though they all claimed they were with their families last Sunday, indulging in the pre-bank holiday festivities. None of them struck him as a suspect for the murder, though he would be comparing the pupils’ statements. It wouldn’t be the first time that a teacher at a private school had been caught kiddie fiddling. Then again, the victim was a big lad who could look after himself on the rugby pitch. If there was cock-tugging going on, then he must have been involved voluntarily. But Morrie didn’t think that was the case. He could sniff a lie as well as the next copper and he hadn’t caught a whiff of illicit underwear business.
When he’d finished with the staff, Morrie went to the school secretaries’ offices, where the victim’s friends were being interviewed. Nathan Gray asked if he’d take over his list while he went for something to eat and he’d fallen for it. The fucker – he’d be having words with him when he reappeared. That meant he found himself across a desk from a pimply specimen called Percy Andrew Hurston-Woods. ‘Call me Perce,’ the cheeky bugger had said, showing off teeth that Tom Cruise would have been proud of.
‘So, Mr Hurston-Woods,’ Morrie said, ‘you were a friend of Nick Etherington’s?’
‘His best,’ the lad said, choking back a sob. ‘I can’t believe what’s happened.’
The form was to allow people to catch their breath, especially when they were only giving preliminary statements, but Morrie didn’t go along with that. ‘Keep at Them’ was his motto.
‘You have to believe it, lad,’ he said. ‘Were you with him on Sunday night?’
The boy nodded.
‘Brave lot, weren’t you, supporting your pal when he was in need?’
‘I … I didn’t want to get into trouble. My father…’
‘Aye, I can imagine. So, any idea why Nick got himself killed?’
There was more sobbing. ‘He … I … no, I can’t imagine…’
Morrie groaned. ‘Look, it’s not a proposition from Wittgenstein,’ he said. He had a hoard of Monty Python quotations that he liked to use in inappropriate situations. He was the only kid in his class who’d liked the comedians. He didn’t know why, but their sense of the absurd chimed both with the unpleasantness of his childhood and the crazed bureaucracy of the old Northumbria force.
‘What?’ Perce said.
‘Don’t they teach you anything here? Come on, lad, I haven’t got all day. Did Nick have any enemies?’
The schoolboy shook his head. ‘No … everyone … everyone admired him … loved him.’
‘Oh aye? Anyone love him more than the rest?’ He saw he’d hit a nerve. ‘Come on, out with it. Who was he shagging?’
Percy Hurston-Woods blinked. ‘You can’t talk that way about—’
‘I can talk any way I like, son. Answer the question.’
‘I … he…’
Morrie drummed his fingers on the table. He’d found that it often made people spit things out.
‘I don’t know who she was, but he was … he was involved with an older woman.’
Bingo. Morrie Sutton sat back, making no effort to hide his satisfaction. ‘Good for him, eh? What do you mean you don’t know who she is? Young lads talk, we both know that. Tell me or we’ll be taking a trip to Force HQ. You really fancy getting your old man to pick you up there after I’ve finished with you?’
Perce shook his head, his cheeks damp. ‘I don’t know,’ he insisted. ‘You have to believe me.’
Morrie did, but he wasn’t letting him off the hook. ‘Ever see him with her? Did he tell you where they met?’
The boy shook his head, kept shaking it until Morrie began to worry it would drop off and roll across the table.
‘All right,’ he said less fiercely. ‘How long had this been going on for?’
‘Since the beginning of the Easter vac.’
‘Vac? What’s that?’
‘Vacation,’ Perce said. ‘He was very happy some days, then very down. I think … I think she was messing him around.’
‘Did he tell you that?’
‘No, he didn’t say much. In fact, I hardly saw him over the va— holidays. He only told me after the first time that he’d been with an older woman … and that it was amazing.’
Morrie found himself remembering his own youthful adventures. Screwing older women was the number two sport after football in his part of Gateshead and he’d got more than one hiding for his activities. But, like everything else, it would be different for rich folk.
‘Getting back to Sunday night,’ Morrie said. ‘He wasn’t too busy with this lady…’ he said the word sardonically, ‘…to build himself that traffic light costume. What did you go as?’
‘A highwayman.’
‘Stand and deliver, eh? Tell me, whose idea was it to go to Burwell Street? You don’t get much of a view of the fireworks from there.’
‘I’m … I’m not sure.’
Morrie slammed his hand down on the desk. ‘Don’t lie to me!’
Perce’s eyes bulged. ‘Well … I think … no, I’m sure it was Nick’s.’
‘What were you going to do? Get your ends away? Fancied a bit of rough?’ ‘No,’ the schoolboy said shrilly. ‘There were girls with us, our friends.’
‘Uh-huh. So why did Nick take you there?’
‘There’s a pub, well, more like a club, called the Green Onion. They have live music.’
‘Anything else?’ Morrie asked. ‘Any illegal substances?’
Perce’s cheeks went scarlet. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Never mind,’ Morrie said. ‘I’m sure Daddy will understand.’
He let the boy go and went through a similar performance with the remaining three on Nathan’s list – the bugger still hadn’t come back from ‘lunch’. They weren’t as close to Nick Etherington as Perce and had nothing significant to add. Morrie went back to Force HQ. He was pleased with himself. He reckoned he knew more about the victim than Joni Pax did, even though it was her big fuck-off case. That would give the tosser Heck Rutherford something to think about.
96
A Traffic Division driver in plain clothes and an unmarked car had been tailing Michael Etherington since he left the village. Heck was about a mile behind in a squad car driven by a uniformed constable, ready to step in if things got rough. At the outset the general had stuck to main roads, but he’d recently turned on to a narrow B-road that led towards the National Park. There were tracks all over the place and he could easily slip out of contact if the tail wasn’t careful. So far he was keeping in touch, but there was a danger Etherington would realise the same car had been behind him for some time and take evasive action.
Heck thought through his options. He had the general’s mobile number and could stop this nonsense any time he wanted, but he was sure Michael Etherington would claim innocence. The question was, where was he going? There were only out-of-the-way farms a
nd park rangers’ cottages ahead. Further north there was a large army range but if he was heading for that he was taking a very long way round. Maybe he was just going fishing. There were good trout to be had in the streams up here.
‘Target turning left,’ said the tail over the radio. ‘There’s a sign to Whelper’s End. Instructions?’
‘Stay on the main road,’ Heck said. ‘It’s a dead end according to the map. Looks like a cottage and a couple of outbuildings.’ He called the MCU, asking for DC Andrews. ‘Eileen, can you check the occupancy of a place called Whelper’s End, west of Rothbury? Call me back ASAP.’
They drew up behind the tail car. Heck got out and went to speak to the driver. ‘You’re sure he didn’t pick anyone up?’
‘Positive, sir.’ The officer was young and enthusiastic.
Heck was wondering if the general had tracked down his grandson’s killer already. He couldn’t risk waiting for Eileen Andrews to get back to him. ‘Come on,’ he said, waving at the driver of the other car. ‘You go left, you right and I’ll head for the door. Nail anyone who makes a break for it, OK?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the keen one said, his eyes gleaming. The uniformed officer, who was older and had seen plenty of bad things, nodded stolidly.
Heck walked down the rough track, avoiding damp patches the sun hadn’t reached. There were trees on each side and a lot of shade. Looking ahead, he saw a small cottage with a roof missing some slates and a thin trail of smoke coming from the right-hand chimney. It was markedly chillier up here than on the lower ground. Michael Etherington’s Jaguar was parked on the left, partially obscuring the windows on that side. On the right was a small green Renault that had seen better days a decade ago. There was an enclosed herb and vegetable garden that was in better shape than the lawn and flowerbeds nearer the house. A black cat slunk away under a bush near the first of two outhouses, which was in reasonable condition. The second had no roof.
Heck waited until the other officers had taken up position and then walked to the door, his thighs still hurting from the sprint after the Albanian. Dirty net curtains obscured the interior of the cottage. There would be little natural light in the place. He reached for his warrant card and knocked on the white-painted door.
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