Carnal Acts

by Sam Alexander

  ‘And what’s the moral of all that, Pancake?’ Heck said, as he helped Ag down and embraced her. ‘Women. Don’t go up against them.’

  ‘You’d better not.’ Ag nudged her husband in the ribs and went to get the kids and David.

  Heck shook his head in admiration. Then he realised two things. One, his belly hurt like hell but, two, he’d lost his fear. This time he didn’t think it would be back.

  142

  Victoria Favon was at the kitchen window.

  ‘Andrew!’ she cried. ‘Come here, now!’

  Her husband arrived, newspaper hanging from his hand.

  ‘Evie managed to get out of the window. She’s in the tower.’

  The paper fell to the floor.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t just stand there, you fool!’

  Andrew was looking out of the window. ‘I shouldn’t worry. The Hilux is there. Dan will handle her.’

  ‘That’s what I’m afraid of. Get over there immediately.’ As he reached the door, she added, ‘And take your shotgun. You saw how distraught Dan was about the dogs. God knows what he might do. I don’t care about the slut you’ve been fattening up or that oaf of a farmer, but I’d prefer Evie to remain alive.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you’re coming with me.’

  ‘You don’t suppose correctly. I’m going to talk to our Albanian friends. We need professional help.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Victoria, we owe them enough already.’

  ‘Get over there!’

  Lord Favon beat a retreat.

  Lady Favon went to her bedroom and called the number she’d been given. She smiled when she was told that a man was already in the vicinity.

  143

  From the floor Joni looked at the others when the shooting stopped. By some miracle she hadn’t been hit. Her mother was clutching her right shoulder, while Morrie Simmons was on his back, blood oozing from several chest wounds. Moonbeam stared at her in agony and Joni put her finger to her lips. The ARU and backup would arrive soon. Two things occurred to her. The shooter, who must have a machine pistol or an automatic rifle, was the real thing compared with Marcus Ainsworth. And, being a pro, he was going to make sure that at least she was dead. As she crawled towards Ainsworth’s pistol, she had another thought. Maybe there was more than one of them. She glanced at Morrie. He was breathing, but he’d been hit by at least three bullets. She called 999 and directed an ambulance to the cottage. Then she waited for their assailant. He was a Popi, she was sure.

  There was a shadow at the window. Joni waited until it darkened, catching sight of a stocky man in black leather jacket and cap. She was behind the door so he couldn’t see her, but the comatose Ainsworth, her mother and Morrie were visible enough. She heard a metallic object hit the paving stones outside the window and then the slap of another magazine being loaded. She’d been on a firearms course at the Met, but it had only been to familiarise officers with the weapons they would come up against – specialist firearms units did the actual shooting. There was a small lever on the right side above the butt of the pistol that Ainsworth had dropped. She pushed it down to reveal a green dot. She was surprised he had the safety applied, but what bothered her now was whether there was a round in the chamber. She bet there would be, moved out of cover and emptied the magazine at the window. The noise made her ears ring and at first she couldn’t tell if her shots had provoked a similar response. Grabbing the garden fork, she crawled to the front door and stretched up to open it slightly. There was the roar of a car heading away to the right of the cottage. Had she actually scared off the bastard?

  Then Joni made out another sound – the wail of a siren. She let out a gasp of relief and looked outside. There was blood on the grass beyond the paving stones. She had hit the shooter at least once.

  ‘Are you all right, ma’am?’ said a constable, who came running towards her.

  ‘Yes.’ She got to her feet and dropped the empty pistol. ‘If any of you guys know first aid, there are three wounded people inside – but don’t waste your time on the one in restraints. I’ve already called an ambulance.’

  Three more uniforms arrived, one of them a sergeant. She gave him a brief run-down of what had happened. Then a black van appeared and men in combat fatigues jumped out. The Armed Response Team leader came over.

  ‘Chief Inspector Bonnett,’ he said, glancing into the house.

  Joni introduced herself and told him what had happened.

  ‘Do you have any idea where he might be heading, DI Pax?’

  ‘I imagine he’ll be going back to Newcastle. The Albanians are there in numbers.’

  ‘We haven’t got much to go on,’ Bonnett, ‘given you didn’t see his vehicle. I’ll liaise with uniform about closing off the roads in the vicinity.’

  Joni nodded and left him with the sergeant. She went inside the cottage. One of the officers was kneeling by Morrie Simmons, head close to his chest. He looked up as she drew close and pursed his lips.

  ‘He’s been hit badly, ma’am. I’m doing what I can, but let’s hope the paramedics get here soon.’

  Joni knelt down on the other side. ‘Come on, Morrie,’ she said. ‘Stay with us.’

  He blinked, his breathing rapid. ‘Sorry … Jack … fucking … hell…’ His voice trailed away.

  Joni looked up and saw that his eyes had closed.

  There was a pounding of boots as the paramedics arrived. They took charge immediately. Joni stepped back and went to her mother.

  ‘Is he…’ Moonbeam choked.

  ‘He’s still alive, I think,’ Joni said, looking at the wound in her mother’s shoulder. ‘We need attention here too.’

  One of the paramedics, a short young woman, raised her head and took in Moonbeam’s condition. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’ She was attaching a drip to Morrie’s wrist.

  ‘Hold on, Mother.’ Her phone rang and she went outside.

  ‘Joni, thank fuck.’ Heck sounded desperate. ‘You OK?’

  ‘I am, yes.’ She told him about Ainsworth, and what had happened to Morrie Simmons and her mother.

  ‘They tried to get me as well,’ he said. ‘Thanks to Ag and Pancake, we’re all OK. The brother of an evil fucker I put away was going to kill me with a shotgun in front of the family.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, Heck.’

  ‘Someone – an Albanian, I’m guessing – took him out and nearly did for the rest of us. He’s got a serious concussion. What happened to your second shooter?’

  ‘He drove off to the west. Could be miles away by now and I didn’t see the vehicle.’

  ‘OK, hold fast. I’ll talk to the ACC and see if the helicopter’s available. We might pick your gunman up if he’s driving like a lunatic.’

  Looking to the right, Joni made up her mind. ‘I’ve got to go. See you later, Heck.’ It was only as she cut the connection that she realised she’d called her boss by his first name twice. She’d resisted doing so when she was at his house despite Ag’s stipulation. She watched as one of the paramedics and a uniformed officer carried Morrie, another holding up the drip. Her mother followed, a blanket round her and the female paramedic leading her by her good arm.

  ‘Joni, you’ll … you’ll follow … us to the hospital?’ Moonbeam sobbed.

  ‘I’ll be there,’ Joni said, squeezing her mother’s wrist.

  ‘We’ll secure the scene, ma’am,’ the sergeant said.

  ‘Such as it is after we’ve stomped all over it,’ Joni replied. ‘Do what you can. I need to go to the hospital.’

  Back down the lane, Joni got into the Land Rover and checked the map. Just as she’d thought, if she carried on past the turn-off to her mother’s cottage, she’d reach Favon Hall in about ten minutes. Something was going on there, but she knew Heck would forbid her to approach without approval from Mrs Normal. By the time a team was organised, it could be too late. She was sure Suzana Noli and Oliver Forrest were there – perhaps even Michael Etherington. She also reckoned the
gunman was on his way to the Favons.

  She drove past the cottage turn-off, seeing CI Bonnett turn and stare. He would pass on the direction she’d headed when asked. It was the opposite to that taken by the ambulance, but there were plenty of junctions between here and the Hall. She picked up her phone and turned it off.

  Joni felt as if some strange power was directing her. She didn’t usually feel this way before cases broke. Then again, she wasn’t usually the target of two hit men in one afternoon.

  144

  Suzana heard the roar of an engine and the rattle of gravel. Then there was a clang as the door below opened. She listened to the ascending footsteps. Would they stop at the man below or come straight to her? She thought of putting the knife up her sleeve, but it would be seen if she was forced to strip, so she left it where it was. The footsteps stopped and then started again almost immediately. Suzana took a series of deep breaths, remembering what she had done to Leka and the others in the slave house. She had a flash of the mountains around her village, the forests and the high pastures, then shook her head. There was no going back. She had to find a new world, and dealing with her latest captor was the beginning of it.

  The sound of heavy boots grew louder. Suzana considered standing by the door and trying to wrest the shock pole from the pig, but decided that it would be better if she let him come close. She could do the most damage if she looked like she was beaten. She sat on the bed, her shoulders and head down. When the key rattled in the lock, she relaxed, her breathing even and her heart rate steady. Let him come.

  The door burst inwards and the pole appeared, followed by the masked man. He shouted at her. She didn’t know the words, but she understood what he wanted – his eyes, wild as a rutting boar’s, were on her body. She took off her clothes slowly. She left her pants on – they were grey and over-sized, not in the least sexy, and her captor signalled to her to take them off, the pole wavering as he stepped closer. She stepped out of them and flicked them away coquettishly with one foot. The pole was laid down and a hand grabbed her left breast. She moaned and that made him breathe heavily. He came closer, both hands now on her breasts. Suzana sighed and moved her hand downwards. Then she tugged the knife out of herself, pressed the blade forward and slashed at the thin strip of skin beneath the woollen mask. As he staggered back, gasping, she bent down and picked up the pole. She hit him on the hand and then the head, unsure if the shock was as effective through clothing. He jerked backwards, one hand to his throat, blood spilling between his fingers. Suzana used the pole to drive him towards the bathroom. He stumbled against the step and fell backwards, his head striking the rim of the toilet. He lay still. She shoved his legs into the small room and turned to go. Then she was overwhelmed by curiosity. What did the pig look like? She squatted over her captor, knife held forward. Then she pulled off the mask and gasped. The pig in black was a woman – middle-aged, heavy and unattractive. Her hair was brown and greasy. The bitch. Suzana slammed the metal door shut and slid the exterior bolts. She dropped to her knees, panting. She was free.

  When she got her breath back, Suzana dressed and put the knife in her trouser pocket. The pig had a larger knife in a sheath on her belt, but she wasn’t going to open the door to grab it. Her former captor might be pretending to be unconscious.

  Suzana took the shock pole and ran out on to the narrow landing. Before she went down the worn stone steps, she removed the keys from the door. She glanced at the stone walls. What was this? A castle? She banged on the door.

  ‘Hel-lo?’ she called softly. Maybe there were more pigs nearby. ‘Hel-lo? I op-en.’ She drew the bolts and tried the keys in the lock. Finally one turned. She swung the door inwards, holding on to the handle.

  ‘Hel-lo?’

  At first she didn’t see anyone. The bathroom door was open, so she assumed the captive was hiding in there. Then she saw movement to her left. A big man was coming at her. She raised the pole and hit him on the hand. He yelled. Then she touched him again, this time on the neck. He fell back and lay motionless. She looked at his face and recognised him – the man who had jumped on her from the sow bike, the pig who had ripped at her clothes. She retreated, pulling the door to and locking it.

  Suzana wiped the sweat from her face and went down the steps, holding the pole in front of her. She could smell cool, fresh air. This time she really was free.

  Then she heard a man outside shout and her hopes turned to dust. A second later, she was confronted by a young woman with short brown hair. In her hands she held a metal object like the shock pole she herself was carrying.

  They stared at each other, motionless as the shouting came nearer.

  145

  ‘Andrew!’ Michael Etherington had yelled several times.

  Lord Favon finally turned to him, his eyes widening. For once he wasn’t wearing a hat and his bald patch glinted in the sinking sun.

  ‘Michael? What are you doing? Put that bloody rifle down.’

  ‘No, Andrew. The shotgun, on the gravel. Now!’

  ‘I … oh, all right.’ Favon complied, standing up again with his face red. ‘What the hell’s the meaning of this? Was it you who shot Reston’s dogs? Why are you dressed like a bloody soldier?’

  The general walked closer. ‘Because that’s what I am. You think I stopped when I retired? I’m fighting a new war now.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, man. Who’s the enemy?’

  ‘Your friends, the Albanians.’

  ‘What?’

  Michael looked beyond him. ‘It’s all right, Evie,’ he said, picking up the shotgun. ‘Who’s your friend?’

  The two young women stared at him, then the one in ill-fitting clothes dropped the cattle prod and rushed at Andrew Favon, raking his face with her nails and screaming words in a language that Etherington recognised, even though he couldn’t speak much. The pair collapsed and the woman stayed on top. Suddenly there was a small blade in her hand and she started slashing at Favon’s head and neck.

  Evie seemed to have been turned into a statue, her eyes fixed on the spectacle in front of her. Michael Etherington went over and handed her the shotgun after checking that it was loaded.

  ‘You know how to use this?’

  Evie twitched and came back to herself. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Cover me while I sort this out.’ The general put down his rifle, stepped forward and grabbed the woman by the scruff of her neck, knocking the knife from her hand. Then he told her to stand still and be calm– that much he could say in Albanian. He pulled Andrew Favon to his feet and examined his wounds. There was a lot of blood, but he couldn’t see any serious cuts.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s go to the Hall. Victoria will clean you up.’

  Favon didn’t reply. He looked like he was in shock.

  ‘What happened, Evie?’ Michael asked, as they went to the back of the Hall.

  ‘I … I don’t know. The girl was in the tower, I think she’d been locked up. Why did she do that to my father?’

  ‘Not sure. Anyone else in there?’

  ‘I don’t know. I met her on her way down. She was holding that cattle prod. I spoke to her, though I’m not sure she understood. She was worried about my crutch until she realised what it was. She was scared by the shouting.’

  The general glanced at the young woman. She looked in control of herself now, but he’d seen the frenzy on her face when she attacked Favon. He knew why as well, but he wasn’t going to tell Evie. He’d seen her run out of the brothel on Sunday night. She was Suzana, the murder suspect the police had been looking for. It was obvious that Andrew had been a customer, no doubt a demanding one.

  The basement door opened.

  ‘What on earth’s happened?’ Victoria Favon demanded. ‘Andrew, are you all right? What are you doing with that shotgun, Evie? Give it to me immediately.’

  ‘So you can lock me up again? No, thanks.’

  ‘Lock you up?’ Michael said. He looked at Victoria. ‘Is this true?’

&nb
sp; ‘Don’t intrude in family matters. How dare you shoot Dan’s dogs?’

  The general’s jaw jutted forward. ‘Because they were about to rip my throat out. Besides, these aren’t just your family matters, they’re mine too. What did you do to Nick?’

  Victoria took a step back. ‘To Nick? Nothing whatsoever.’

  ‘Let’s go inside,’ Michael said. ‘Evie’s tired and your man’s about to collapse.’

  ‘My man!’ Lady Favon said scathingly.

  146

  Ruth Dickie was not happy, primarily with herself. Although no one could have predicted there would be assassination attempts on DCI Rutherford and DI Pax, she knew how dangerous the Albanians were. The second man at Heck’s house wasn’t talking, but he was swarthy – Ag Rutherford’s word – with curly black hair. She was pretty sure he was one of them. If Richard Lennox or one of his sidekicks arrived to represent him, that would clinch it.

  She should also have listened to Joni Pax. Her suspicions about the Favons had seemed fantastical, but she’d kept beavering away. The ACC would be recommending to the chief constable that a warrant to search the Hall and other premises on the estate be sought.

  ‘Cup of tea, dear?’ her husband asked.

  ‘I’m working,’ she said, in a steel voice.

  After he’d closed the door behind her, Ruth Dickie rested her head on a hand. Today could have been a disaster. She was lucky the casualty count was so low. How had the Albanians discovered so much about her officers? She had a suspect in mind – DCI Young. Although he hadn’t yet been caught in contact with them, she was sure he was taking their money. Tomorrow morning she would squeeze him until he leaked blood.

  The Force helicopter was on its way to Favon Hall, along with the armed unit that had been at Joni Pax’s mother’s cottage. It was clear to her that DI Pax had gone to the Hall on the assumption that the gunman who had escaped was headed there. What worried her most was that Joni wasn’t answering her mobile. She was a good detective, but she was rash. That could have got her into very deep water indeed.