Last Gasp (3 page)

'To be fair, they only gave us your details under
threat of being closed down.'

'Really?' Megan said. 'You could do that?'

Carver broke in. 'Let’s say it wouldn’t do business
much good if it leaked out that their subscribers were being murdered.'

'But if you are speaking to people like me, then
they'll know anyway won’t they? And you’ve still not said how you know he is
choosing his victims from the magazine. It could just be coincidence, couldn’t
it?'

As Carver cleared his throat - it was a sensitive area
which he and Jess had discussed at length. - Jess realised that she’d been
wrong. Megan Crane wasn’t behaving like many victims might - in such a panic
they’re happy to do anything the police say. She was searching for a hole in
the logic. Unwilling to give herself up so easily.

'Knowing about DOM is the only advantage we have at
the moment. If we approach too many people, it could leak out, and he might
change his methods. We're focusing on those whose entries most closely match
his previous victims. Like yourself. As for how we know he’s using the
magazine, we’ve trawled all the other avenues people like you use to advertise
your services-.' At this point her left eyebrow arched a fraction. Jess
wondered if he’d caught it. 'And ‘DOM!’ is the only one that lists all the
victims. Let's just say it’s an educated guess. But don’t bank on it being wrong.'

As Megan Crane sought to buy time by finishing her
coffee, Jess thought she didn’t have many options to consider. But her last
question, about the magazine connection, reminded Jess of how, around the
investigation team, the uncovering of the 'DOM' link was still something of a
mystery, even to her. The envelope in which it had arrived - addressed
personally to 'DCI Jamie Carver' and with a central London postmark, gave no
clue as to who had sent it, or why. Nor had Forensic come up with anything that
might identify the sender. But as soon as Carver spotted Tracy Wilcox’s entry,
enquiries with the magazine and a review of back issues quickly established
that the other three victims had also been featured. It was one of several
aspects of the enquiry that, to Jess, were still a bit 'grey'.

There was a short silence, then the slump of Megan
Crane's shoulders seemed to point to her capitulation. For all her dominant
airs and graces, when it came to being murdered, maybe she was like other women
after all.

'What do you want from me?'

Carver sat forward again. 'We think that with your
experience, your knowledge of this area, you may be able to help us identify
the killer.  As DS Greylake, Jess, says, for all we know he may have already
made contact with you. According to DOM’s records, they've forwarded on several
contacts to you over the past few months.’ Carver hesitated, before uttering
the words that changed everything. 'We need details of all your clients.'

Later, Jess would recall thinking
that maybe he was using some interview technique she hadn’t yet heard of. One
that involves making someone angry as hell, before employing some sophisticated
means to bring them round again. Certainly, from what she had seen of Megan
Crane, her reaction to Carver’s words came as no surprise. Her face coloured
and for long seconds she regarded him as if he were guest speaker at some Woman
Of The Year Lunch who’d just told the most appallingly-sexist joke. When she
eventually spoke, her voice which previously had been melodic, beguiling even,
was cold, almost contemptuous.

'You don’t know much about people
like me, or the life I lead, do you Chief Inspector?'

His reply seemed aimed straight at her heart and made Jess
gasp.

'What’s there to know? You provide sexual services to
perverts through a contact magazine. What I need from you are their details,
because one of them may be killing people. At the moment he’s targeting women
like yourself. Eventually he'll move on to other women.'

Jess could hardly believe her ears and threw him a concerned
glance. But his gaze stayed locked on the woman opposite.

Megan Crane remained still and silent for several seconds,
as if working to keep a grip on her composure, before replying. 'I assume you
mean other,
respectable
, women?'

The shoulders of his jacket lifted with his shrug. 'I didn’t
say that, but if that's how you want to interpret it-'

Jess felt like something had taken a grip of her stomach and
was squeezing it. If he was aware how offensive he was being, it didn’t show.
But though she had no idea how he was going to turn things round, she had seen
enough of him to be confident he would. As the silence lengthened, she wondered
if they were communicating telepathically.
Come on Jamie, just reel her in.
She was there for the taking a minute ago.

But it was Megan Crane who spoke first, sitting back in her
chair and folding her hands in her lap.

'Whatever you may think of me,
Chief Inspector
, or
whatever you are, I am not a prostitute. Nor do I take kindly to the inference
that I consort with, how did you put it, 'perverts'?'

'Whether you charge for what you do, Ms Crane is, frankly,
immaterial. I-.'

'Oh but it is material.' she interrupted, letting her anger
show. 'I don’t have-.' She spat the word out. 'Clients. What I have are close
and dear friends, none of whom I would ever dream of describing as perverted.
They are people I respect, and with whom I share an interest in things that
your narrow police brain is probably incapable of understanding.'

His voice rose to match hers. 'You’d be surprised what I’m
capable of understanding, Ms Crane. I’m aware of your so-called alternative
lifestyle, and the way people like you live your lives. But the fact remains,
we need to know who these people are. One of them could be a killer.'

'Listen,' she hissed, leaning forward and dropping any
reference to his rank. 'I only have relationships with people I trust, and I
take time to get to know them first. I’ve known some of these people for years.
None of them could possibly be the person you are looking for.' She paused.
'Besides, some of my friends are in positions where they wouldn’t want their
details given to the police. It’s out of the question.' She sat back, point
made.

For a long time the only sound was the ticking of the gold
carriage clock on the mantelpiece. It was Carver’s play but for reasons Jess
couldn’t fathom, he wasn’t coming back as she expected. She wondered if
something was going on she wasn’t party to, and resisted the temptation to
enter the fray for fear of ruining whatever ploy he was using. When he did
speak, his line surprised her again.

'You know we could get a warrant and seize what we want?'

A scornful look spread across her face. 'Hah. I don’t keep
files on my friends. Or notes, or diaries, or anything else of that sort. I
don’t think going away and coming back with a warrant would be very productive,
do you?' As she taunted him his eyes narrowed and his lips merged into a
single, straight line. 'Of course you could always try torturing me for the
information.' Her lips curled into a wicked smile. 'The only trouble is, I
might enjoy it.' She paused before adding, ‘So might you for that matter. Then
where would we be?'

When he answered, Carver’s tone was more measured. But Jess
could hear the suppressed anger.

'This isn’t a game, Ms Crane. We came here today to try to
save lives, yours as well as others. We can’t force you to help us. But you
might regret it if you don’t.'

To Jess’s surprise he started gathering his papers. Surely
that’s not it?

'Think about it.' Rising from the sofa, he began to march
towards the door.

Caught off guard - it was becoming a habit - Jess looked
across at Megan Crane and wondered if what they had told her had frightened her
in any way. If it had, it didn’t show. Her plucked and pencilled eyebrows were
raised as if to say,
Was there something?
Jess held her gaze a few
seconds to show that she was neither impressed nor intimidated – untrue on both
counts - then stood up to follow after her boss, already at the front door.

As she headed after him down the drive, and for the second
time that day, she could feel Megan Crane’s eyes burning into her back. So much
so she had to fight against the urge to break into a sprint. It wasn't until
she reached the iron gates she heard the front door slam behind.

The Golf rocked and kicked as Carver
threw it round the winding country road taking them back to the motorway. Jess
hung onto the grab handle, casting uneasy glances in his direction. Carver was
oblivious. At that moment he was consumed by a single train of thought.

You stupid, spineless bastard. You knew what you were
walking into and you still let her get to you. You weak, useless, piece of-

'WHOA,' Jess cried, almost falling into his lap as the car
hurtled around another bend. 'TAKE IT EASY.'

Glancing left, he saw the concern in her face. 'Sorry,' he
murmured. Forcing himself to relax his grip on the wheel, he eased off the
accelerator. The car slowed, and steadied.

'Thank you.'

But Carver didn’t hear it. He was already back in his silent
world.

As much as anything, he was embarrassed. Okay, he hadn’t
been looking forward to it, for reasons he’d barely let himself think about.
But he should never have let her get to him the way he had. It was
unprofessional. And if there was one thing he prided himself on, it was his
ability to remain profession… Then he remembered Angie, and the thought
withered.

A ‘School Ahead’ sign recalled
Jess’s concerned look. He slowed again, and checked her out of the corner of
his eye. But she was turned away, staring out of the window, ignoring him.
Apart from her appeal to slow down she hadn’t said a word since they’d started
back. She didn’t need to. He knew what she was thinking. He’d fucked-up. Big
Style.

Jess had never felt as uncomfortable
in Carver’s presence as she did right then. A flurry of questions swirled in
her brain but each time she was about to say something, she found she couldn’t
stop it sounding like, 'What the FUCK happened back there?'

One thing was certain. Whatever the problem was, it was of
his making. Sure, Megan Crane was an unusual woman, and needed careful
handling. Someone like her would be bound to be wary about getting involved
with the police. But from what Jess had seen, there was nothing about her that
couldn’t be overcome by a few well-chosen words. She couldn’t understand why
they hadn’t come.

She had seen him in action and knew what he was capable of.
Damn it, he had even used it on her a couple of times and, like a schoolgirl,
she’d fallen for it. During that first after-work gathering in the Red Lion,
she’d found herself opening up to him like she hadn’t with any man except her
father, never mind one who was still all-but a stranger. She’d even told him
things about herself she hadn’t told Martin yet.

But she had seen none of it used on Megan Crane. Not even a
half-hearted attempt. She wondered if, deep down, he was some sort of closet
puritan, but then dismissed the idea. Given what she knew of his past, that was
hardly likely. It reaffirmed the thoughts she'd been having the past couple of
weeks. Contrary to her early impressions - like the others who’d applied for
the Operation Kerry Victim Analyst post, she’d read everything about him she
could get her hands on before the interview - she was beginning to realise the
man was a mass of contradictions.

Remembering the all but silent outward journey - she
couldn’t bear the thought of a similar return - she stretched out a finger and
pressed ‘play.’ The car filled with the sound of a woman’s voice, singing what
sounded like some mournful, Spanish melody. This time she knew what it was.
Fado he'd called it. Some sort of Portuguese folk music. An image of his
flame-haired girlfriend, Rosanna, came to her. They’d met only once, but she
wasn’t the sort you forget in a hurry. In places, the strangely-vibrant music
reminded her of an old film her father used to enjoy re-watching every couple
of years. What was it? The Thin Man? Third Man? Whatever, it fitted the mood.

It didn’t help it was Friday afternoon, the roads and
Motorway full of POETS traffic. By the time they turned into Warrington
Central’s crowded yard, Jess was ready to Piss Off Early herself, whatever day
Tomorrow was, and looked forward to finding someone to talk to. As they climbed
the back stairs to the CID suite in silence, she checked her watch. They would
catch the end of week de-brief after all. Leaving that morning they’d prepped
for a late return, imagining being ensconced with Megan Crane into the evening
hours, going over things. So much for that idea.

At the door to his office, Jess didn’t stop but kept going
towards the main office further along the corridor. About to turn in through
the door she looked back. He was leaning against the doorframe, hands in
pockets, head down, staring at the floor. She barely recognised the man she had
been working with the past six weeks. Then his head lifted and she saw the
self-doubt in his eyes. But then, as if spurred by the look in her face, he
seemed to remember who, what, he was. Taking a deep breath, he squared up, and
suddenly he was back, ramrod-straight, shoulders broad. For the first time
since they’d left The Poplars, he managed to string a sentence together.

'I guess that wasn’t one of our more productive days, was
it?'

She shook her head. For a moment she thought he was going to
invite her in to go over it. She was wrong.

'We’ll talk about it Monday,' he said. He tried to give
something approaching a smile. 'Don’t worry, I’ll sort it. See you in
de-brief.'

He turned into his office and the door closed. She remained
staring that way for several seconds then, with a final shrug of her shoulders,
headed for the Briefing Room.

As she approached, she heard the buzz of the assembled
detectives and thought about how she would respond to the inevitable questions
about their visit to see, The Woman. But as she walked in, her bright smile was
in place, as always.