Last Gasp (26 page)

He held her at arm’s length, but her face was cold, the
smile gone.

'You smell of
her
,' she said.

It was late evening when Jess
finally stopped re-running the CCTV footage from the garage near Corrine
Anderson’s home. After hearing Jamie’s story, she’d wanted to see how close the
blond woman was to Tracy. But after watching the grainy sequence over and over
and slowing it right down, the best she’d come up with was - maybe. It was the
problem they’d faced since the enquiry began. Too many, ‘maybes’. She’d just
logged out of her computer when her mobile rang. It was Megan.

'Hi Megan. What’s up?'

'Sorry to bother you Jess, I’m-. Are you alright? You sound
strange.'

'I’m fine. Tired, but fine.'

‘You work too hard. You need to take some time off now and
again.’

'I wish. Go on?’

‘Jamie came to see me this evening.’

‘I know.’

'He was asking about Tracy.'

Jess bit her lip. Why did she feel like a snitch? She’d done
nothing wrong. 'I know.'

After a longish pause, Megan told how they’d tried her
mobile, but without success. ‘The thing is, since he left, I’ve thought of
another way I might be able to contact her. I’ve been trying his mobile but
he’s not answering. If you hear from him could you tell him? I’ll ring him to
let him know how I get on.'

Jess sat up. 'Hold up, Megan. Don’t be doing anything until
you’ve spoken to Jamie. It could be dangerous.'

'Nonsense. You saw what Tracy is like. She wouldn’t hurt a
fly. I just need to convince him, that’s all. Besides, if I don’t catch her
tonight I might not get another chance. I’ll let you know.’

'Wait Megan, we-’ But she was
gone. ‘Damn’. She rang her back. It went straight to voicemail. She waited for
the beep. ‘Whatever you do, Megan, do NOT, attempt to contact Tracy. I’ll try
and get hold of Jamie. Don’t do
anything
until you’ve heard back from
me. That’s an order.’ She rang Carver. Also voicemail. ‘Whhaaaat?’ She left a
message for him to ring her back. Urgently. Then she dropped the phone on the
desk and held her head in her hands. ‘Aaargghhh.’

Carver woke with a start and
realised that the banging noise wasn’t a dream, but real. The bedroom was
filled with a flickering, blue light. Together with what he’d put away before
coming to bed, it made his head spin. As he swung his legs out of bed, blinking
himself awake, Rosanna appeared in the doorway. She looked scared.

'What is it?'

'It’s alright. It’s work.'

As he stood up he glanced at the alarm clock. It read 02.23.
By the time he got downstairs the adrenalin had kicked in and he was awake.

He opened the door. It was raining, heavily. Looming in the
doorway, the dark figure of a traffic cop was silhouetted against the lights of
the Range Rover halfway up the track. In the drizzle, its flashing lights lent
the scene a surreal quality, like something from a science fiction film. Carver
was glad they had no immediate neighbours.

'DCI Carver?' the PC said.

'Yes?'

'Sorry to disturb you sir, but Control Room’s been trying to
get hold of you.'

Typical, Carver thought. The night you disconnect your
landline so you can get some sleep is the night they need you.

'And they’ve tried your mobile but it seems not to be
working.’

That’s right sonny, don’t dare suggest I might have
switched it off.

The PC completed his message. 'They’ve asked me to tell you.
They’ve found DCI Shepherd.'

Megan Crane gazed down on the
woman’s sleeping form, thinking about how best to accomplish her next step,
knowing how dangerous it could be. The blond hair formed a yellow gauze over
the pillow’s white cotton, and as she’d gone about her preparations she’d taken
a moment to reflect on the woman’s beauty, unadorned by shackles or chains.
Now, as she listened to her soft breathing, Megan’s expression changed with the
emotions running through her; tenderness, pain, regret, and – especially -
resolve.

Careful not to disturb her, she slipped a handcuff round the
slim white wrist next to the pillow. Reaching under her, she flipped her onto
her back and, in one quick motion, dragged her other arm behind her, locking
them together.

'Wh-, What are you doing?' the woman said, waking to her
predicament. She tried to twist round and sit up. But Megan’s gloved hand
gripped her jaw, pulling her round so she could see her face.

'You’ve been a naughty girl, Tracy. It’s time for a little
chat.'

'You BITCH,' Tracy screamed. But before she could say
anything else, Megan swept the bedclothes back, grabbed a handful of blond hair
and pulled her to her feet.

'OWW! You’re hurting.'

'Now, now,' Megan said, pulling her towards the door. 'Be a
good girl, or I’ll have to punish you.'

As Megan dragged her through the door, the woman stopped
struggling to concentrate on the handcuffs. Hair in one hand, wrists in the
other, Megan led her up some stairs. They ended at a plain, white door.

'Now don’t struggle, or you’ll fall,' Megan said, releasing
her hair to turn the handle.

She pushed her prisoner through the door and, still holding
her wrists, reached back to close it behind them. As she turned, a man was
standing in the middle of the room.

Keeping a firm grip on Tracy she said, ‘William, this is Tracy.
Tracy this is William. Or am I right in thinking you’ve already met?’

Howard Gladding stood up and flexed
his knees before turning to the watching detectives. ‘It’s not what I’d call,
'Classic Worshipper Pattern.' But I don’t think there’s any doubt, do you?’

Carver glanced at The Duke next to him. His gaze was rooted
to the bed, and the body arranged on top of it. It was the first time he’d
known his boss ignore the banned ‘Worshipper’ tag. But right now he suspected
the other man’s thoughts were less on how Gary Shepherd had come to meet his
death, as the fact he’d lost one of his team, and in the most horrible way
imaginable. And for all the ill-feeling that had lain between him and his
colleague, Carver was finding it hard not to give in to the twin tugs of rage
and grief – grief; he could barely believe it – that kept threatening to
overwhelm him. He’d once heard a Merseyside Chief-Super speak about the time
they lost a PC during a summer street riot. He described the impact on himself and
the force as a whole as, ‘Like a small nuclear device going off.’ He was
already beginning to get a sense for what he’d meant.

As for the way Gary had died. Howard was right. There wasn’t
any doubt.

Apart from the dining chair which had been turned upside
down on the middle of his bed and over which Shepherd was tied - his
bachelor-semi being without the regulation post - the familiar trademarks were
there. The closely-wound ropes. The super-glued fingertips - the way his arms
were tied to the chair legs, the killer hadn’t quite been able to get the palms
to meet. The ligature - one of Gary’s brightly-patterned ties - that bit deep
into his neck. The only departure was the red boxer shorts, stuffed roughly
into Shepherd’s mouth and which prevented what Carver regarded as the series’
most gruesome trademark - the swollen, blue-black tongue - from showing. And it
was no good speculating about how the killer had managed it. It was way too
early for that. Even so he couldn’t stop thinking about Tracy. Had Gary invited
her back here after leaving Megan’s instead of taking her home? Howard was yet
to pronounce on an estimated time of death. But given the state of the body –
and the smell – they were clearly looking at days rather than hours.

They’d already established that the ex-girlfriend who’d
found him - she’d called to collect some old clothes and let herself in with
her key thinking he was out – hadn’t been there for weeks. For all anyone knew,
he could have been here since the night he’d left Megan’s. On the other hand,
the fact that the unopened ready-meal on the counter in the kitchen hadn’t
rotted, spoke of someone being here more recently.

A noise behind made him turn. Jess was framed in the
doorway. She’d put on a paper suit to join them. Carver suspected she would
wish she hadn’t. The way she was staring at the bed, he guessed the tableaux
was already burning itself into her memory like nothing she’d witnessed before.

As if sensing his stare, she turned to him. ‘Claire and her
team are just arriving.’

Carver nodded. The call for Forensics had gone out even
before he’d arrived. He gave The Duke a nudge. When he turned, Carver was
surprised to see wetness on his cheeks.

Carver nodded towards the door. ‘We need to talk.’

The Duke took one further lingering look at the body on the
bed. Then he turned and, without saying a word, marched out of the room.

They gathered on the small, paved patio at the back, out of
Claire and her team’s way. The Duke had already been on-scene when Carver
arrived and this was the first opportunity he’d had to bring him up-to-date
about Tracy and her meeting Shepherd at Megan’s. The big man’s face was grave
as he listened.

When Carver was finished The Duke said, ‘How sure are we he
left with this Tracy?’

‘That’s what Megan says.’

‘And we don’t know where she lives?’

‘Not yet, I was going to-’ Carver stopped, feeling Jess’s
hand on his arm.

She said, ‘Did you get my message?’

‘I’ve not had time to-’

‘Has Megan spoken to you since you saw her last night?’

‘No, why?’

Jess described Megan’s call, about her trying to contact
Tracy.

‘You told her not to, I hope.’

‘I did, but I’m not sure she was listening. That’s why I
rang you.’

Caver checked his watch. Five fifteen. At Macclesfield nick
the POLSA team would soon be assembling. Stepping away from the others, he dug
out his phone and rang the number of the duty watch at the Poplars. Tony Turner
answered. During the minute the conversation lasted, Carver’s voice rose
several levels. He finished with, ‘I don’t care if you are due off at six. Neither
of you go anywhere until I’ve seen you.’ He reported back.

‘
Someone
left the house late last night. They
think
it was Megan.’

‘They
THINK
?’ The Duke said, his face darkening.

 Carver shook his head, but said nothing. He would deal with
Tony and his mate when he got there. He dialled Megan’s mobile, then held it up
so they could hear the steady, ‘unobtainable’ tone.

‘Fuck,’ The Duke said.

Jess said, ‘Oh, Christ.’

Carver turned to The Duke. ‘I need to get there.’

The Duke nodded. ‘Go. Find her.’ But
as Carver made to leave, Jess following, The Duke called after them and they
both turned. He looked at them, square.

‘Whoever this fucker is, find ‘em
before anyone else dies.’

Carver and Jess exchanged glances, and left.

‘Bloody Hell, Tony,' Carver snapped.
'How can you not be sure?' He was furious, and didn’t care who knew it.

Looking like a man who feared his days on CID may be
numbered, Tony Turner shuffled his feet in the gravel, the sound echoing under
the trees at the bottom of Megan Crane’s drive. Next to him, Dan Hewitt was
keeping quiet. Dan was the junior, service-wise. He was happy that Tony should
do the talking. Outside the gate, a blue van containing the search team waited.
Leaning against the bonnet, a tall, gangly man in dark blue fatigues with the
legend, ‘POLSA’ on a breast pocket was drawing on a roll-up. Inspector Brian
Bennett, the duty POLSA Search Advisor, was working hard at not letting Carver
see him taking amusement from the detectives’ discomfort. The DCI was
pissed-off enough as it was. Jess stood off to the side, observing.

'We just assumed it was her,' Tony said in answer to his boss’s
question.

'You
assumed?
You were supposed to be watching. What
the hell were you doing?'

Tony did his best, but knew he was on a loser. His
explanation about them not expecting her to be on the move so late sounded
weak, even to him. By the time they’d come to, the car was already through the
gates and behind them, half way down the track. 'I’m sorry Boss. We’ve done
four straight shifts. And you know what nights do to you.’

'It’s nothing to what I’ll be doing to you if we’ve lost
her. I
assume
you didn’t see if she had anyone with her?'

‘Like who?’

‘LIKE ANYONE. Does it matter?’

'Er, no, we, er, didn’t see. Was someone with her when you left
last night, then?'

Carver sighed, and shook his head. He gave Tony a last,
disappointed look, then dropped it. He called to Bennett. 'We’re going in
Brian.'

Bennett took a last pull on his cigarette, squeezed the tip
out between finger and thumb, and put it in his top pocket. He banged, twice,
on the side of the van. Eight men and women wearing blue overalls spilled out
through the back doors, draining coke cans and flicking away stubs as they
eased life back into cramped limbs.

At the front door, the rest of the team hung back as Carver
spent some minutes ringing the bell, banging on the knocker, shouting trough
the letter box. It drew no response.

As Carver turned back to them, Tony Turner spoke up. 'It
must
have been her.' It was clear he was hoping it might mitigate their error.

But Carver was in no mood to let anyone off hooks. 'Unless
she’s already lying in there, dead.'

Tony reddened and clamped his mouth shut. Next to him, Dan
Hewitt glared at his partner.

Carver turned to Bennett. 'Let’s get inside.'

Five minutes later, Carver stepped over the shattered and
twisted remains of what had been Megan Crane’s kitchen-door and frame. Like
most modern-made doors with good locks, the frame had to be more or less
knocked out of the brickwork before it gave. The thought went through his mind
that if Megan could see the mess, she would have a fit. And he would be more
than happy to witness it.

He made straight for the Playroom, Jess right behind. When
he saw it empty, he heaved a sigh of relief. Jess pointed to rings set in the
wall to the right. 'That’s where Tracy was.’ He nodded. They returned to the
kitchen where Bennett was waiting for some of his team to return from their
initial sweep. Open on the table was the copy of the house-plan they’d used
during the Op the night Cosworth went missing. He would be using it as their
search plan. A minute later he turned to Carver.

'Confirmed the house is empty, Mr Carver. She’s not here.'

Carver nodded, ‘Come with me.’ He led him to the Playroom.

‘Fuck me,’ Bennett said, taking it in.

‘Keep everyone out of here. I’m going to call Forensic in to
do it. We don’t know yet it isn’t a murder-scene.’

They returned to the kitchen and Carver left them to do
their stuff. He wasn’t POLSA-trained and knew better than to interfere. The
team knew what they were looking for. If there was anything in the house that
could tell him who, or where, Tracy was – or Megan for that matter - they would
find it. Jess stayed with the team. She would act as ‘interpreter’ - to give
pointers on anything they found. Carver headed to the front living room where
they’d all met that first time.

Without Megan’s illuminating presence it seemed colder, less
welcoming than he remembered, even allowing for what had happened the night
before. He stared out of the window, wondering where she was. His feeling of
foreboding was growing. He wished she would walk in right then. He would
happily take a bollocking over the mess in the kitchen.

He rang The Duke, gave him an update and told him he would
keep him appraised. Then he rang Claire Trevor, still at Shepherd’s, and told
her he potential scene he needed her to do. ‘Just one room, mainly.’ From her
response, he could tell she wasn’t pleased to have scenes queueing up.

Morning dragged into afternoon. With the house, garage and
out-buildings there was a lot to cover. The Forensic team turned up around two.
Claire had left the Shepherd scene in the hands of her deputy and called in
another team for the Poplars. She’d showered and changed, and was in a
different vehicle with new kits. He showed her the Playroom and ignored her
reaction.

‘I need to identify anyone and everyone who has been in
here.’ He paused. ‘There may be traces of Gary.’ She swung round, shocked.
‘There may also be blond hairs that match those from the other scenes.’

‘It’s a big room. There’s a lot of equipment that will need
to be done.’

‘Take as long as you need.’ he
said.

As time passed without any word on
Megan and nothing coming from the search, Carver’s anxiety rose, steadily. He
kept checking his voicemail, and with the MIR, but there was no news. The only
message was from a DCI from Professional Standards wanting to speak to him
urgently about Angie. Stuff him, he thought. His disciplinary enquiry could
wait.

He rang Rosanna. She was calm, but sounded a little
off-hand. He told her where he was, what was happening.

‘How long will it take?’

‘The rate it’s going, all day.’

They talked about when he might be home. She told him to
make sure he ate something. Bennett had already arranged a fish and chip run to
the shop in the village. She changed the subject.

‘I checked the shed this morning. I think someone’s been in
there again.’

‘Really?’ He thought on it. ‘I’ll arrange to get it alarmed.
I’ll get our CPO on it. Nothing missing?’

‘Not that I can see.’

‘Good. I’ll ring later, let you know how it’s going.’ By the
time he hung up he thought – hoped - she’d thawed a bit. He went to see where
everyone was and how they were doing.

The team had started at the top and were working their way
down. They’d done the attics, were just finishing the first floor and would
soon start downstairs. He returned to the kitchen and picked his way through
the meagre collection of plastic bags and envelopes containing the bits that
had been deemed, ‘promising’. Nothing jumped out, though he took a long look at
the notepad from the side of Megan’s bed. On it was the impression of whatever
she’d written on the previous sheet before she ripped it off. An Ezda, or light
test would reveal what it said. He wandered out to the front just in time to
see two of Bennett’s team, a PC called Darren, and his partner, Judy, coming
out of the garage. Judy pointed something at the up-and-over door and it
started to lower.

He diverted in their direction. 'Wait.’

'There’s nothing there boss,' Darren said. The door closed
as Carver arrived. 'We’ve been right through it.'

'Open it up again.'

Judy pointed and the door rolled up. Megan’s gleaming
Mercedes-Convertible stood next to the empty second bay. He stared at it.

'How’s this here?' He turned on Darren and Judy.

Darren was immediately defensive. They’d witnessed the two
DCs being interrogated at the gate.

'No idea. We were just told to do the garage. It’s clean.'

But Carver was out and already heading back down the drive,
fast. As he reached the gate, Dan and Tony were pouring coffee from a thermos.
Dan held it up.

'Want one Boss?'

Carver said to Tony, 'I thought you said she drove out in
her car?'

'She did,' Tony said, stiffening.

'So how come her Merc’s still in the garage?'

Tony relaxed, a question he could answer.

'She didn’t take the Merc. She used the four-by-four.'

Carver blinked. 'What four-by-four?'

'The one she keeps in the garage, next to the Merc.'

He blinked again. 'How long has she had a four-by-four?'

Tony looked at his partner. 'Dunno. Far as I know it’s
always been there. I think she uses it sometimes instead of the Merc.'

Carver’s mind raced. He’d seen her Merc many times, but
never a four-by-four.

'It’s here all the time?'

Tony became wary. 'Like I said, she must just use it now and
again.'

'It’s definitely not used by anyone else? Someone who comes
and goes?'

'No,' Tony said, sure of his facts.

'Who’s it registered to?'

Tony’s newfound confidence disappeared in a flash. 'Er… her
I assume.'

Carver’s voice took on an edge. 'You did check it when you
logged it out?' Standard protocol. All vehicles entering or leaving an O.P. are
subject to an owner’s check.

Tony turned pale. 'Er, well with it not being a visitor, I
didn’t think there was much point.'

Carver’s hand shot out. 'Show me the log.'

Dan Hewitt, who had been following every word, dropped his
beaker of coffee and dived into the car. He came out holding a clipboard which
he handed to his grim-faced boss, at the same time exchanging a nervous look
with his partner. Tony shrugged.

Carver scanned down the log sheet showing the past
twenty-four hours’ comings and goings. He pointed to an entry timed at 2320 the
previous evening. It read, “MC out of OP. Driving Toyota 4X4” followed by a
registration number.

‘Is the number right?' Carver asked.

Tony looked to Dan.

'Yes,' Dan said. He sounded more hopeful than sure.

Carver passed the sheet to Tony. 'Run it.'

While Tony made the call, Carver paced. Dan watched,
nervously. When Tony emerged from the car, his face was red. He read from his
notes.

'It’s registered to a Tracy Redmond, 18 Oakfield Avenue,
Heaton Chapel.’

Carver froze. Then he turned and started running back
towards the house. As he ran he shouted, ‘JESS. WE’VE GOT HER.’