Heck forgot Joni as soon as he pulled up in the driveway. Luke was stroking a tennis ball against the garage door with a cricket bat.
‘Hiya, Dad. Wanna bowl to me?’
Heck kissed his son on the crown of his head. ‘All right, kiddo. But you fetch the balls.’ The back garden was long enough for a makeshift wicket but if Luke creamed anything loose it would go into the fields. He’d once managed to land the ball in an old teapot that Ag had hung on the fence at backward square leg. They’d both collapsed in hysterical laughter; until his wife appeared and saw the damage to her pansies.
‘School OK?’ Heck asked, as he rolled his arm over, feeling the muscles in his chest stretch. He was relived to find that he had no spasms in his lower abdomen.
‘Aye, Dad,’ Luke replied, playing a slick cover drive into a rhododendron. ‘Did you know the Spartans sent their kids – boys and girls – off to live in barracks when they were seven? They went about the place naked and beat the … fought each other all the time.’
‘Sounds a bit like the schools I went to.’ Although they could have afforded it, at a pinch, he and Ag had decided against private schools for Kat and Luke. They wanted to see them grow up day to day – to watch over them, truth be told. That didn’t mean Luke would escape the usual rugby injuries; just that he’d get them at the club rather than school.
‘Come on, Dad!’
Heck came back to himself. There was something lurking in the depths of his mind that he couldn’t dredge up. He bowled to Luke and this time the ball was hoisted high in the air. He kept his eye on it and, rather to his surprise, took the catch.
‘Howzat!’ He was handed the bat by his son and took guard. Luke had been working on his bowling. The first delivery was a fast yorker that he struggled to dig out. The second was a bouncer he couldn’t resist pulling. The ball rocketed into a clump of early rose blooms.
‘Stop that, you silly boys!’ Ag shouted, from the back door. ‘Come inside, your tea’s ready. And wake up the old man, will you?’
Heck and Luke exchanged guilty smiles, the latter going over to the rear extension and shouting, ‘Tea!’ through the letter box David had insisted on, even though the postman delivered everything to the front of the house.
The three of them walked across the lawn.
‘All right, lad?’ David asked.
‘Aye, Dad.’ Heck liked being addressed that way, even though he felt far from young. ‘You?’
David grinned loosely. ‘Ag dropped me off in town. I went to see Maisie Lang.’
‘Yuk,’ Luke said, running ahead.
Heck shook his head. His father’s appetites were amazing, especially compared with his own. ‘Tea and crumpets?’ he asked, smiling despite himself.
‘More of the latter,’ the old man said, pulling his trousers higher. ‘She’s gagging…’
‘Hello, petal,’ Heck said, giving his father an admonitory look. He put his arm round Kat, who had come to the back door. ‘How are you doing?’
‘OK, I suppose,’ she said moodily.
‘Boys?’ he asked, looking at Ag.
‘They’re so stupid,’ his daughter said.
‘You can say that again,’ Ag said, carrying a platter of pork chops into the dining room. ‘They’re only interested in balls.’
The atmosphere improved at table. Luke went off on one of his rambling stories about the geography teacher, who was as gaff prone as Buster Keaton. There was a lot of laughter.
‘What have you been up to, Heck?’ Ag asked. ‘Apart from battering my flowers.’
‘Sorry.’
‘I’m only joking,’ his wife said, with a smile. ‘They can take it. Honestly, you men. You think you’re ace jokers, but we can do for you any time, eh, Kat?’
‘Ace jokers?’ Luke said. ‘Is that supposed to be clever, Mum?’
Heck laughed. ‘Sharp as a tack.’
‘Thick as a brick,’ Kat said, grabbing her brother’s arm and squeezing. ‘Submit?’
‘That’ll do on the gender war front,’ Ag said. ‘Well, Heck? Caught any bad men?’
He shook his head and then, without warning, what he’d been trying to remember came back to him. ‘The Corham Sevens. You were all at them, weren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Ag said, ‘you were feeling poorly so I took the others.’
‘Aye,’ David said. ‘I had my pipes. There was a – what do they call it?’
‘Jam session?’ Heck hazarded.
‘That’s right – round the back of the stand. Plenty of whisky flowed.’
‘So you obviously didn’t see much of the rugby, Dad.’
‘Luke and I did,’ Ag said. She glanced at her daughter. ‘Kat and her friends were off boy-hunting.’
‘We were not!’
‘Where were you sitting?’ Heck asked.
‘Near the top of the stand,’ his wife replied. ‘So Luke could get a good view.’
‘Yeah, it was great, Dad. I told you when we got back, don’t you remember?’
Heck had no recollection. He’d still been tired in March and spent most of the weekends in bed. ‘Remind me, lad,’ he said.
‘The Abbey School team was amazing. They nearly lost in the quarter finals, but they destroyed the Colts in the final. Nick Etherington was…’ Luke broke off. ‘Dad, is it true someone killed him? I heard it on the news.’
Heck tried to ignore the hostile look he was getting from Ag. ‘He came off his bike, son. We’re still not sure what happened.’
‘Oh.’ Luke instantly returned to his cheerful self, rattling on about the final and the tries the dead boy had scored.
Heck changed the subject as soon as he could. The evening passed calmly enough: baths, homework, half an hour of gin rummy. When the old man was back in his hutch and the kids in bed, Heck settled down to watch the news.
Ag joined him on the sofa a few minutes later. ‘What was that about the rugby?’ she asked. ‘Luke could have been upset.’
‘Aye, I’m sorry,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘The Etherington case, it’s doing my head in. I spoke to Andrew and Victoria Favon today.’
Ag raised her eyes. She wasn’t anti-aristocracy, but she had no time for that particular family.
‘Did you see them at the Sevens?’
‘Yes, they were right in the middle of the stand.’
‘What about Michael Etherington? Did you see him?’
Ag thought about that. ‘Yes.’ She turned to him. ‘Yes, I did. He was just behind Andrew Favon. Victoria presented the cup.’
‘Victoria Favon presented the cup to Nick Etherington?’
‘Yes, that’s …’ Ag stared at him. ‘No. Surely not.’
122
Evie was in her room, the door locked. After the police officers had left, she went back through the passage that ended in the basement. One of her lunatic ancestors had built it so he could slip out of the drawing room through a panel. The wood was thin and she heard every word that was said. She bit down on the fingers she’d stuffed in her mouth and tasted blood after her bitch mother admitted she’d had sex with Nick during the Easter vac. She sobbed, but managed to keep the noise down, even though she wanted to scream and push the panel open and claw her mother’s eyes out.
After holding her damaged hand under the cold tap and wrapping it in a hand towel, Evie managed to get her breathing under control. She lay on the floor, trying to visualise Nick as he lowered himself over her, into her – but he wasn’t there, she couldn’t bring him back. Her mother had destroyed even her memory of him. Evie wept for a time, and then pulled herself together. She went to her bedside table and picked up her notebook and the Parker pen Nick had left behind on the first day they made love – they didn’t ‘have sex’. She hadn’t had the chance to give it back to him. Then she wrote down what she could remember of the police questions. The fact that her parents had refused to let them speak to her made her suspicious.
But not as much as what they’d said about Dan and Cheryl Reston
. For a start, her father hadn’t taken them anywhere. Cheryl had been cleaning in the Hall that morning as usual, and she’d seen Dan drive the red Hilux to the old tower. Then there was the lie about the dogs. It was true that Andrew had asthma. What he hadn’t said was that Dan Reston had a pair of vicious Dobermans he took with him on his drives round the estate. He kept them down at the old dowager house where he and Cheryl lived. It was obvious why her father had refused to allow the police to search the place.
Evie looked out the window. It was on the rear of the Hall and had an uninspiring view of the outhouses. Only the sandstone trunk of the old tower to the right provided some interest. It struck her that there had been more coming and going than usual recently. Mostly at night. There were no lights in the vicinity, so she hadn’t seen anything when she’d peeked between the curtains. But she was sure she’d heard the heavy steel door clang to several times. What was going on? As far as she knew, the building was full of old furniture and farm equipment, and had been declared unsafe.
She had two options. The first was to rat on her parents to the police; she had no qualms about doing that – they deserved everything they got. The second, which was more attractive, was to find out what was going on herself. She owed that to Nick. She was sure he’d been seduced by her lascivious mother and hadn’t been able to resist.
Before she left for uni, Evie was going to have a reckoning with Andrew and, especially, Victoria.
123
Joni was still in the MCU when Pete Rokeby came in.
‘You look pleased with yourself,’ she said.
‘Found stuff in the Hilux that the factor Reston drives.’
‘What sort of stuff?’
‘The floor of the cargo area is scratched all over and the bars behind the cab have regular dents in them, like from chains. And there were scratch marks on the paint on the cargo area and tailgate.’
Joni didn’t get his drift. ‘And?’
‘There were short black hairs on the metalwork. I took samples and gave them to the SOCOs, but I’m pretty sure what they are.’ He grinned. ‘Bow wow.’
‘So Favon lied about Reston.’ Joni checked her notes. ‘Or maybe. What he said was he didn’t think Reston had dogs.’
‘Could be an honest mistake.’
‘Could be. But he was very keen we didn’t go to the factor’s house.’
Rokeby sat down. ‘Let’s do some theorising.’
Joni smiled. ‘My favourite. But not Mrs Normal’s.’
‘Too bad. She’ll be off at some function with the local big heads. Or wigs. How about this? Reston’s dog – I’m thinking a big, fierce mutt – tore out Gary Frizzell’s throat. Then Reston cut off his head and hands, and dumped the body in the Coquet.’
‘What’s missing is a…’
‘Motive. I know. Here goes. The victim’s tall and handsome – we’ve seen photos. Maybe he was involved with Lady Favon.’
‘She’s got the track record. But as far as we know she hasn’t killed any of her previous studs.’
Pete Rokeby gave her sceptical look. ‘As far as we know. This time the victim’s mates kicked up a fuss. Plenty of people don’t have friends or relatives who care.’
Joni raised a hand. ‘Leave that for the moment. The initial witness report said Frizzell was put into a Bentley behind the now burnt-out Stars and Bars by the Albanian Fatlum Temo…’
‘Some memory, ma’am.’
‘Thanks – on Friday night around two. If Frizzell was a lover of Lady Vicky, that suggests the Favons have links to the Albanians.’
Rokeby nodded. ‘We already know they do – or at least Reston does. Wayne Garston, whose company is owned by the Spahia clan, told us Reston used his labourers.’
‘On behalf of the Favon estate.’ Joni leaned back in her chair. ‘Maybe we’re looking at this the wrong way, Pete. Maybe Reston is the main player, not his employers.’
‘What, he got his Albanian friends to bring Frizzell to him in a Bentley?’
‘Maybe his wife likes a bit of footballer. Hm, it isn’t too convincing. Does Lord Favon give you the impression of being able to manage an estate that size?’
Rokeby laughed. ‘I doubt Lord Favon can tie his own laces.’
Joni looked at him. ‘Going back to Reston’s wife. What do we know about her?’
‘Not much. She works in the Hall, I think’
‘Has she been checked in the databases? Has Reston?’
‘Yeah, he has. Nothing. I don’t know if Eileen looked at the wife. May I?’ He slid his chair closer and tapped at the keys. Soon a file appeared on Joni’s screen. ‘Cheryl Reston, maiden name Duncan. Bloody hell!’
‘She isn’t very attractive, is she?’ Joni peered at the data. ‘Not only that, she’s got twenty-three convictions for soliciting and … shit! … she served two years for inciting child prostitution. All that in Bristol, where she was born.’ She looked at her colleague. ‘Maybe that’s why Lord Favon was so jumpy about the Restons – she’s the problem, not the husband. Or they’re both in it up to their necks. We need to do a door-to-door on the estate and in the vicinity.’
‘Favon’s tenants may not say much.’
‘We’ll try the local pubs. If the Restons are dodgy, someone will have a bad word to say about them.’ She pressed Print and put the report in her bag. ‘Come on, then.’
‘What, now?’
‘Yes, now.’
‘Oh, ma’am.’
‘Call me Joni when we’re on our own.’
The ACC appeared at the door. ‘Working late?’ she said. ‘Most commendable.’
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Joni said. ‘Actually, we’re off for a drink. Would you like to join us?’ She heard Pete’s sharp intake of breath.
‘No, thanks. I’m taking work home with me. You will make sure you stay under the legal limit, won’t you?’
‘Bitter lemon for me,’ Joni said.
‘I’m an alcohol-free lager man, myself.’
Ruth Dickie stared at them disbelievingly. ‘Good night, then.’ She went to the stairs.
‘Jesus,’ Rokeby said. ‘What if she’d said yes?’
Joni smiled. ‘It’d have been your round.’
124
Donnie Pepper was half asleep in front of the TV when the phone rang.
‘Aye,’ he mumbled.
‘Bad time?’
‘Is that you, Heck Rutherford?’
‘It is. How the hell are you, you old fart?’
‘Surprisingly sweet smelling.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘I’ve never spoken a truer word. What do you want?’
‘Lovely. I ring up a former colleague and I have to want something other than ask how he is?’
‘I’m fine, if bored. The wife’s still working so I have to make the dinner every day.’
‘I thought I saw a stick woman in town the other day.’
‘Ha! Actually, I’m a dab hand. Tonight we had coq au vin.’
‘This is a family show.’
‘Idiot. Let’s have it then.’
‘If you insist. Lord Andrew Favon.’
‘Fucking shit-headed nose-in-the-air arsehole.’
‘Let me try and draw that.’
‘No, seriously, Heck, I hate that pillock.’
‘Tell me more.’
‘Must have been a couple of years back. We raided one of Billie Forman’s knocking shops. It was the last time anyone saw that pillock alive. Lots of half-naked women and men pulling up their suit bottoms.’
‘Classy place then?’
‘Classier than most. Anyway, I went through a door on the top floor and who should I find but his nobbing lordship. Still nobbing. Either he’s deaf or he was in transports of delight. I hauled him off and yelled. He had two pairs of nipple clamps wired together. One set was on his – what do the youngsters call them?’
‘Man boobs. Moobs.’
‘Impressive.’
‘My kids know all the choicest patois.’<
br />
‘What?’
‘Jargon.’ Heck had picked up the term from Joni.
‘Well, anyway, his nobship had attached one set to himself and the other to the poor woman. She was young and she was crying in pain. I unclamped hers carefully and then pulled his off with extreme prejudice.’
‘What happened?’
‘The bastard grinned.’
‘S&M freak.’
‘Aye. I arrested him under the Sexual Offences Act and made him get dressed. You’ll never believe this. His brief arrived before we got him to the van. Wanker must have had someone monitoring the police channels.’
‘Who was the brief?’
‘That bastard Lennox.’
‘Richard Lennox?’
‘Is there another one?’
‘Interesting.’
‘No, it bloody wasn’t. He rang the senior magistrate and got the fucker excepted from the haul of dishonour. He never went to court.’
‘Friends in, et cetera’
‘Bastards. I hate the way they look after each other. But that’s not all.’
‘Let’s have it.’
‘The girl – she was only seventeen – was taken to hospital. She had serious injuries to her breasts. I went to take a statement the next day, but one of Lennox’s sidekicks was hanging about. The girl wouldn’t talk. It was pretty obvious money had exchanged hands.’
‘It’s a brave new world.’
‘Fucking cowardly old-world thieving wankdogs.’
‘Wankdogs? Haven’t heard that one before.’
Carnal Acts Page 34