Carnal Acts (12 page)

‘That was a waste of time,’ DS Rokeby said as he and Joni Pax came out of Alnwick Police Station.

‘Mm,’ his boss replied absently. She was looking at the walls that rose above the town. ‘What is that place, Pete?’ She never
used his nickname – never seemed to use anyone’s if she could avoid it. That made him uncomfortable about calling her Jack or Jackie Brown behind her back, as some of the others did.

‘Alnwick Castle. Where they filmed Harry Potter.’

She looked at him blankly.

‘Haven’t you read the books? The films have been on the telly.’ Then Pete Rokeby remembered. He’d experienced Joni Pax’s ignorance about popular culture before. He put it down to her being an Oxford graduate, the fact that she didn’t know much about black culture reinforcing that conclusion. ‘Sorry, I forgot you only watch the news.’

‘And the Proms.’ They reached the Land Rover. Joni tossed him the keys. ‘You drive. I know you’ve been desperate to get your hands on her.’ After she’d strapped herself in, fumbling with the passenger seat belt, she sat back and nodded as he successfully manipulated the gears. ‘Yes, you’re right. Visiting Mr Hekuran Kondi was probably not the best way to spend our morning.’

The Albanian hadn’t responded to her attempts in Italian, while one of Richard Lennox’s junior lawyers sat in, shaking her head when the questions were voiced in English. Kondi was in his late twenties, Joni estimated. He had no ID on him apart from a gym card, though his wallet was full of cash.

‘On the other hand,’ Rokeby said, manouevring through the narrow streets, ‘you did seem to touch a nerve. What did he say when he gave you that look?’

Joni thought back to the stocky man with the clippered hair and dark-ringed eyes. His voice had been low and emotionless. ‘He said that I would be raped and murdered.’

‘What?’ the DS said, glancing at her, then looking to the front and correcting his course. ‘You should have told the lawyer.’

‘I didn’t want her to know.’

‘Why the hell not?’

‘Because that wasn’t all he said. I told him that the missing woman had been too much for his friends in Corham, having
killed one, sent another to intensive care and stuck a fork in the third guy’s head. What kind of men were they, I asked. Child fuckers?’

Pete Rokeby shook his head. ‘You fight dirty, ma’am. So what else did he say?’

‘He let slip a name.’ Joni glanced at him. ‘The Popi. He said the Popi would fix me. Mean anything to you?’

‘Afraid not. Albanian gangs weren’t on my agenda in Newcastle.’

Joni called Heck Rutherford. He didn’t know the name either, but would run it past his former colleagues.

‘Actually,’ she said, as they headed back down the A1, ‘I have an admission to make.’

‘Oh aye?’

‘Em, aye. Child fuckers wasn’t the only thing I called the Albanians.’

Rokeby looked at her and laughed. ‘Let me guess. You used some choice homophobic terms.’

Joni nodded, her eyes down. ‘Sorry about that. I read in an Italian criminology article that Albanian mafiosi have a thing about gays. A thing as in “they hate their guts”.’

‘Chill, ma’am,’ the DS said, laughing. ‘What did you actually say?’

‘Well … I said I thought they must have been busy sticking their pencil-thin dicks in each other’s soft pink anuses.’

This time Pete Rokeby guffawed loudly. ‘I love it! Don’t worry, it was in the line of duty.’ He glanced at her. ‘We Pofnee minorities need to stick together.’

Joni watched as a flock of small birds rose up and banked over a small wood. ‘Are you talking about my colour, my gender or my sexual orientation?’

‘Em, the first two.’ The MCU had been rife with speculation about Joni Pax’s sex life since she’d arrived. No one had seen her with a partner of either sex.

‘To tell you the truth, I don’t see myself as belonging to a
minority on either count. Obviously there are fewer women in Pofnee than there should be, but the statistics show there are more women than men in the world. And, if you count most of the occupants of Africa and the eastern continents, you’ll have a pretty large number of black people.’

Pete Rokeby accelerated past a lorry. ‘But there aren’t many blacks in Pofnee. I think you’re the only detective if you discount people of Indian and Pakistani origin.’

‘The chief constable would say that the police force should reflect the make-up of the local population. I haven’t seen many black people in Corham, let alone in rural Northumberland.’

‘True. Then again, gays make up between six and twenty per cent of the population, depending whose statistics you believe. I only know three other gays in Pofnee and two of them are lesbians.’

Joni laughed softly. ‘Gays can keep their orientation to themselves. They probably
have
to in the more macho units. I don’t have that choice, either as a woman or a person of colour.’

‘So what you’re saying is that different minorities shouldn’t stick together?’ Rokeby said testily.

‘No, of course not.’ She pointed ahead. ‘Why don’t we follow that sign and get something to eat?’

They found themselves at a pub called the Yellow Cat. A chalked board claimed it did the best value meals in the county.

‘We can always do them under the Trades Descriptions Act if it’s shite,’ Pete Rokeby said. He parked and handed over the Discovery’s keys.

They ordered toasted ciabatta sandwiches, Joni’s with grilled vegetables and the DS’s with spicy sausage.

‘Good enough,’ Rokeby said, after he’d finished well ahead of Joni and drained his pint of lemonade.

She nodded. ‘So why did you come out, if it isn’t too personal?’

‘Haven’t you heard the story?’

‘No one gossips with me, Pete. The DCI gives me the odd bit of background.’

Not that Heck Rutherford was much of a gossip merchant, Rokeby thought. ‘It was in the old Newcastle HQ about a year and a half ago,’ he said, meeting Joni Pax’s eyes. He felt completely at ease with her. ‘Some of the guys got suspicious when I kept avoiding the weekly trip to a pub with strippers. The nasty remarks started. So one morning, at the end of the briefing, I stuck up my hand and DCI Rutherford gave me the nod. I said, “I’m gay. Anyone got a problem with that?” Strangely enough, no one did. I got slaps on the back for having the balls to come out with it.’

Joni wiped her mouth. ‘But that wasn’t the end of it?’

He shook his head. ‘There’s never an end to it, you know that. They call me Pancake because I like my food, but there are still comments. Jokes, like, but with razor blades in them.’

‘Sounds familiar. You have to be stronger than everyone else all the time. It gets exhausting.’

‘It does.’

Joni patted his arm. ‘This is on me. We’d better get a move on. Nick the Human Traffic Light will soon be home from school.’

Pete Rokeby watched her while she paid. Until then he had thought DI Pax was a typical hard-bitten female cop – a taller, darker version of Ruth Dickie. Now he wasn’t so sure.

‘Is Gaz there?’

‘No. The fucker isn’t answering his phone. I’ve got three cars in for service and two MOTs. I’ve had it up to here with him.’

‘Don’t be too hard on him. He’s been missing for nearly four days.’

‘Who the fuck are you? His social worker?’

‘His best mate, Kyle Laggan.’

‘I suppose they call you Kylie.’

‘Only my mates. Or scumbags who can run fast.’

‘Hard man, eh? When you find Gaz, tell him I’m docking his wages and he’ll have to make up the time.’

‘I’m going to call the cops, report him missing.’

‘Good for you. Won’t do any fucking good.’

‘I know. Still, I got to do something.’

‘Here, now I come to think of it, one of the other lads said they saw him on Friday night. Oy, Johnnie, get over here. Talk to this lad. He’s called Kylie.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘What?’

‘Not you. Your boss is a pillock.’

‘I noticed. What do you want?’

‘He said you saw Gaz on Friday night.’

‘Aye, I did. He was with this guy round the back of the Stars and Bars.’

‘About two o’clock?’

‘Probably. I was pissed and I was smoking something reet skunky.’

‘So what was going on?’

‘They were having a chat, nothing nasty that I could see. They got into a black Bentley Continental GT Speed and drove off. It had tinted windows so I couldn’t see inside. Fucking brilliant motor, that.’

‘What the fuck?’

‘What?’

‘Gaz in a Bentley? He’s got a knackered old Micra.’

‘Maybe he’s got friends in high places.’

‘I’ve known him since primary school. The highest place we’ve been is the Get Carter Car Park.’

‘Shame they knocked that down. It was an ugly piece of shit though.’

‘So, the guy Gaz was with. What did he look like?’

‘Bouncer-type. Black suit, big, shaved head. Oh, and his nose was all flat.’

‘Did you see anything else at the club?’

‘Nay, you know what them places are like. Headbangers speaking funny languages on the door, local headbangers trying to get into the knickers of lasses inside.’

‘What funny languages?’

‘I heard that lot are from Albania. Hey, the pillock’s giving me the death stare. Got to go.’

‘Albania? Fuck.’

‘Come off it, Heck, the ACC’s having a hot flush.’ DCI Lee Young was number two in the Newcastle MCU. He was in his early forties, had a chip on his shoulder about officers who’d been to university and didn’t like the way the new force had been constituted. ‘Stabbings at a knocking shop in Corham, then an Albanian caught near Alnwick with a gun and a kilo of coke and she thinks the wankers are taking over the region? That’s bollocks.’

‘Maybe and maybe not. I don’t see the weeklies you send her. Are the Albanians getting ahead over there these days?’ Heck and Young had an up-and-down history. They’d worked together to nail a couple of violent gangs a decade back, but Heck had sent down one of his former colleague’s best friends when he was in the anti-corruption unit. As a result, he had to squeeze hard for cooperation.

‘Are they getting ahead? Not really. The local mobs still rule the roost, but it would be fair to say the Albies are making inroads.’

‘Women?’

‘Big time.’

‘Drugs?’

‘Medium time, I’d say. The Turks still control things up the east coast. The Albies have a go from time to time.’

‘I saw there were three dead down by the river a few weeks back.’

‘None of them Albanian. We caught one of the knifemen, who might well be, but he never talked. That dickhead Lennox was all over us the minute we turned the heat up.’

Heck looked out his office window and watched a pair of scowling teenagers being walked to the main entrance by uniformed officers. ‘If they can afford Lennox, they must be making serious money.’

‘Not necessarily up here. They could be being subbed by their big bosses in London.’

Heck paused for a moment, then pressed the phone against his ear. ‘The Popi mean anything to you?’

Young was silent for more than a moment. ‘The Popi,’ he repeated, stretching out the syllables. ‘Might do. What have
you
got for me?’

‘The tip of ACC Crime Dickie’s shoe – and she’s taken to wearing winkle-pickers.’

‘Ha fucking ha.’

The thought of Mrs Normal in anything other than sober flatties almost made Heck laugh too, but he restrained himself.

‘Oh, all right,’ Young said. ‘But I want to see the file on the dead man and his crew.’

‘Fair enough.’ That was no concession on Heck’s part – the files would soon be available to the Newcastle MCU on the Force database, but Lee Young had to keep face.

‘The Popi have turned up the odd time in the last couple of months. The guy we caught on the riverbank mentioned them when he was talking to Lennox. The interpreter picked it up. Did you know Lennox can speak Italian? Apparently the Albanians understand it. And we ran a phone tap before we raided a knocking shop off the Gallowgate – the name was mentioned. We’re guessing it’s a family or clan, but we don’t know if it’s up here or down south.’

‘None of the names we sent over rang any bells?’

‘Only Leka. It cropped up half-a-dozen times on that phone tap. Then again, Leka might be their equivalent of John.’

‘Aye, and Popi might be the Albanian Smith. OK, Lee, thanks. I’ll be in touch.’ Heck glared at the uniformed sergeant who was standing at his door. ‘What is it, Len? I’m up to my ears.’

‘It’s a woman, sir,’ the wizened officer said. ‘She insists on seeing you. Says she knows you. A Mrs Alice Liphook?’

‘Oh, Christ. What does she want?’

‘Says she’s been burgled.’

‘Well, get one of your lads to take a statement.’

‘Tried that. She started ranting and raving, even threatened to tear down some of the notices…’

‘Sounds like you should have arrested her. All right, I’ll talk to her. Bring her up, but don’t leave me on my own with her.’

The sergeant stared at him. ‘She doesn’t look like she’d—’

‘Don’t even think that!’ Heck suddenly looked bilious. ‘She’s one of the governors of Ag’s school.’

‘I did wonder, sir.’

‘When I say the word “crow” in any form, usher her out at speed. I’ll be about to tear her head off.’

A few minutes later Alice Liphook was sitting on the sofa that ran along one side of Heck’s office. Sergeant Moody stood in the doorway like a sentry. There were several female officers visible through the glass windows, so procedure was more or less being maintained.

‘Does your colleague have to be present, Hector?’ Mrs Liphook asked, in her high-pitched voice.

‘Standard practice, Alice,’ Heck replied. ‘We do everything in twos here.’

The woman peered at him through large round glasses. ‘No wonder crime’s going through the roof.’ She lifted one thick thigh over the other, giving a flash of support stockings beneath her long tweed skirt. ‘As in the case of my shed.’

‘Your shed?’

‘Yes,’ Alice Liphook said, her small head tilting back and forth
as if it was coming undone. It looked incongruous on top of her well-upholstered body. ‘Someone broke into it and stole a valuable velvet dressing gown and my favourite hat, as well as a lot of food.’

‘A velvet dressing gown…’ Heck busied himself taking notes. Mrs Liphook – her husband had sensibly died over a decade ago – was Corham’s number one busybody.

‘A lot of food was consumed on the spot as well. And the place smelled like a sweatshop.’

‘You live in Corham Gardens, don’t you?’ Heck remembered dropping Ag off once in the expensive suburb. ‘And this was your garden shed?’

‘My study shed. I need to get out of the house to read and write. I stay there all day.’

‘I see. And had the house itself been broken into?’

‘No, they hadn’t even tried as far as I can see. I was at my daughter’s up in Rothbury. I stayed the night and drove back this morning.’

‘And you saw no sign of the culprit or culprits when you arrived?’

‘No, luckily they’d gone. I’d have given them what for in no uncertain terms.’

Heck frowned at Len Moody, whose lips were twisting as he tried to swallow laughter.

‘Did anything else catch your attention, Alice?’ It was hard to be sure about her age because of the heavy layers on face, eyes and lips. Seventy-five was as low as he’d be prepared to go.

‘Yes. These were no ordinary thieves. They didn’t take my laptop or radio.’

‘Why do you say “thieves” plural?’

Mrs Liphook stared at him. ‘Because of the amount of food that was consumed, my dear man. Three tins of soup, two of beans, and two of sardines, as well as three packets of biscuits. And that’s just what was eaten there. They took a lot more away with them.’

Heck glanced out of the window and prepared to make an ornithological observation.

‘Oh, one last thing, Hector. There were rags in the bin, rags with blood on them. The smell … just awful.’

Heck thought about the woman Joni had chased outside the brothel. She had bare feet and was in need of clothes; food and shelter too. Had she found some cast-offs and made it as far as Corham Gardens?

‘I’ll tell you what, Alice. I’ll send some people down. They’ll check for fingerprints. Please don’t go back into the shed until further notice.’

The woman looked as if she’d been evicted. ‘Oh, but … but my work.’

‘I’m sure you can manage in the big house for a day or two,’ Heck said, standing up. ‘Now, Sergeant, I have an appointment with Inspector Crow. Please have someone take Mrs Liphook’s statement and fingerprints so we can distinguish them from those of the intruders.’

‘Thank you, dear Hector,’ the woman said, gathering together her possessions. ‘Do give my best to Agnes.’ She was one of those people who refused to use diminutives.

Dear Hector. That would be around Force HQ before the hour was out, Heck was certain.