Last Gasp (8 page)

Carver checked the medic’s faces. They looked bewildered. He
wasn’t surprised.

The right to call a Family Conference was one of the
project’s key underpinning principles. Any family member, kids included, could
do so at any time. If one was called, everyone else was obliged to attend. He
weighed options. If Stuart’s injuries were serious, a struggle could see him
off. Right now he appeared to be holding up. He gave an exasperated shrug.

‘Okay. But it’ll be short. Then you’re off to hospital.’

Ten minutes later Carver stood in the kitchen, watching,
with the same sense of disbelief as always, the weird phenomenon that was a Lee
Family Conference.

Twelve months ago, if someone had suggested that a family
like the Lees would one day sit round a table talking about their problems like
some debating society, Carver would have called them crazy. Now, as he listened
to Stuart Lee baring his soul and seeking his family’s forgiveness for the
behaviour that had brought the Project closer to disaster than at any time
since it began, he wondered how much stranger things could get. As amazing as
the actual ‘conference’ itself, was the fact that despite the events of that
evening, they were still, largely, playing by the rules. At that moment, Stuart
was holding up a green plastic card. It meant he had the floor, and while the
card stayed up, no one could interrupt. Around the table Carver could see at
least two other members of the family, Billy and Izzie, the next eldest girl
after Kayleigh, holding up orange cards. At the head of the table, Rita, acting
as chair, nodded to show that she had noted their wish to speak.

Carver still had no idea whether Rita’s novel approach to
sorting out the family’s deep-rooted communication problems had anything more
than a snowball’s chance in hell of continuing in the longer term. Part of him
still suspected that what he was seeing was simply the rational response of a
group of devious individuals who recognised that as long as they showed they
were willing to ‘play the game,’ they would continue to receive the support –
and associated benefits – that came with inclusion in, The Troubled Families
Programme. He often wondered what sort of mayhem erupted after the likes of
Rita and he departed. That said, according to Kayleigh, conferences had taken
place with only family present - and more or less according to the rules.

When Rita had first outlined the concept, everyone - family,
other agency staff even Carver himself, though privately - had derided the
idea. Carver’s first thoughts were that it was just another example of the sort
of liberal theorising social workers come up with from time to time. The
disasters that were Rita’s first attempts at ‘family conferencing’ supported
that view. But then, over the space of a few weeks - Rita was unshakeable in
her belief she could get it to work - Carver was amazed to see changes taking
place. As the family as a whole started to grasp that in order to stand any
chance at all of addressing their own problems - emotional, practical and
financial - they had to learn to communicate. And they had to do it in a way so
that everyone, from eldest to youngest, had a voice. He’d confessed to being
‘gob-smacked’ the day he turned up at Carnegie Avenue to find everyone apart
from Russell - away doing his Community Service - sitting around and holding up
coloured cards as they waited their turn to speak. Of course there were some -
mainly those not directly involved with the Project - prepared to state that
the whole thing was a, ‘load of crap’ and that the Lees were merely acting out
a charade to keep the Police and combined Social Services off their back. Time
would tell. For now, Carver was willing to go with anything that kept things on
any sort of even keel.

At that moment, having spent the last five minutes
describing the pressure he’d felt himself under these past few weeks, Stuart
Lee paused in his mea-culpa and lowered his green card. Rita nodded to Izzie,
who raised hers.

‘I want to say, it’s not just you, Dad that’s under
pressure. Mum’s under pressure to. She’s the one has to argue with you every
night to stop you going out and getting pissed.’

Stuart half-rose and started to open his mouth to respond,
but Rita stopped him with a raised finger. ‘Ah-ah.’

As Stuart sank back, Carver shook his head. Incredible.
Izzie continued.

‘And that applies to the rest of us as well. We’ve all been
trying hard.’ She turned to send her eldest brother a pointed look. Her voice
lowered. ‘Even him.’

‘What’s that mean?’ Russell said, trying to sound innocent.

‘You know,’ Izzie said, her tone accusing.

On the surface, relations between the older kids – boys and
girls – seemed much improved. But Carver was aware of the undercurrents. Some
of the old tensions were still there. He had his thoughts on their origins, but
resisted probing. There were enough bags of worms as it was.

‘And I just want to say that if Kayleigh hadn’t done what
she did, Mum would be dead right now.’

The other girls joined in a chorus of, ‘Yeah’s.

As Izzie lowered her green card, Rita nodded to Billy.

‘You’ve all got to stop having a go at Dad. He’s the one who
said we should do all this in the first place.’

Or face prison,
Carver thought.

‘We’ve all said things are better now than they were.’ Billy
turned to Kayleigh. So far she’d said nothing. ‘I don’t blame you for what you
did to Dad. You had to do something.’ He turned to look round at Carver. ‘And
if the Police try to have a go at you, it just shows what I’ve always said.
They’d rather just see us all put away.’

Carver stayed silent. As an outsider he had no voice. But
Billy was right. Carver knew plenty who thought exactly that.

As Billy lowered his card, silence fell for the first time
since they’d gathered. Carver knew why. They were waiting. He knew what for.
Eventually, Kayleigh cleared her throat. About to speak, she remembered, and
lifted her card.

‘Billy’s right. Everyone’s been trying really, really, hard.
But there’s still too much sniping going on. I know why, and I understand it.’
At this point she stared, hard, at the table, as if to stop herself looking at
certain faces. ‘But that’s all in the past and none of us want to see it being
dragged up again now.’ Carver shot a glance at Russell. His face was puce. ‘The
bottom line is, if we want Rita to keep doing what she’s been doing.’ Her eyes
flicked towards Carver. ‘And Mr Carver too, then we have to try harder to help
each other when we know someone is struggling. Like Dad tonight. We should have
called a conference before he went out, not after.’ Stuart Lee started nodding,
suddenly sage-like. ‘Whatever happens now we’ve all got to stick together. There
are those will say that what happened tonight was typical Lees. Always trying
to kill each other. They’ll try to use it to close us down. We mustn’t let that
happen.’ She turned to her father. ‘I’m sorry for what I did to Dad, but I
don’t regret it. I’ll always defend any member of my family, even if it’s from
other family. And for all that’s been said, the police haven’t arrested anyone,
and I don’t think they’re going to. Are you Mr Carver?’

As every head turned to see
Carver’s response, his thought was,
You crafty little bugger
.

Carver slid the hand-written
document bearing Kayleigh Lee’s signature into the buff folder containing the
statements that had been taken from the other family members, and sat back in
his chair. He checked his watch. Ten past six. Too late to think about going
back to bed. He rubbed at his eyes. Nearly done. When he opened them again he
found Kayleigh’s steady gaze, waiting. For several seconds he returned her
stare, letting her see he had nothing to hide. Carver thought that by now,
Kayleigh was close to believing she could trust him. Probably around ninety
percent. The missing ten was the legacy of what she and her family had received
from the police over the years. He would love to see the scale reach the
hundred mark, but there was a limit to what he could do. Only time and
experience would bring that about. Tonight would be a big test. Eventually he
saw her take a deep breath.

‘So you’re saying, that’s it? There’ll be no come-backs
after tonight?’

He nodded. ‘No come-backs.’

‘Don’t you have to report it to someone? The CPS?’

So on the ball.
‘They’ll go with my recommendation.
They’re part of the project as well, remember’

‘And my Dad won’t be done for attacking mum?’

‘So long as your mum doesn’t want it.’

‘And if she changes her mind?’

He gave a reassuring smile. ‘If she did, I think that would
be the end of it all, don’t you?’

She thought about it. ‘S’pose…’

He waited, giving her time. ‘Anything else?’

She thought again. ‘No. I guess not.’

He made to rise.

‘Are you married?’

He stopped.

‘What?’

‘Are you married? Like, are you with someone?’

He frowned, not annoyed, just puzzled. ‘I’m not married, but
yes, I’m with someone.’

‘Boy or girl?’

He gave a half-smile. ‘Girl. Why?’

‘Just wondered.’

‘Anything else?’

She shook her head.

He rose again.

‘Where do you live?’

He looked down at her.

‘Over the river. A place called Pickmere.’

‘I know it. There’s a lake there isn’t there?’

‘Yes.’

‘I went swimming there once. With some friends.’

‘Right.’

‘Is it nice? Living there I mean?’

‘I like it.’

‘I bet it’s a lot nicer than here?’

He smiled at her, feeling the tug again. ‘I think you know
the answer to that.’

She thought about it. ‘I guess…’ He turned to go. ‘Mr
Carver?’ He turned back. Her eyes bore into his. ‘Thanks.’

Something about the way she said it prompted him to glance
across at Rita, sitting in as ‘responsible adult’. Rita’s eyes were narrowed,
as if she’d just seem something ever-so-slightly worrying. He turned back to
the fifteen-year-old girl who was looking at him in a way that was suddenly
making him feel uncomfortable.

‘No problem.’

Jess sat at the kitchen table where
twenty-four hours earlier they’d waited for Megan Crane. This time she was
watching her brew coffee. The break in conversation had given Jess the chance
to flesh out her sketchy impression from the day before, and she was determined
to make the most of it. When the woman produced a bottle of brandy, seeking
Jess's approval to, 'Add a splash, just to liven things up,' Jess nodded and
smiled. Brandy wasn’t her favourite, but right now anything that might keep
things ticking along better than last time was fine by her.

When she'd arrived, she hadn't been surprised to find the
woman looking as immaculate as the day before. She guessed that the cream, silk
top, yellow skirt and pearls combination was probably Megan Crane’s idea of,
'casual'. It was Saturday after all. The gold stilettos were gone, but only in
favour of a cream pair that matched her top. Only their second meeting, Jess
already felt confident enough to predict the woman didn't do slippers - not
unless they were the sort with four-inch heels. It was another fine day. The
sun streaming into the kitchen bounced off its shiny surfaces and sent sunbeams
dancing through Megan Crane's hair in a way that made Jess wonder about her own
care-regime.

She was already seeing her host in a different light. The
day before, she’d have summarised her impression in two words. Cold Bitch.
Today, she was all warmth and smiles. It had begun with the friendly-but-firm
handshake and ready smile which Jess read as, 'Let's start again.' She
reinforced it when she invited Jess to, ‘Please, call me Megan.'

'And I'm Jess,' she'd responded, already sensing the
anxieties that had gnawed at her on the way there draining away. It continued
over coffee and the chocolate cake Jess suspected she must have bought that
morning from somewhere and which made her wonder,
Why?
When Jess began
with a rambling expression of regret for any 'misunderstanding' that may have
taken place the day before - in reality a disguised but clear enough apology
for Carver's crassness - the woman waved it away.

‘I'm used to it. People often find it hard to put their
thoughts into words when they meet me for the first time. Considering my
interests, it’s not surprising they sometimes get the wrong idea.'

It was one of the few nods she’d made to the side to her
character that had brought them to her door. So far, most of the conversation
had been of the, 'getting to know each other,' variety. Prompted by Megan’s
questions, Jess had shared more about herself than she normally did with those
she met through work. She hoped her description of her conventional Sussex upbringing
hadn’t sounded too, ‘Jolly Hockey Sticks’, though she had to admit that the
learning curve since joining the police had probably been steeper than most.
She was more guarded, or tried to be, when conversation turned to Carver and she
found herself defending him.

‘Actually, Jamie's very open-minded. Yesterday wasn’t like
him at all.'

But while the 'Jamie' was deliberate, she realised she may
have overplayed things when Megan Crane gave a knowing smile. 'You sound like
you're his biggest fan. Are you two…?'

Jess was quick to scotch the idea - 'Definitely not' - but
tried not to over-react to something the mischief-makers on the team liked to
put about now and again.

For her part, Megan spoke of her own, more worldly
upbringing. Born in Cheltenham, of a Welsh mother and French father, she'd
spent much of her school years in Paris, where her father ran a cabaret club in
the Montmartre district. Returning to England in her late teens, she’d worked
as a dancer and model before meeting, 'Someone who changed my life forever.' At
this point she also became guarded, eventually turning the conversation back to
the reason for Jess's return visit. By now Jess felt sufficiently at ease to
press on.

'Whatever impression we gave yesterday, we're only
interested in your safety. Yes, we hope you can help us, but we’re also trying
to stop more women being killed.' She made sure to avoid the, 'like you,'
phrase.

When Megan reached across and laid her hand, softly, on
hers, Jess felt it like an electric charge. Personal contact was the last thing
she'd expected. She hoped her blush wasn’t too noticeable, but didn’t move her
hand away.

'I believe you,' Megan said. 'But please, understand. It's
hard for me to open up to others in the way you ask. The things I do, the
people I spend time with. These are very private matters. My friends value that
privacy highly. The idea of me working alongside the police raises all sorts of
possible complications.'

Jess wanted to ask,
What complications
?
Who are
these ‘friends’?
What she said was, 'Believe me Megan, Jamie and I
understand that. We'd be sure to be discreet.' She hesitated, not sure whether
to mention it. 'If it helps, I can tell you Jamie’s got experience handling
cases like this. He was involved in one before that was quite sensitive and got
a lot of publicity. He does understand your concerns.'

At first, Megan Crane looked doubtful. But then her face
began to change, slowly, as if something was dawning on her.

'I read an article in a magazine a few years ago. I think it
was one of the Sunday papers. It was about a police investigation into some
murders. I think they were- escort girls?’ Jess nodded, seeing an opening. ‘It
was all about the detective in charge?’

Jess nodded again. ‘He wasn’t actually in charge but he
played an important part.’

At once, Megan’s face reflected interest. 'Oh my God, was
that him?' Another nod from Jess. 'I remember it now. Some people I know were
scared out of their wits at the time. There was a killer... I'll remember his
name in a minute. Hunt? Something like that?

'Hart. Edmund Hart.'

'That was it. And your Jamie was the detective who caught
him?'

'Yes.'

'Good God. I see what you mean now about him being
experienced. And wasn't there something about another case before that one?’

'The Ancoats Rapist.’

'Yes,' Megan Crane jumped in. 'I had friends who lived
there. We followed that one as well.'

'They both got a lot of publicity. That's why the papers
were interested. The article was supposed to be about running a major police
investigation. But as time went on it focused more on Jamie.'

'How interesting. And I assume he did well out of it, career-wise
I mean.'

Jess shook her head. 'He hated the whole thing. In fact I'd
suggest you don't mention it. He's still sensitive about it.'

'Why? From what I remember it was quite complimentary about
him.'

'Hmm…Too much so, some thought.'

'What do you mean?'

Jess was conscious they were drifting into an area she’d
rather avoid. But having said as much, she felt she had to see it through.
'There were some who thought it played up his role at the expense of others.'

'Ah.' Megan lifted her head and gave another of the knowing
looks Jess was becoming used to. 'Jealousy.'

'Maybe.'

'If there's a subject I know a lot about, it's jealousy.'

Jess gave a wry smile. 'I can believe that.' She was
beginning to sense that beneath the gloss was a woman it would be interesting
to get to know. But she'd also noted that Megan hadn't balked when she’d spoken
about maybe meeting Jamie again. Another good sign. Time to make the pitch. But
before she could carry on Megan Crane rose from her chair saying, 'Before we go
any further, I need another coffee.' Which was when Jess took the chance to
expand on her impression of her from the day before.

A few minutes later, as Megan returned to the table with
freshly-charged mugs, she was wearing the same smile as the day before when
she’d sat on the sofa, waiting for Carver to begin.

By now Jess felt confident enough to ask. 'Why the smile?'

The look changed to a guilty one. 'I'm sorry, I know I
shouldn't, but I find it amusing when I know someone is trying to figure me
out.'

Jess almost spluttered a mouthful of her coffee back into
the mug. 'Was it that obvious?'

The light touch again, her arm this time. 'Don't worry. I'm
used to it.'

'I'm sorry, it's just that-'

'You've never met someone like me before?'

'No, I haven't.'

'I get that a lot.'

Not sure where the conversation was heading, Jess decided it
was time to get down to business. 'Can we go back to where we were yesterday,
before-?' She left it unfinished. 'Is there anything I can do that will
reassure you that you’ve nothing to fear from us?'

Megan Crane lowered her gaze to her mug. She stayed like
that for almost a minute. Jess waited, wondering what sort of thoughts, fears
maybe, were going through her mind. Eventually she lifted her head, and their
eyes met. For long seconds Jess held her gaze. Again, she had no idea what she
was thinking, or looking for, but this time she was determined not to look
away, despite the strange sensations the woman's scrutiny was again triggering
inside her.

Eventually Megan Crane sat back. In a wary voice she said,
'If I did agree to help. How would it work?'

Later Jess would look back at that moment and wonder how she
managed to stop herself punching the air.