‘What? I don’t—’
Joni raised her hand. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘Don’t waste my time. You spoke to him outside the brothel on Sunday night.’ She was aware that Morrie Sutton was staring at her. ‘Was that the last contact you had?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, lady.’ Goat Skin turned to Morrie. ‘You need to get your colleague under…’
‘I saw you and him,’ Joni said. ‘He was wearing a monk’s robe and half a beard. You left together.’
‘Wha—’ Shackleton broke off. ‘Well, so what? It was May Sunday. Anything goes.’
‘Including murder?’
‘What murder?’
‘This is the second time I’ve broken the general’s alibi today. He’s hiding something and so are you. Tell us now and I’ll keep you in the background.’
The big man looked desperately at Morrie, who shook his head.
‘For fuck’s sake.’ Shackleton turned back to Joni. ‘It’s in the records anyway. I served under the general – colonel as he was then – in Bosnia and Kosovo. I was a communications specialist and a decent one. He looked after me and I ended up a sergeant.’ He raised his heavy shoulders. ‘We’ve kept up, that’s all.’
‘You served together in Kosovo, where ninety per cent plus of the population is Albanian and you’ve been checking out an Albanian-run brothel on behalf of your gang. That sound like a coincidence to you, Morrie?’
‘Not enormously, no.’
‘Tell me what the general’s up to.’
Shackleton looked down. ‘Couldn’t say.’
‘Tell me!’ Joni yelled, her spittle landing on the unshaven face.
He wiped it away distractedly. ‘Can’t say.’
‘Won’t say, you mean.’ Joni looked at her colleague. ‘What shall we do him for, Morrie? Obstructing an inquiry?’
‘Definitely.’ He grinned. ‘We can put him in the same cell as those two Albanians and all.’
‘Good plan.’ Joni took the handcuffs from her pocket.
‘No, wait.’ Goat Skin’s face was a swamp of sweat. ‘Wait! I don’t know much, honestly. The colonel … he got messed around badly by the KLA – the Kosovo Liberation Army. It had links with organised crime, particularly a clan called the…’
‘Spahia.’
Shackleton stared at Joni. ‘How the fuck…’
‘Never mind. Go on.’
‘There are some other lads from the division in the Steel Toe Caps. The general’s had us gathering information about the Albanians’ operations up here. He couldn’t bear that it was the Spahia again. They killed a bunch of non-combatants we’d been protecting for weeks. It was like they wanted to humiliate us, him especially.’
The tension in Joni’s body slackened. ‘OK, this is how I want things to be, if DI Sutton agrees. The Steel Toe Caps do nothing to incite the Albanians. No violence, you hear? And you tell Michael Etherington nothing about this conversation or I’ll play him what you just said.’ She lifted a recording device from her pocket. ‘If you hear from him, call DI Sutton immediately and give him the details.’ She nodded to Morrie. ‘Let’s go.’
Joni waited until Morrie had passed her, then stepped closer to Shackleton and kicked him hard between the legs. He bent forward, gasping in agony. She squatted down, head close to his. ‘I heard you didn’t enjoy the Albanian woman who’s on the loose. I doubt she enjoyed you either.’
‘Christ, Jack, what the hell was that about?’ Morrie asked as they walked back up the hill. ‘You’re acting like that tart … that girl’s your sister.’
Joni recognised the truth of the observation.
‘And how the fuck did you manage to put Goat Skin together with the general?’
‘What I said was true. I saw them together – but I only realised back there that the man with half a beard was Etherington. A friend of mine shaved off half his beard when I was at uni. I was on the clean side and didn’t recognise him for half an hour. It’s surprisingly disorienting.’
The scrawny boy was leaning against the Land Rover. Joni ran her eye over it.
‘Thanks,’ she said, handing him a fiver.
He nodded and went back inside.
Morrie was shaking his head. ‘You learn that in the Met?’
‘Hardly. Saw people do it on the estate where I grew up.’
When they were seated and buckled up, Morrie Sutton turned to her. ‘This is all very interesting, but where does it leave us?’
‘I don’t really know. Let’s go and discuss it with DCI Rutherford.’ She’d leave it to Heck to tell Morrie the general was gay. Surprises kept people on their toes.
107
Suzana had woken to the sound of the hatch in the door clanging open. She drank the flask of tea and ate the thick jam sandwich on the bed, shivering in the gloom. There were heavy footsteps on the stair, going down. It had been a man screaming, even though the sound was high-pitched. Who was he? Was this some kind of crazy prison? Then she heard a car drive away and the barking of dogs. She remembered the black creatures with their slavering jaws and clutched her legs with her arms. They were even worse than men. At least she could deceive the latter – draw them close enough to strike.
She went into the bathroom and removed the plastic-covered knife before taking a shower. She didn’t want to re-insert it, but it was her only salvation. She hoped she wouldn’t get an infection.
Suzana dressed and looked out of the gap in the darkened window. She made out the edge of a large garden and woodland beyond, then steep slopes. The house next to the tower was large, but she had seen no people. Maybe it was uninhabited. Had she exchanged her former place of captivity for one that was even worse – far from people, more secure, equipped for prisoners? She sniffed the air. It was fetid and damp, but there was something else. People had been hurt here, people had bled, perhaps to death. Was that what she had become? Bait for a monster?
Suzana stayed by the window. When the sun was near its zenith, she heard the crush of tyres on gravel and looked down. The red pickup screeched to a halt and a heavy-shouldered man with a moustache got out. She stiffened. Was that the animal from the brothel? No, it couldn’t be. This one didn’t have long hair, though she had sometimes thought that was a wig. The man was carrying a pole of some sort. She had a bad feeling about it.
The steps came up the stairs rapidly; the pig was obviously very fit. Then she heard bolts being pulled back and the key being turned. Dull light flooded in. The man entered, his face now covered by the black hat-mask. He held the pole out. When she didn’t move from the centre of the room, he jabbed it forward and the tip touched her hand. She felt electricity crackle though her and found herself on the floor, screaming. The man was shouting and tugging at his clothes, though not removing them. She understood. She got up and started taking off her own. When she was naked, he stood staring at her, his eyes on her breasts and then on her groin. She hoped the blue plastic wasn’t showing. Then he lunged forward again and she retreated into the bathroom. The door was slammed and she heard the bolts on the outside slide into place. She sat on the toilet, goose pimples all over her body.
Suzana had learned to focus on a single objective, as she’d done with the escape from the brothel. She was concentrating on getting out of the tower, with or without the help of her neighbour below, but there was one other thing she was going to do first: cut the throat of the man with the shock pole.
108
‘Right,’ Heck said at the morning briefing. ‘The Nick Etherington murder. Where are we?’ DI Simmons raised a hand. ‘Morrie, you look unusually keen.’ Then he saw the ACC at the rear. She didn’t approve of first names in briefings.
‘Yes, sir, I’m full of the joys of spring.’ Simmons glanced at Joni. ‘The victim had an affair with an older woman.’
There were several sharp intakes of breath. Joni glared at Morrie.
‘My team interviewed the staff at the Abbey,’ he continued, unperturbed. ‘They were about as much
use as chocolate lamp-shades. As far as they were concerned, Nick Etherington walked on water. The kids weren’t much more use, except for the one who said he was the victim’s best friend. Percy Hurston-Woods, Perce to his mates. He said the victim had been shagging … having sexual relations with an older woman during the Easter holidays. He doesn’t know who she was.’
The ACC’s eyes bored into Morrie. ‘This would be the Percy Hurston-Woods whose father and lawyer we met yesterday afternoon, DI Simmons?’
‘Er, yes, ma’am.’
‘Why didn’t you share the information about the older woman with me?’ Ruth Dickie asked acidly. ‘Or, for that matter, with DI Pax? Her thunderous expression suggests she didn’t know till now.’
Joni bit her tongue. She was livid with Morrie – he’d deliberately withheld what could be vital information in order to upstage her at the briefing.
Morrie hung his head. ‘I had to verify it.’
‘And did you?’
‘I tried, ma’am, but none of the victim’s other friends knew about it. I called them all in the evening.’
The ACC let the issue go.
‘Excuse me,’ Joni said. ‘There’s nothing in the reports, but did the boy – or any of the others – say whose idea it was to go to Burwell Street on Sunday evening?’
Morrie stared at her. ‘What … yes, he did actually. He thought the victim led them down there. Said something about a pub with live music. I reckon they were after scoring dope. He got nervous when I mentioned that.’
Joni made a note.
Morrie stumbled through the rest of his report. It was agreed that his team re-interview the staff and pupils who had been closest to Nick Etherington.
Joni caught Heck’s eye. ‘I’ve been collating the technical reports. Neither Nick’s … the victim’s phone nor the mobile used to make the anonymous call has been located. Neither has been used again. They’ve may have been turned off, dumped or destroyed. The companies’ servers will show if they become active again. I’ve arranged for that to be flagged up, as well as lists of incoming and outgoing calls.’ She glanced at Morrie Simmons. ‘I’ll extend that backwards by several months now. A search of the area has failed to locate the phones, the murder weapon or any other traces that might identify the murderer. We have the tracks of size ten, wide-fit shoes, now identified as Adipower Howard basketball boots, with a modicum of wear on them.’
‘A what?’ Nathan Grey said.
‘A fair amount,’ Joni said, not bothering to look at him. ‘There’s been a preliminary report from the linguistics professor. He thinks the voice is male, but he doesn’t exclude a female in the contralto range – don’t ask, DI Grey.’ No one dared laugh, given the ACC’s presence. ‘It’s almost impossible to specify an accent because the voice was muffled, but he’s going to do some testing on rhoticisation and frication loss.’
‘Good idea,’ said Nathan Gray. He didn’t seem intimidated by the stare he got from Ruth Dickie.
‘There are several other issues,’ Joni continued. ‘DC Andrews has been liaising with the technical team regarding the victim’s laptop.’
Eileen Andrews stood up and said there was a lot of material on it to be examined, but nothing striking had been found so far. Nick Etherington hadn’t used either Facebook or Twitter much – apparently he preferred to text.
‘I’ll assign you some help,’ Heck said.
‘And there’s a report from the Traffic Division,’ Joni said. ‘DS Rokeby?’
‘All large 4×4s and other vehicles with dark paint in the vicinity of the incident were checked,’ Pete said, ‘but as we know now, the bike wasn’t hit. It’s unclear how the victim ended up off the road.’
‘What about the canvassing of the area?’ Ruth Dickie asked.
‘I’ve been looking at those reports too, ma’am,’ Rokeby said. ‘It’s a pretty deserted road and no local residents saw a vehicle of that description at that time. It was dark, of course.’
‘Did they see any other vehicles?’ Joni asked.
Pete shook his head. ‘I don’t have that information.’
‘Find out if the question’s been asked,’ Heck said. ‘If not, get uniform to go back. Monitor that, please, DS Rokeby.’
‘Suzana Noli,’ Ruth Dickie asked.
‘Still unaccounted for,’ Joni said.
‘The SOCOs have taken moulds of some tyre tracks in the vicinity of Ollie Forrest’s quad bike,’ Heck said. ‘We’re waiting for the results. The bike itself has been examined and has no suspicious damage or marks. Ollie’s – Mr Forrest’s –fingerprints are on record following a bar brawl years ago. They are the only ones on the machine.’ He looked around the room. ‘Oliver Forrest is still missing.’
Joni wanted to mention what the ganger Garston had told her and Pete about the Spahia clan and Dan Reston, Lord Favon’s employee, but she decided to discuss it further with Heck. The ACC wouldn’t like the aristocrat’s name being tossed around in the briefing.
‘I gather there have been some unexpected developments with General Etherington,’ Ruth Dickie said. She raised her hand. ‘Those can remain confidential to DI Pax’s team for the time being. I presume you’ll be following them up and talking to him again?’
Joni nodded. ‘I’ll be asking him about the older woman his grandson was seeing too.’
‘What about the Steel Toe Caps?’ Morrie Simmons asked hurriedly. ‘Some of them are connected to the general as well. Do you want me to talk to them?’
‘The Steel Toe Caps?’ the ACC asked.
Joni filled her in.
‘Another link to the Albanians,’ Dickie said. ‘Interesting.’ She stared at Morrie. ‘No, DI Simmons, I expressly forbid you to have further contact with those individuals or anyone with ties to them. I want a full report on their activities so far by eleven o’clock, understood?’
Morrie nodded glumly.
‘As regards Gary Frizzell, the headless man,’ the ACC said. ‘Since he was from Newcastle and was last seen alive there – even if that testimony has since been denied – I’ve assigned the case to DCI Young’s team. I’m confident he’ll come up with the goods.’
There was an uneasy silence.
‘Right, DIs Pax and Simmons, here are your tasks,’ Heck said, handing out stapled sheets of paper. ‘We need results, people. Results and arrests.’
The meeting broke up.
109
Evie was in the library, the door locked. She’d hardly slept and had got up at dawn.
‘Darling, are you all right?’ her mother had called after nine. ‘Come and have breakfast, won’t you?’
‘No!’ Evie shouted, the single word covering both questions.
Her father tried too. ‘Evie, at least let us see how you are.’
‘No!’ she replied again. She knew Andrew had been put up to it by Victoria. If left to his own devices, he wouldn’t have shown that he cared.
Evie got under the table and lay face down, taking in the smell of the old rug she and Nick had lain on. There was the faintest trace of him and she inhaled it. It was cold comfort but at least there was something of him in her again.
‘Nick,’ she said under her breath. ‘Where are you? What happened to you?’
She stayed there for some time and then couldn’t take any more. She had to distract herself. If she’d been mobile, she’d have gone to stay with a friend. She suspected her parents wouldn’t drive her anywhere when she was in a state, as Victoria referred to the dark moods that had afflicted her since she became a teenager. No, she had to find something to take her mind off her dead lover. She got up and sat at the table. There were plenty of books to look at, but she turned to the catalogues. When she’d first started working on her history of the family, those heavy tomes had been her way in. There were hundreds of handwritten pages, the first volume completed by the original librarian, Dr Rodney Costello, who served until 1843. He may have died at his work, as the final entry, ‘Bullingdon, George – A Description and H
istory of the Sugar Plantations of Barbados, Milton of St Paul’s, 18…’ was incomplete, the downward scrawl of the nib going off the page. Some months later the entries were taken up by a more certain hand, that of Joshua Hilfer MA, who was replaced by Arthur Plain Esq. and, finally, by Doctor Steven Horsley. After he stopped work in 2000, there were no more entries. Her father rarely bought books and obviously deemed a librarian surplus to requirements, despite the size and significance of the collection. Evie had been its sole recent reader.
And she had learned much. Now that Nick had passed to the realm of spirits, she felt the proximity of the slaves’ old gods. The loa were whispering around her. Baron Samedi and the others deliberately used language that frustrated her – words that were almost comprehensible but lingered between conscious thought and dream. She caught glimpses of his top hat and bony white face, and heard the rattle of bones as he took his pleasure with Maman Brigitte.
Evie was the last of the Favons and she knew her parents would have preferred a boy. Still, she was responsible for what had been done in her name. However, her injuries had kept her to the Hall for months. She wasn’t forced to work, but the removal of freedom was the basic condition of the slave and so, although her ancestors had owned thousands, myriads of slaves, she had become one herself. Victoria and Andrew were too stupid to understand that, let alone the danger. If they had, they would have realised that people deprived of their freedom revolt. There were plenty of descriptions of slave rebellions in the books. She had to make a stand against her parents and their secrets. Some were already partially in the open. She was sure there would be others. It was up to her to find them, as well as to get justice for Nick.
Evie got up and limped to the door. She unlocked it, but didn’t go out. The library was her haven, the place where she had reached levels of joy with Nick that she had never believed possible.
110
‘What do you think of that, sir?’ Joni asked. She and Heck were in his glass box.
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