Carnal Acts

by Sam Alexander

  Joni rocked back on her heels. She was seriously outgunned and there was nothing she could do about it. Moonbeam hated shooting and certainly wouldn’t have any firearms about the place. Maybe there was something useful in the outhouse, the one her mother had been so snippy about being searched. Joni headed there and dropped to her knees to look through the keyhole. It was blocked on the inside. She tried the door and it opened immediately. She stared up in amazement at the familiar figure rubbing sleep from his eyes. Getting to her feet, she pushed him back and closed the door.

  ‘Morrie? What the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘Had a bit of lunch with your mother. She very kindly drove me up here so I could hit the home brew. I was having a snooze till you woke me up.’

  Joni’s eyes were wide. ‘Never mind. There’s a man with a pistol and a knife in the cottage and he’s tied her to a chair. I got a call from her that I realised was made under duress. She knew I was coming this afternoon.’

  ‘Did she now? Oddly, she didn’t mention it to me.’ Simmons smiled. ‘Looks like she was going to introduce you to her new man.’

  Joni tried to ignore that. ‘I don’t suppose there are any weapons in here? Backup’s on its way but I don’t want to wait.’ She looked around the small room. It had been refurbished as a kind of bedsit, with a single bed along the back wall and a desk at the shuttered window. There was some kind of altar in the far corner. The mingled smells of fruit and herbs filled her nostrils.

  ‘There’s a garden fork outside,’ Morrie said. ‘That might make him fill his shorts. Besides, I know how to look after myself.’

  ‘Really?’ Joni said doubtfully. ‘OK, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll knock at the front door. When he goes to open it, you get in the back. Is the door locked?’

  ‘Wasn’t when I went out an hour ago.’

  ‘He might have secured it. If he has, break the kitchen window and get inside as quickly as you can.’

  ‘There are plenty of knives in the kitchen,’ Morrie said. ‘You sure you don’t want me to go in the front?’

  Joni shook her head. ‘She’s my mother. You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.’ She caught his eye. ‘Then again, it sounds like you have an interest in her.’

  ‘You could say that.’ Morrie followed her to the door and went to the rear of the cottage with unexpected stealth.

  Joni dismissed the thought of her mother and Morrie Simmons together. She went to the front door, crawling beneath the window, and stood up. Holding the socket wrench behind her back, she knocked with her left hand.

  ‘Mother? It’s me.’

  There was a pause, then the door opened quickly. The pistol was pointed directly at her face.

  ‘Inside, you stupid bitch.’ She recognised the voice immediately and her stomach clenched. The man holding a gun on her was Marcus Ainsworth, the armed robber who had crippled Roland Malpas during the raid in south London and managed to escape.

  ‘You!’ she said, expelling breath rapidly.

  A smile appeared on the mouth in the balaclava slit. ‘Me. Show me what you’ve got in your right hand. Slowly!’

  Joni brought the socket wrench round and dropped it. She was struggling, so shocked was she by the reappearance of the vicious piece of shit who had stabbed her after she’d taken Roland Malpas’s place.

  ‘Come on,’ Ainsworth ordered, the pistol aimed at her abdomen as he backed into the main room.

  ‘Joni!’ her mother wailed from the chair. ‘He forced me to phone.’

  ‘What’s this about?’ Joni demanded.

  Ainsworth laughed. ‘You’ve pissed off some powerful people. They’re smart as well. Hired me to get rid of you.’ He glanced at Moonbeam. ‘It’d be a good idea if you don’t tell your mother who I am.’ He laughed emptily. ‘Otherwise I’ll have to kill her too.’

  Joni was suddenly aware that Morrie was behind her captor, crouching with the garden fork held horizontally.

  ‘Leave her alone,’ she said. ‘I don’t care what you do to me.’

  Marcus Ainsworth stared at her. ‘What’s happened to you, woman?’ He glanced at Moonbeam. ‘Didn’t you like what I did to you down south?’ Then his head cracked to the right as the curve of the fork’s tines hit the left side of his skull. He crashed to the floor.

  ‘Fucker,’ Morrie said, leaning over the motionless man and pulling off the balaclava. He started emptying his pockets. The knife and pistol were pushed out of range and more plastic restraints tossed out. ‘Secure his hands behind his back, Jack,’ he said. ‘I’ll tie his ankles together. Come on. He could wake up any second.’

  Joni, who had been replaying the scene outside the warehouse, came back to herself. In seconds she had Ainsworth’s hands fastened. Blood was flowing from four lines on the side of his head, but he had a pulse. His face was still covered in the acne she remembered.

  ‘Good job,’ Simmons said, going over to release Moonbeam.

  ‘That was a terrible thing you did, Morrie,’ she said. ‘No living creature deserves to be treated like that.’

  Joni burst out in laughter bordering on the hysterical. ‘Mother,’ she said, when she’d calmed down, ‘that’s Marcus Ainsworth, the bastard who nearly gutted me. He was going to kill me – you too, probably – but you’re more worried about offending the essential equilibria?’

  ‘Didn’t have much choice,’ Simmons said, his arm round Moonbeam’s shoulders.

  ‘Is that really him?’

  ‘Yes, Mother,’ Joni said. ‘Did you think he was after your dope stash?’

  ‘It … it must have been terrible for you, to be confronted by him again.’

  Joni couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her mother had never shown such empathy before. Maybe Morrie Simmons was good for her. No, that was too hard to believe.

  ‘Why was he going to kill you?’ Moonbeam asked.

  Joni sat down. ‘The cases we’ve been working on – Michael Etherington’s grandson, the dead man from the brothel in Corham – there’s an Albanian clan involved. They don’t take prisoners.’

  ‘But he’s no Albanian,’ Morrie said, glancing at the comatose figure.

  ‘They used him to make it worse for me, I suppose. And to cover their tracks.’ She took out her phone. ‘I’d better call the DCI. Is this some kind of a joke, Morrie? Are you cosying up to my mother to get at me?’

  Moonbeam’s laughter was like a peal of large bells. ‘I was the one who cosied up to him.’

  Morrie Simmons shrugged. ‘Mutual attraction.’

  Joni shook her head. Then threw herself to the floor as multiple gunshots turned the windows into lethal fragments.

  141

  Heck was settling down in front of the TV to catch up on the sport when the doorbell rang. His old man was asleep on the other sofa, Adolf on his lap, while Ag was in the kitchen, Kat in her room texting her friends with Cass no doubt flopped on her bed, and Luke playing some computer game involving balls – he was banned from anything overtly violent. Heck groaned and went to the door.

  ‘What the…’

  ‘Shut up.’ The man with the balaclava covering his face jabbed at Heck’s belly with a shotgun. ‘In the front room and sit down.’

  ‘What the fuck…’

  The butt of the Benelli was slammed into Heck’s belly and his face creased in agony. ‘No talking, right?’ His assailant glanced at David and then went to the kitchen. He returned with Ag in front of him. ‘Get the kids down here,’ he said. ‘If you screw up, they die.’

  ‘Do … do as … he says … pet,’ Heck said from the sofa, doubled up. He wasn’t sure if he’d sustained internal injuries. Worse, he was trembling. The fear had returned and it was more debilitating than ever.

  Ag stayed calm and called the children. Kat started to sob when she saw the weapon, while Luke ran to his father.

  ‘What have you done to him, you shite?’ he yelled.

  ‘Keep the noise down or it’ll be much worse.’ The gunman herd
ed the woman and children towards the inner of the two sofas. ‘Wake the old tosser up. He may as well hear what I’ve got to say.’ The landline started ringing. The intruder picked up the handset and pressed the End Call button. Heck’s mobile on the coffee table started to buzz.

  ‘Leave it,’ he ordered. ‘In front of the fireplace, Rutherford. The rest of you sit down.’ The shotgun was pointed at Heck’s chest, but it quickly moved towards Ag, Kat and his father. They crammed on to the sofa.

  Heck pushed Luke gently towards his mother.

  ‘What is this?’ Ag demanded.

  Heck peered at the man in the balaclava, then turned to his family. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll sort this out quickly enough.’ He opened his arms. ‘Why don’t we go outside and talk this over?’

  The intruder stared at him, then shook his head. ‘No chance. You’re going to die in front of your family.’

  Kat and Luke gasped and started to cry.

  Ag put her arms round them. ‘Don’t you da—’

  The last word was lost in the roar of the shotgun. Plaster crashed down from the ceiling.

  ‘That got your attention?’

  Ag, David and the children glared at the masked man, but kept quiet.

  ‘You want to tell me what this is about?’ Heck asked, his arms still wide.

  ‘It’s about you dying in agony, shithead.’ The shotgun swung towards the others. ‘Keep still or I’ll blow the lot of you apart.’

  Heck had taken courses in handling armed assailants. The important thing was to keep them talking.

  ‘Whatever it is you think I’ve done, it can be sorted out.’

  ‘Like hell,’ the gunman scoffed.

  There was something about the rough voice that was familiar, but Heck concentrated on getting his family out of the danger zone.

  ‘Let the others go into the kitchen, and you and I will sort this out between us.’

  ‘Fuck…’

  There was a loud hammering at the door.

  ‘DCI Rutherford? Heck?’

  ‘Stand still!’ the man in the balaclava ordered. When Pete Rokeby’s face appeared at the window, he loosed off another shot then racked the slide. Kat was screaming.

  ‘Listen to this before your guts spill over the floor, Rutherford. Ned Sacker. This is for him.’ He pointed the shotgun at Heck’s midriff.

  ‘No!’ Ag shrieked, leaping forwards.

  At the same time, Pete Rokeby reappeared at the window and threw a hand-sized stone at the gunman, glass flying inwards after it. The stone hit him on the side of the head and he staggered back, the shotgun wavering. Heck leaped towards him and grabbed the weapon. Pete came through the window and helped him wrest it from the man in the balaclava, who had one hand on the side of his head and the other inside his cagoule. It came out holding a black pistol, which he pointed at Heck’s head.

  ‘Out of my house!’ the DCI said, the shotgun to his shoulder. ‘Out!’ He glanced at Rokeby, who was on his knees with his arm wrapped round the intruder’s legs. ‘Let him go, Pancake.’

  The gunman swayed, the hand holding the pistol unsteady. He backed towards the door slowly, eyes wide open in the balaclava slit. Then he went round the corner and out of view. The sounds of the front door opening and closing were clearly audible.

  Heck kept the shotgun raised and followed as far as the sitting-room door.

  ‘No!’ Kat said, gulping for breath. ‘Don’t, Dad!’

  Heck made sure the street door was firmly closed. ‘Right, all of you behind that sofa, heads down. We don’t know this is finished. Pete, come with…’

  There was a shot from outside, but the house wasn’t hit.

  Heck went to the front door and lifted the flap of the letter box. ‘Jesus,’ he said, under his breath. Then he listened as a high-powered motorbike revved and raced away to the east.

  Rokeby was already calling for backup and an armed response unit. Heck waited for a couple of minutes, then opened the door. He looked out cautiously, and then went over to the body in the grass on the other side of the road. There was no more gunfire and he lowered the shotgun. When he got to the man who had threatened to kill him, he saw that he was done for. He’d been shot in the neck and the blood was coursing between his fingers. He knelt beside him and pulled off the balaclava.

  ‘Not So Lucky,’ he said. ‘I thought I recognised your voice.’

  Ian Sacker coughed, blood wetting his lips. ‘Fuck … you.’

  ‘This was all about your brother? You were going to kill me because the tosser’s inside?’

  ‘You … deserve … it,’ Not So Lucky panted, then his hand fell away. The blood coursed unimpeded over his chest and on to the grass.

  ‘You were going to kill me in front of my family because of your headbanger of a brother?’ Heck said, then he realised. ‘It was the Albanians, wasn’t it? They put you up to this.’ He leaned closer. ‘Give me your contact. At least you won’t have thrown your life away for nothing.’

  Sacker tried to spit in his face but his breath and blood ran out, and he died.

  ‘The Albanians turned him into a hit man?’ Pete said from behind, in astonishment.

  Heck waved Ag and the others back inside. ‘Yup. And when he failed, some bastard on a big boy’s bike shot him to make sure he kept quiet.’ He stood up, keeping hold of the shotgun.

  ‘He was a fuckwit, though,’ Pete said. ‘Lucky for us.’

  Heck nodded, then caught a glimpse of a fast-moving object in the corner of his eye. The motorbike was returning. ‘Back to the house!’ he said, grabbing Rokeby’s arm. Shots from a machine pistol kicked up asphalt and earth as they made it to the front door. Heck slammed it shut and slid the bolts. The roar of the motorbike was followed by the screech of tyres outside.

  ‘Everyone upstairs,’ Heck shouted.

  The rhomboid window in the front door was smashed and bullets thudded into the carpeted steps. ‘Shit! On all fours, into the kitchen, everyone! You too, Pancake. We’ll see if we can get out the back.’

  ‘Shouldn’t be long till the ARU gets here,’ Rokeby said.

  Heck grinned at him ruefully. ‘We haven’t got long. Come on, everyone!’ He waited by the sitting-room door as the others crawled to the rear of the house. ‘Pancake, we’ll try and block the way with the sofas.’

  They did their best to manhandle the heavy furniture to the door, but a rattle of shots came through the already broken window.

  ‘Forget it!’ Heck said, on his knees. ‘Get in the back.’

  The two of them made it to the kitchen as more shots drilled across the floor.

  ‘This lunatic isn’t giving up,’ Rokeby said.

  Heck closed the kitchen door. ‘That’s the problem. From what Joni said, the worst of the Albanians are like the Terminator.’ They shoved the table against the door. ‘Let’s see what’s going on outside. Everyone stay on the floor, hands over your heads.’ He went to door that led to the garden and opened it slightly. Splinters of wood flew past his face.

  ‘Bloody hell. Either there’s more than one of them or he knows exactly what we’re doing.’ Heck pulled Pancake down. ‘Kitchen cutlery drawer’s over there. Get the big knives out.’

  Ag looked up. ‘Heck, why don’t we wait for the other officers?’

  ‘Because we aren’t going to be allowed to. He or they have made enough noise to wake up even the doddery old couple down the road.’ He smiled reassuringly at the kids. ‘You two, in the larder with Granddad. Go on, now! Lock the door and get on the floor. Don’t worry, it’ll be all right. Ag, you too.’

  ‘No chance. You need all the help you can get.’

  A fusillade of shots came through the windows and they were sprayed with glass and wood fragments. Fortunately no one was hit in the face.

  ‘How about playing dead?’ Pete said. ‘Then we nail him when he comes in to make sure.’

  ‘Aye, good idea.’ Heck looked at the gashes on the backs of his hands. ‘But we need more blood.’

&nbs
p; Ag opened a low cupboard and took out a plastic bottle of tomato ketchup.

  ‘Genius,’ Heck said, as she slid it across the debris-littered floor. He squirted it on his head and upper chest, then passed it to his colleague.

  ‘How are we going to get him?’ Pete asked, when he was equally drenched.

  ‘Leave that to me,’ Ag said. She waited until another blast of shots came, then scrambled on to the Raeburn. It was only a foot from the back door. Above the stove hung a row of long-handled, cast-iron saucepans.

  ‘You realise that if there’s more than one, we’re dead,’ Heck said.

  ‘Thanks for pointing that out.’ Ag pressed her back against the wall and took down a heavy frying pan.

  There were more shots, this time through the door. Heck and Pete lay still as they were spattered by more splinters. Then there was a light step outside and the door was pushed slowly open. Heck knew this was the worst moment. If the killer decided to shoot them in the head before coming any further, at least it would be a quick death.

  But he didn’t do that. Looking down at Heck and Pete, a machine pistol in his hand, the young man in the tatty German army jacket and black motorbike helmet seemed satisfied. Then came a loud thud as Ag played a perfect square cut against the right side of his head. The machine pistol dropped to the floor and the gunman crashed sideways. He was pulled down by Heck and Pete, the latter holding a carving knife to his throat below the helmet.

  The sound of a siren came closer up the road. Heck grabbed the machine pistol and waited to see if anyone else took the plunge. As uniformed officers ran around the house and entered it from front and rear, he realised that, after Not So Lucky Sacker, the partially conscious man on the kitchen floor had been their sole attacker.