Carnal Acts

by Sam Alexander

  ‘I … oh, it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘If you’re sure. We can talk about it later.’

  ‘So you will take me?’ Nick said, grabbing his bag. ‘Great.’

  Michael watched as he got out of the car and was immediately surrounded by admiring schoolmates, male and female. God, he envied him.

  77

  ‘Do you think they’ll still be working in that field?’ Joni asked Pete Rokeby, as she turned off the main road.

  ‘Maybe. At this time of year they only take the shoots off the kale. Apparently they’re used in expensive restaurants.’ He looked at his superior. ‘That Garston’s a spineless slob. If he was the one that alerted the Albanian headbanger, he’ll clam up tighter than a—’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got plans for him. Just play along.’

  Rokeby raised an eyebrow. ‘There’s the lorry.’

  Joni stopped the Land Rover behind the stationary vehicle and they got out.

  Wayne Garston was leaning against a gatepost. He didn’t look happy to see them. ‘Er, morning, officers. Is there a problem?’

  ‘No, sir,’ Joni said cheerfully. ‘We have a few more questions. Would you step into the Land Rover?’

  ‘I can’t leave my—’

  ‘Slaves?’ Joni said. ‘You didn’t have any problem doing that the other day.’

  ‘All right, but not for long.’ Garston yelled at one of the men bent double, telling him to keep everyone hard at it.

  When he was in the back seat, Joni started the engine, reversed and drove past the lorry.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Garston asked, in alarm.

  ‘We need some privacy, Wayne,’ Joni said. ‘I’m taking you back to the scene of the crime. I mean, where a skinny Albanian girl reduced one of their hard men to a squealing ponce.’ She glanced at Pete, who remained impassive.

  ‘Right, out,’ she said, after she stopped where the lorry and motorbike had been parked the other day. She grabbed Garston’s arm and led him to the fence on the left side of the road. ‘And over.’

  Pete stepped up, giving the fat man a heave over the wire. They followed, walking him to the stand of trees where stones were heaped.

  ‘Take a seat,’ Joni said, motioning Garston to the nearest pile. She picked up a stone that fitted her palm and tossed it from one hand to the other.

  ‘What … what is this?’ the ganger said, looking at them anxiously.

  ‘Your mobile phone,’ Joni said. ‘Now!’

  He started fumbling in the pocket of his filthy overalls. ‘You can’t—’ The stone cracked as it impacted with another, a few inches below his groin. He handed the phone over.

  Joni gave it to Pete. ‘Open the contacts folder. Right, Mr Garston, you’re going to tell us who all these people are. If I get the slightest hint that you’re bullshitting, we’ll call the number and tell them you’re cooperating with a police inquiry into organised crime.’

  ‘No!’ Wayne Garston got to his feet, but sat down again heavily when Joni put pressure on his shoulders. ‘You can’t … you can’t do this. I want my lawyer. No!’ The last word came out as a shriek. Joni had picked up another weighty stone.

  ‘On the other hand, if you answer my questions, we’ll give you your phone back. After DS Rokeby’s finished copying the contacts, of course.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ Garston said. ‘These people are killers. I’ve got a wife and kids.’

  Joni was tossing the stone from hand to hand. ‘Not if we catch them and put them away. Your kids – what are they? Girls, boys?’

  ‘Tracey’s fifteen and … and Joey’s twelve.’

  Joni moved closer. ‘You know what they do to fifteen-year-old girls, don’t you, Wayne? The seventeen-year-old who escaped from here was probably forced into sucking cocks and taking it up the arse when she was your Tracey’s age. No way they’ll kill her. They’ll work her to death and that’ll take twenty years, maybe more. And they’ll do the same to your Joey – plenty of demand for virgin male arse. As for your wife, yes, they’ll kill her, but they’ll gang rape and mutilate her first.’

  The burly ganger was sobbing, one arm over his eyes. Joni felt Pete Rokeby’s eyes on her, but ignored them.

  ‘I can’t,’ Garston gasped. ‘I—’

  This time the stone clipped his upper thigh, making him yelp.

  Joni picked up another. ‘Last chance. Tell us which number you rang to get the biker up here.’

  The ganger’s eyes were on the stone moving between Joni’s hands. ‘A … alpha.’

  ‘Very good. Alpha for Albanians?’ She stopped tossing the tone. ‘Have you ever heard of the Spahia clan?’

  ‘There’s an entry for “sierra”,’ Pete said. ‘Shall I call it?’

  ‘No!’ Wayne Garston’s eyes were wide. ‘Please. That’s only for emergencies. They … they don’t like me using it.’

  ‘So you do know the Spahia clan.’

  ‘I … I know that’s their name.’

  ‘And how about the Popi?’

  Garston shook his head, his eyes blank.

  ‘The only “p” is for a pizza place,’ Pete said.

  ‘All right,’ Joni said, taking a step back. ‘That wasn’t so hard.’

  The ganger started to get to his feet. ‘Can I go…’

  Joni raised her hand and he sat down again quickly. ‘We’re not quite finished. There was a red pickup at the far end of these fields. What do you know about it?’

  Wayne Garston’s gaze dropped. ‘Nothing,’ he mumbled.

  Joni’s voice was steely. ‘This time your bollocks will be squashed, I guarantee it.’

  ‘Reston,’ the ganger said. ‘Dan Reston.’

  ‘There’s a “DR” on here,’ Pete confirmed.

  ‘Who’s he?’ Joni asked.

  ‘Mate of mine.’ Garston shrank back. ‘No! All right, all right. He works for Lord Favon.’

  Joni kept her expression neutral. ‘And you called him as well as the Albanians when you spotted the girl?’

  A brief nod.

  ‘You’re going to have to explain why.’

  Wayne Garston let out a long sigh. ‘All the fields here are part of the Favon estate. When there’s work needing done, Dan Reston lets me know and I sort it.’

  ‘And what interest would he have had in a runaway Albanian girl?’

  ‘He … he likes girls … likes doing things to them. I send him the younger ones from the work gangs.’

  ‘But this one wasn’t from a work gang.’

  ‘No…’ The fat man caught Joni’s gaze. ‘Look, I felt sorry for her. The Albanians told me to keep an eye out and I read the papers. They’d have cut her to pieces.’

  ‘So you decided to hand her over to a “mate” who “likes doing things” to young women?’ Joni was standing over him now, spittle flying. ‘What kind of things?’

  Garston’s head was low. ‘He … he hurts them … ties them up and … shit, I don’t know the details. He doesn’t kill them. When they come back, they walk in a funny way and there’s blood on their blouses. Sometimes on their jeans too.’

  Joni took a couple of deep breaths. ‘As I understand it, you’re in the middle here. You do contract work for Lord Favon and at the same time you answer to the Albanians. Why’s that?’

  ‘They … they own my company. Bought me out when things were bad a year or so ago. They can pull the plug on me any time.’

  ‘And they provide you with workers?’

  Another brief nod.

  ‘Mr Garston, we thank you for your cooperation.’ She turned to her colleague. ‘Add my mobile number to his contacts next to the pizza place, please.’ She looked back at the ganger. ‘Every time you hear from the Albanians or Dan Reston, I want you to call me. Agreed? A nod is not acceptable.’

  ‘Agreed,’ the fat man said sullenly, jerking backwards as the third stone landed a fraction of an inch below his crotch.

  ‘Take a hike back to your “slaves”,’ Joni said, after Pete
had given him his phone. ‘You need to work off all that tension.’

  Pete Rokeby waited until they reached the fence. ‘You didn’t exactly follow the manual back there, ma’am.’

  Joni stepped over the wire gracefully, then extended a hand to her shorter colleague. ‘Just using my initiative. Don’t tell Mrs Normal.’

  ‘I won’t. Actually, I was impressed.’

  ‘Don’t patronise me.’ Joni’s expression softened. ‘Sorry about the homophobic vocabulary.’

  Pete laughed. ‘Now I’ve seen what you can do with a stone, I’m not going to make a complaint, formal or informal.’ He got into the Land Rover. ‘What now?’

  ‘If we weren’t under orders not to bother Viscount Favon, I’d be straight over there to question this Reston creep. As it is, you’re for the moors and I’m off to Newcastle MCU with the DCI.’

  ‘Are you now? Good luck with that.’

  Joni stared at the DS, but he didn’t elaborate.

  78

  Joni spoke to Pete as Heck was driving them to Newcastle. He and his team up on the moors hadn’t seen any sign of Suzana Noli. Except for a sheep.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Get this, ma’am. She – I’m presuming it was her as there’s no one else up here – she killed the beast, skinned it and cut the meat off its back legs. We haven’t come across a fire so I’m guessing she ate it raw.’

  Joni thought about the Albanian girl. Desperate she might be, but she could clearly look after herself.

  ‘Keep at it. I’ve asked the ACC for the Force helicopter. Apparently it’s chasing some dope dealers on the A1, but it should be heading your way soon.’

  ‘OK, ma’am, thanks.’

  Joni updated Heck.

  ‘Skinning sheep isn’t straightforward, you know,’ he said. ‘She’s handy with a knife, which is one of the reasons we have to catch her. Why do you think she went up on the moors?’

  ‘Because it was the only option she had. You said the patrol car had its siren on, so the road was no good to her. The forest offered her cover.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’

  ‘Probably?’

  Heck laughed. ‘There isn’t much certainty in our line of work. Maybe she had a rendezvous up there with someone we don’t know about. Maybe she’s using the sun as a compass and heading in some particular direction.’

  Joni shook her head. ‘You’re theorising, sir. Might as well say that a spaceship is coming to pick her up on the high ground.’

  ‘Don’t rule anything out, lass.’ Heck paused. ‘Oops.’

  Joni groaned. They’d had more than one discussion about his use of patriarchal language. It was a never-ending struggle. She opened her file and looked at the notes on the Popi she’d taken from the internet.

  ‘If the Popi were a law enforcement agency, they’d be the best in the world, sir. They’re suspected – and much of this is hypothesis because they don’t leave witnesses – of taking out much of the leadership and many soldiers of the Sicilian Mafia, the Camorra in Napoli, the Calabrian ’Ndrangheta, the Nuova Mala del Brenta in the Veneto, and the Sacra Corona Unita in Apulia. For example, the Popi lured twelve Sicilians to a meeting where cocaine and women were to be handed over and killed the lot. All twelve suffered post-mortem mutilation—’ Joni stopped and took a deep breath. ‘Their genitalia were hacked off and put under their arms.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Heck said, his face blanching.

  ‘There’s also a rumour that only four Popi were involved, along with some hired killers.’

  ‘Now I come to think of it, Mrs Normal attended a conference at Europol headquarters last year,’ Heck said. ‘I read her report. The Albanians are turning to legitimate business as well as expanding their standard operations.’

  ‘That squares with what I’ve read,’ Joni said. ‘They set up front companies, make sure they have top quality briefs and invest much of their black income in whatever legal activities are currently profitable.’

  ‘Not much of those around here,’ Heck observed. ‘I haven’t noticed many south European businessmen over the river in Ironflatts.’

  ‘Actually, there are computer software and pharmaceutical companies in the new industrial zone. The ACC told me the Regional Economic Growth Forum’s putting a lot of money and effort into attracting businesses to Corham. She spent an evening at some tedious presentation.’

  ‘What was she telling you for?’

  Joni shrugged. ‘Female solidarity?’

  ‘Aye, right. Then again we’ve had two murders, one of them Albanian on Albanian. Not a massacre like in Italy, though.’

  ‘True.’ Joni looked out of the window at the view down the Tyne. It was another clear day and the bridges formed a collage of different shapes. To her surprise she found herself impressed. The little she’d seen of the city since she’d arrived hadn’t been to her taste.

  The Toon MCU, as it was known in the trade, was on the fifth floor of the police building near the Central Station. DCI Young met them at the security door.

  ‘Hallo, Lee,’ Heck said. ‘You’ve met Joni Pax.’

  ‘Indeed I have. How’s things?’

  ‘Good enough, sir.’ Joni had taken an instant dislike to the bulky man when she’d met him on her familiarisation tour. His type was common in the Met: hyper-ambitious, superficially charming, quick to stab colleagues in the back (Heck had confirmed that) and arrogant as hell.

  ‘Good enough?’ Young echoed. ‘Seems to me you’ve got big problems with the Albies. Is that killer still on the loose?’

  Joni nodded reluctantly. ‘I hear you’ve got some Albanians here for us.’

  Lee Young stared at her. ‘Dunno where you got that idea from.’ He grinned at Heck. ‘You must have misunderstood me, old son.’

  Heck bridled, but kept a grip on himself. ‘You said it was complicated. How?’

  Young led them to his office. A few heads turned as they passed and Joni knew she was being inspected. The chocolate DI who got herself attacked in London and took Mrs Normal’s eye, she imagined them thinking. She wondered if it had got around that she had a Judo black belt. She’d be happy to demonstrate her abilities…

  ‘Coffee? Tea?’ Lee Young asked.

  They both shook their heads.

  ‘All right, here’s how it is. There’s a club called the Stars and Bars near the Baltic.’

  ‘Don’t know it,’ Heck said.

  ‘Used to be the Brass Monkey.’

  ‘Oh aye. A real scumbag magnet.’

  Young smiled. ‘It’s gone up-market – not a lot, but it attracts a better class of scumbag these days. It’s owned by a company that’s based in Panama, but it’s run by—’

  ‘Albanians,’ Joni put in.

  ‘Very good,’ the DCI said condescendingly. ‘Last night we got a call from them.’ He looked at his desk. ‘One Fatlum Temo.’

  ‘Fatlum as in “wide chimney”?’ Heck said. He and Young laughed, but Joni didn’t.

  ‘It seems friend Fatlum, who was on the door with a mate, was abducted the night before last by five local headbangers. The other Albie was beaten by baseball bats. Anyway, Fatlum managed to escape after doing some damage to one of the idiots. Guess what they did last night?’

  Heck sighed, having seen Newcastle lowlife in all its tawdry lack of glory. ‘They had another go.’

  ‘Exactly. This time Fatlum saw them coming and called our lads in.’ Young smiled. ‘They’re in the cells. Four of them, that is. The other one’s in the Royal Vic with a throat wound. He’s lucky to be alive.’

  ‘He was the one hurt by Mr Temo?’ Joni asked.

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘I take it you haven’t held Mr Temo because he was defending himself. And he has a heavy duty lawyer.’

  ‘You’ve got a smart one here, Heck.’ Lee Young put his hands behind his neck. ‘True enough, Tricky Dick Lennox is Fatlum Temo’s brief. What do you do for an encore, Joni?’

  ‘I prefer DI Pax, sir,’ she said col
dly. ‘I’ll tell you exactly what I’ll do. I’ll go down to the cells with my boss and question your headbangers.’

  ‘Not without one of my officers present.’

  Joni gave him a tight smile. ‘What would be the point of that? You’ll be watching us on screen anyway.’

  Heck laughed. ‘She got you there, Lee.’ He stood up. ‘Come on.’

  DCI Young handed him a folder. ‘You’ll find their names and details in there. Along with the sheet on your headless man.’ He glanced at Joni. ‘Of course, I’m only too happy to help Force HQ with their enquiries, but I would ask that the prisoners are afforded every courtesy.’

  Heck shook his head. ‘Come on, Joni. I can’t take any more of our host’s wit.’

  They were escorted to the cells by a uniformed officer.

  ‘Give us a minute to get our bearings, lad,’ Heck said. ‘Oops, my patriarchal attitude strikes again.’

  Joni raised an eyebrow. ‘It seems DCI Young is contagious. You’ve suddenly become an even bigger—’

  ‘That’ll do. Well played about Lennox, by the way. Interesting these Albies, as Lee calls them, having the same lawyer as the ones in Corham.’

  ‘And Alnwick.’

  ‘Right.’ Heck had opened the file and was running his eye down the list of names. ‘These look to be your standard tossers: Kyle, aka ‘Kylie’ Laggan; Daryll Spencer; Edward ‘Hot Rod’ Miller, the one in hospital; Paul ‘Pumpkinhead’ Pearson; and John ‘Jackie’ Brown. Oh.’

  ‘Never mind,’ Joni said, shaking her head. ‘I wonder why Daryll Spencer hasn’t got a nickname.’

  ‘I thought Daryll was a nickname.’

  Joni laughed.

  ‘This Kyle Laggan made a missing persons report two days ago. Gary Frizzell, 27 Harvey Street, Benwell. Height six-one, weight about twelve stone, hair brown and short – not much use to us – feet size twelve, lives with his mother, works as a park attendant. Last seen – get this – in the car park of the Stars and Bars nightclub on Friday night around two a.m., getting into a black Bentley Continental GT Speed. And guess who was holding the door open for him.’

  ‘Fatlum Temo.’

  ‘You really are good. DI Pax, that isn’t a very ladylike gesture.’