Last Gasp (16 page)

Jess could see that Carver was as
puzzled as her.

'I still don’t understand why you agreed to see him again
instead of putting him off,' he said.

They were back in The Grosvenor’s otherwise deserted Arkle
Lounge. Earlier, Megan had given her first impressions of Cosworth.

'He seemed quite nice, on the surface,' she’d said, but then
went on to describe her feeling that there was, 'Something underneath.
Something a bit, well, weird.'

'You can say that again,' Shepherd huffed. It prompted a
silence that was heavy with censure. He hadn’t spoken since. Jess took pleasure
in his discomfort, remembering her own gaff during that early meeting in
Megan’s lounge at the Poplars. Now she waited to hear what lay behind Megan’s
hasty-seeming decision to grant Cosworth an ‘audience’.

'Well, under the circumstances I thought it was what you
would have wanted. I just went for it.'

Carver turned to Jess. She was none the wiser.

'Sorry, I’m not with you. What circumstances?'

'You know. That business about him wanting to worship his
Mistress. Praying to her like a goddess, and all that. You’ve not told me
everything about these murders but I had the feeling it might be significant
and-.' She stopped. The three detectives were staring at her. 'What?' Her brow
creased into a frown, then suddenly her hand went to her mouth and her eyes
widened.

'You missed it. It was when the microphone was off. Oh God,
I
thought
you were all taking it rather calmly.' She began to redden.

Carver leaned forward. 'Just what, exactly, did he say?'

She took a deep breath. 'When I came back from the ladies,
the first time, he said something about how people were looking at me,
reverently
,
the way they would a Goddess. He said that worshipping a woman as a Goddess was
one of his favourite fantasies. That he wanted to be
forced
to worship
her, to pray to her.' She paused to look at each of them in turn, conscious of
the effect her words were having. 'Everyone talks about this Worshipper thing
and I thought you’d want to check it out sooner rather than later. So I agreed
to a meeting. Did I do wrong?' She read their faces, and brightened. 'It means
something doesn’t it? I can tell.'

Carver remained non-committal. 'Anything else?'

Jess could see she was excited now, her usual icy calm
temporarily suspended. Megan continued.

'He talked about kneeling in front of a woman and praying
for her soul. Or was it
his
soul? I’m sorry, I’m not sure now. Anyway,
I’ve known men want to worship their Mistress, but not in the literal sense. So
tell me. Is it important?'

Jess waited for Carver. He was staring into space, lost in
thought. Megan was still animated, waiting for a response. But Shepherd could
contain himself no longer.

Jumping up off the sofa, he said, ‘I’ll say it’s important.’
He looked like he was in a rush to go somewhere.

Carver came to. 'Gary, we-.'

'We ought to call The Duke. Let him know. This is pretty
near the mark Jamie. SU can pick Cosworth up when he gets home.' He reached
into his jacket for his mobile.

Carver tried again. 'Just-'

'I’ll call Mike Frayne and see where they are. If Jess can get
Megan’s statement, we’ll-.’

'HANG ON GARY.'

Carver’s words echoed around the room. Through in reception,
the night-clerk looked up, bored, before going back to whatever she’d been
doing.

Shepherd stopped, mobile in hand. When Carver spoke again
his words were pointed. 'It
may
be significant, but on its own it’s not
enough to tie him to anything. We’ll speak to The Duke in the morning. But for
the time being, things stay as they are.'

For several seconds the two men glared at each other. Then
Shepherd snapped the cover back on his phone, and put it away. He sat down
again, stony-faced.

But Megan had read the exchange. 'Is there something about
this man I ought to know Jamie?'

Carver breathed a sigh and shot another annoyed glance at
Shepherd.

'Some of the things you describe ring some bells. They may
mean something, or they might not. Either way, we still need to take a closer
look.' He turned back to her. 'There’s something else.' She gave a quizzical
look. 'May I see your bag?'

'My bag?’ She reached out to where it lay on the cushion
next to her. ‘Certainly, but what’s my bag got to do with anything?'

'Would you mind?' Carver held out a hand. She gave it to him
and he passed it across to Jess. She delved into it and pulled out an envelope
bearing a label showing Megan’s address. Carver clicked his tongue.

'It’s the envelope from 'DOM!' Megan said. 'The one his
letter came in. I brought it just in case. Is there a problem?'

'He photographed your address,' Jess said. 'While you were
in the Ladies.'

 She paled, then closed her eyes, pummelling a fist into her
thigh. 'Stupid, stupid, stupid. What was I thinking? Why didn’t I take the damn
thing with me?'

'As of now, we’re putting you under full surveillance,'
Carver said. His face was set.

Her composure returned instantly. 'You can’t do that Jamie.'
She was somewhere between imploring and defiant. 'You know I could never allow
it.'

Their gazes met and held. So far, Megan had always dismissed
suggestions she might need guarding. Her friends would never forgive her if she
let them be spied on.

Jess waited. So did Shepherd. Eventually Carver appeared to
let go. It had been a long day.

'There may be other options. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.'

But Shepherd seemed to feel the need to impose himself.

'I don’t think you’ve got any choice Megan. Unless you want
to risk an uninvited visitor.'

Jess saw the exasperated look that came into Carver’s face.
They’d learned long ago that trying to tell Megan Crane to do or not do
something was guaranteed to raise the drawbridge. Megan started to colour.
Carver saw it.

'Let’s not scare the lady, Gary. There could be any number
of reasons why he wants her address. In any case, if he and Megan are to meet,
she’ll have to give it him sometime.'

As she witnessed the confrontation, Jess mused on the change
in Carver’s attitude towards the woman.
Lady, no less.
They’d come a
long way since their first meeting. But if there was an innocent explanation
for Cosworth stealing her address, Jess couldn’t think of it.

Carver stood up, and stretched, signalling ‘de-brief over’.
He looked down at Shepherd.

'There’re a couple of things we need to talk over Gary. If
you’ll excuse us, ladies.' He set off towards the lounge-bar.

Sullen, Shepherd took the hint. He drained his brandy and,
rising to his feet, gave the women a piercing look. 'Goodnight.
Ladies
.'
He followed after Carver.

As he rounded the corner, Megan turned to Jess. The flashing
eyes showed that any concerns she may have been having over Cosworth having her
address were forgotten. At least for now.

'Well, wasn’t that exciting? Jamie and Gary do seem to have
an interesting relationship.' She patted the cushion next to her. 'Sit here,
Jess, and tell me what that was all about.'

Jess rolled her eyes.
Here we go again
. But she
recognised the warm feeling of intimacy that comes when friends share secrets.

The Duke shuffled the papers between
his spade-like hands, regarding them the way he might if they’d been written in
Greek. After several moments he shook his head, let the pages fall to the desk
and looked up to meet the gaze of the waiting academic.  'Let me get this
straight. You’re saying he’s working towards something specific?'

Ewan Cleeves tapped the papers in his lap and nodded. 'It’s
all in my updated profile, Chief Superintendent.'

As Carver flicked through his copy, he caught the Duke’s
glance. He’d been late joining them due to yet another planning meeting with
Jess and Megan. He was still catching up.

'Profiles do nothing for me,’ The Duke said. ‘Talk me
through it. Keep it simple.'

Cleeves smiled, weakly, as if he didn’t mind at all having
to spell out in words of two syllables, what had taken him three days to put
into a precisely-worded, scientific analysis.

'It’s to do with the way the victims are
restrained
.
With each murder the arrangement of knots and ropes, the positioning of body,
arms and hands become more
precise
. More
deliberate
. It’s as if
the killer is working towards replicating a specific image or scene.'

Carver looked up. 'For example?'

'You see it with Corinne Anderson,' Cleeves said. 'When he
bound her arms he used more rope than previously, and applied it more carefully
so they would stay in position. And the pathologist’s report shows that at some
stage he strapped her forehead to the post to hold her steady.'

'The significance being?' The Duke said.

'That the killer’s motivation is
obsessive
, driven by
something in his subconscious. I would postulate something in his past, an
event, perhaps an image that has great significance. Subconsciously, he believes
that by re-creating that experience, it will exorcise the forces that are
driving him.'

Carver recalled what Megan had said about Cosworth’s
interest in praying to his goddess.

'What about her little fingers?' The Duke said.

Cleeves sat forward. 'Now that’s interesting. They weren’t
glued in position. I believe that if the killer had folded them under, he would
have done so. That he didn’t, suggests the victim did it herself.'

'But we know from Jess’s enquiries, she wasn’t religious,'
Carver said.

'Precisely.' Cleeves said. He seemed to be enjoying leading
his audience. Just like dealing with college students. 'Given that their
position is far from natural, we could conclude-'

But Carver had seen it. 'She was trying to tell us
something-'

'-About her killer,' Cleeves finished, almost triumphantly.

For several minutes they reflected on what message Corinne
Anderson might have been trying to convey as her life leaked away. But
eventually, they agreed that without further information they could only
speculate. The Duke moved them on.

'So what happens when this nutcase completes his ‘picture’
or whatever it is?'

'Killers of this sort don’t usually stop, Chief
Superintendent,' Cleeves said. 'They get a taste for it. Most likely he will
move onto something else.'

The Duke’s explosion was instantaneous. 'SOMETHING ELSE?
Like what? You mean a different method? Targeting other women?'

Cleeves rocked back. Clearly he hadn’t anticipated The
Duke’s reaction.

'Christ, how would we know it was him? We’d be back to square
one with no way of knowing what he might do next.'

By now Carver had speed-read Cleeve’s profile. He didn’t
want to waste time debating its limitations. 'That’s why we need to catch him
quickly,' he said.

A few minutes later, Cleeves left, taking his papers and
slamming the door behind him. Carver suspected he wasn’t happy being the butt
of The Duke’s grumpy reaction to his ‘analysis.’

But once he was gone, The Duke seemed to calm, a little. He
turned to Carver.

'Where does it leave us?'

'If Ewan’s right, and the worshipping thing isn’t just
window dressing, then we need to dig deeper, try to work out what it’s about.'
He gave The Duke a pointed look. 'We need to move up a gear, John. We need to
trace the Dutch girl in Cosworth’s original photographs, and take a more
in-depth look at Megan Crane’s contacts

The Duke read his look. 'Staff?'

'Two, maybe three more teams?'

Carver wasn’t hopeful. For weeks he’d been fielding
questions from hard-pressed Divisional Commanders asking how much longer their
staff would remain locked into an enquiry that seemed to grow by the week.

But The Duke didn’t hesitate. 'I’ll speak with the ACC this
afternoon. You’ll have them by tomorrow.'

The four-year old sat, cross-legged,
in front of the television. He pressed the remote again. Nothing happened. He
started to worry. It was time for Fleabits. He didn’t want to miss his
favourite programme. He kept pressing the button and, without taking his eyes
off the screen, leaned back, half-turning towards the kitchen behind him.

'IT’S NOT WORKING MUMMY.'

Around the door, a woman’s face appeared. Flushed and
breathless, straying strands of dark hair, hung from the untidy bun pinned to
the top of her head.

'Wha’d you say sweetheart?'

'The thingy’s not working again.
Fleabits is on.'

Anna Kirkham sighed as she propped
the iron on its stand and moved the clothes basket aside so she could come
through into the living room. She was only halfway through the ironing and
hadn’t even thought about putting tea on yet. A couple of mothers had been late
picking their kids up from the nursery, and it was gone four thirty before she
and Debbie finally closed up. The drive home had been horrendous – Leeds United
were playing an early evening game - and it was well after half-five by the time
they got in. Now, to top it all, Jason was playing up.

But it wasn’t his fault she reminded herself. He had a cold
coming on and hadn’t slept well the night before. If she hadn’t had to open up
the nursery she’d have kept him at home. She made up her mind to ring Debbie
and tell her she would have to manage on her own tomorrow. One of the mums
would volunteer to help out. Jason would be better off in bed. And a day off
wouldn’t do her any harm.

Reaching down, she took the control off her son and pressed
the channel button. The irritating commercial for flavoured crisps, the one
with the ridiculous genie, continued to blare out, and she remembered what the
problem was. The control needed new batteries and had done for a week now. She
must
put a note on the fridge magnet. Stepping forward she reached under the TV, and
pressed buttons on the decoder. Channels flashed across the screen. Eventually
a large, fluffy blue animal, of what sort she was never quite sure, appeared.

The boy yelped. 'HOORAY. FLEABITS. Thank you Mummy.'

At once, he was lost in the make-believe world of strange
animals and even stranger robotic children. She looked at him, then back at the
TV. She and the other mums thought the programme was a bit, well, weird. But
the kids loved it.

She smiled down at him, the harassed feeling banished,
temporarily, by his childish joy. Leaning in, she hugged him to her - she was
low on hugs today – and ran her fingers through his thatch of thick, black
hair. But he pulled away from her, the wide eyes that were unusually dark in
one so young, riveted to the screen.

For several moments she regarded him through wistful eyes. A
normal kid, watching TV, with his mum. A normal mum. A mum with ironing to do
and tea to prepare. A working mum with a nursery to run. A mum who could still,
when she put her mind to it, turn it on.

But not for anyone anymore. Nowadays she was only interested
in turning it on for one man. A man who was actually nice to her. A man who’d
even stayed after finding out she had a four-year old son. A man with a steady
job, who cared for her, and wanted to look after her. More importantly to look
after Jason, as well. What was more, if she was reading the signs right, it
looked like he might be planning to stay around more permanently in the future.
Provided nothing scared him off.

She didn’t dwell on the thought. She had known for months
that she loved Rob and was sure he loved her too. He just needed a bit of help
to realise it. The relationship was as normal as she had ever dreamed she could
have. There was no reason to think it wouldn’t stay that way.

She looked about her. The flat was on the small side,
compared to what she’d once been used to, but she had made the most of it. And
although it wasn’t fully paid for yet, it was hers. A real home. Though she
knew it was silly after all this time she allowed herself a tiny feeling of
self-congratulation, as she did now and then, over the way things had turned
out. It could all have been so different. A moment of whimsy came over her and
she gave the boy another hug and kissed him, hard, on the cheek.

'Who’s my beautiful baby then?'

'MUM. You’re blocking Fleabits.'

She laughed again as she stood, refreshed and ready to face
the chores awaiting her.

The chime of the doorbell echoed through the flat.

Checking he was still engrossed, she headed to the front
door.

He was tall, slim and smartly-dressed in a grey suit.
Good-looking in a certain kind of way. But standing there, on the block’s long
walkway, he stood out like a chocolate dildo on a wedding cake. Although she
had never seen him before, it was so obvious who, what, he was, he might as
well have had a flashing blue light fixed to the top of his head. She fought
against the panicky feeling that welled up in her.

'Angela Kendrick?'

‘No, I’m sorry. There’s no one here by that name.’ Old
habits. Give nothing away until you know what they want.

He gave her a smart-arsed look. 'Yeah, you’re Angela
alright. I’ve seen your photograph. You’ve not changed much. A bit older,
that’s all.' She saw the hint of a sneer, the arrogance below the surface. She
hated him already.

'Who are you? How did you get my address?'

'DCI Shepherd.' He flashed a warrant card but she didn’t
need to look at it to know he was genuine. 'Call me Gary. I’d like a word
Angela. Don’t worry you’re not in any trouble.'

She debated whether to tell him to go to hell, but he’d got
her address and that couldn’t have been easy. If he’d gone to all that trouble,
he wasn’t going to be put off by a door slamming in his face. He would only be
back, calling and knocking, harassing until she gave in. She knew what they
were like. Rather, what
some
were like.

'You’d better come in.'

She led him into the living room, but carried on through to
the kitchen. She didn’t want Jason to hear.

'Nice looking lad,' he said, as he walked through. 'Got his
mother’s looks.'

She ignored him. Whatever he wanted, she couldn’t bear the
thought of him touching their lives, not even to compliment her son. She closed
the door just enough to block out the TV noise, but could still see her boy.

'What do you want?' she said.

For a second, he gave her the look, then the smile, as if he
might be thinking of turning it on the way they often do before they get to the
meat. But her eyes must have told him it would be wasted. He got straight to
the point.

'You used to know a detective called, Jamie Carver.'

The bottom dropped out of Anna Kirkham/Angela Kendrick’s
world.