'Come through to where we can be comfortable and you can ask me your questions.'
As they followed her cat-like saunter back into the hallway. Carver was conscious that so far, almost her every word had taken the form of some sort of order. He threw another glance at Jess, only to find her staring again. This time he saw what he read as a hint of concern. It made him think, Who for?
The woman led them through to the spacious front sitting-room. It was dominated by two brown and cream sofas and matching chair. They were arranged around a huge ceramic coffee table, the top of which rested on stone-plinths shaped as dragons. Other furnishings were few and simple, and blended with the simple colour scheme. She indicated to them to take one of the sofas, and settled herself in the chair. As she waited for them to start, she sipped at her cappuccino.
As Jess settled next to Carver, she took the opportunity to check out the woman opposite. Her sense was that beneath the perfectly composed exterior, their hostess was enjoying some amusement. Unzipping her document case, she took out the folder she carried with her almost everywhere these days and passed it to her boss. Placing his coffee down, he began rummaging through it. Whether intentionally or not, Megan Crane mirrored his action, leaning forward to place her mug in line with his, then sat back with her hands clasped in her lap. It made Jess ponder on how she seemed able to convey a mood by the subtlest change in the way she carried herself, or shift of expression. It also made her wonder just how much of what she was seeing was the real Megan Crane. As she waited for Carver to begin, she realised the woman was subjecting him to a more detailed appraisal than the one she'd given him on the doorstep. As her eyes narrowed, Jess had the impression she was gauging him in some way. She was wondering why such interest, when suddenly the gaze switched and she found herself staring into two deep pools that held her and refused to let go. Jess returned her the sort of quick smile people use to cover embarrassment, but forced herself not to look away. For what seemed minutes but could only have been seconds, it was as if the woman was inside her brain, poking around memories, learning secrets, noting fears.
The spell broke as the eyes moved away, only to be replaced by another as the searching gaze now travelled down her body to her feet, then back again. The open scrutiny reminded Jess of how she'd felt that first day when she’d walked into the Major Incident Room and Chris Duncalf, one of those DCs who thinks he's God's gift, had turned in his chair to ogle her, quite blatantly. As he stared at her, she'd felt him, mentally stripping away layers until she was sure that in his mind, she was standing naked before him. She’d hated him for it, but got her own back that night at Evita’s, when she’d responded to his drunken groping by thrusting a hand between his legs, and squeezing hard, at the same time smiling a warning to keep his hands to himself.
But Megan Crane’s inspection was different. On this occasion Jess felt less invaded, than buoyed by the thought that someone whose lifestyle was, by all accounts, 'unconventional,' seemed to find her so interesting. Nonetheless, Jess was uncomfortably self-conscious - the second time since they'd met - and shifted in her seat. Uncrossing her legs, she leaned over to see how Carver was doing, just as he began to speak.
'As I mentioned Ms Crane, we’re investigating the series of murders the media are calling the Worshipper Killings.' The woman's eyes narrowed. 'We’re following up a line of enquiry which may involve your posting in this.'
As he dropped the A5-sized booklet onto the table, Jess again found herself caught out. She’d been expecting he would spend time loosening her up before getting to the potentially embarrassing matter of her listing. She hoped it was the right approach.
Megan Crane threw only the briefest of glances at the magazine, with its single-word title, ‘DOM!’ emblazoned in thick, black script across the top, before returning to meet Carver's gaze. Staring out from the front cover was an exotic-looking red-head. Pictured from the waist up, she was wearing a black bustier that pushed her ample breasts up and out. Between her hands she was flexing a crop-whip. Retrieving her coffee mug, Megan Crane sipped at it.
'Go on.'
He opened it at a point marked by a paper clip. The page was divided into segments. Each contained a photograph of a woman posing and dressed in a way that was in keeping with the cover. Each picture was accompanied by a few lines of text. Carver pointed to the bottom-right segment.
'This is you, I think?'
She didn’t even bother to look. It showed her dressed in a black basque made of some shiny material, cut away to expose her breasts. A studded collar was around her throat and she was holding a crop similar to the one on the cover. Looking directly to camera, the expression on her face was stern, yet at the same time, Jess had thought when she first saw it, inviting.
For a brief second, the tip of Megan Crane's tongue darted, snake-like, from between the glossed lips. And though she’d done little to merit it, Jess couldn't resist. Got you, you cocky bitch. Like Carver, the difficulty Jess had been having matching the picture to the woman who greeted them at the door had disappeared the moment Megan Crane appeared in the kitchen. And Jess didn’t need to re-read the text accompanying the photo to remind her of what it said. By now she knew it by-heart.
'Experienced, independent, lifestyle Mistress, (n/s), willing to administer to the needs of discerning, (and deserving), gentlemen and/or ladies who have already discovered their true natures. Owns a fine collection of dramatic outfits and a range of equipment and accessories designed to heighten the experience. If your intentions are honourable then write, with photograph, describing your preferences, interests, and circumstances.'
An identifying code, ‘DW12987’, was printed beneath the photograph.
Megan Crane crossed one leg over the other and clasped her hands over her knee. 'And if it is me?' She couldn’t have been less self-conscious were Jess and Carver selling insurance and they were discussing levels of cover.
'You’re a dominatrix.' He said it the way a traffic cop might tell her he’d caught her doing forty in a thirty zone.
She pursed her lips. 'I’m not sure what the term, ‘dominatrix’ means to you, Chief Inspector.’
Her use of his official title reminded Jess that he hadn’t yet invited her to, 'Call me Jamie,' the way he usually did. Nor had he given her first name when he introduced her as, ‘DS Greylake.’ Megan Crane continued.
'Admittedly, I pursue a lifestyle that some might consider… unusual. And yes, it sometimes involves themes of sexual domination and submission.'
'But you usually take the dominant role?'
She thought about it. 'Not always, but mostly.'
'Do you advertise yourself in ways other than this magazine?'
She frowned. A first outward sign of impatience. 'May I ask what this has to do with these-’ She paused, as if reluctant to acknowledge a connection. 'The murders you referred to?'
Carver sat forward. 'There’ve been four murders over the past fourteen months. We’ve discovered that all the victims were listed in editions of this directory.' He pointed down at the booklet. 'Their postings were similar to yours. We think the killer may be selecting his victims from it. We think he could be intending to target you next.'
Her response, when it came, was in keeping with the image she'd been working hard at portraying. She stared at him for something close to half a minute. Then, uncrossing her legs she rose and, with slow deliberation, crossed to a drinks cabinet that stood against the far wall. As she moved, the material covering her legs made a silky, ‘swishing’ noise. From a crystal decanter, she poured a measure of amber liquid into a tumbler then tossed it straight back. As she did so, her hair swung, smoothly, around her shoulders before settling back, not a strand out of place. For several seconds she remained facing the wall, letting the injection do its work, before turning round.
'Okay, Chief Inspector, you’ve succeeded in scaring the shit out of me. Now tell me. Why would I be a target for this... this lunatic?'
Suddenly Jess felt
guilty for having revelled in the woman’s earlier discomfort. When it came to being murdered, it seemed Megan Crane was no different to any potential victim. Confused. Scared. She sensed the need for a lighter touch and threw Carver a glance. He nodded.
'You fit the victim profile, Ms Crane. And you live within the area where he’s been operating. Basically the Northwest around Liverpool and Manchester. As Jess spoke, the woman returned to her seat. 'We believe the killer may be approaching his victims through this magazine, posing as a prospective submissive. We think he probably arranges an encounter, possibly more than one. At some stage it appears that he takes on the dominant role, at least we are assuming he does, then he kills them.’
Megan Crane looked at them askance. 'I find that a little hard to believe. Some tops do switch of course, but not with someone they’ve only just met.'
'We’re not sure how he does it. So far we’ve found no signs of any sort of struggle, and the way he leaves his victims suggests they were compliant, at least in the early stages. It’s something you may be able to help us with.' Jess paused then added, 'It’s possible he may already have tried to make contact with you'.
Megan Crane looked from Jess to Carver and back again, as if gauging if they were exaggerating things.
'If he is-.' Her voice cracked. She started again. 'The magazine is only available on direct subscription. If he’s using it then surely you must have his details, or something?'
Carver stepped in. 'It seems the magazine is popular in certain circles and gets passed around a fair bit. It wouldn’t be that hard for him to get hold of a copy. We only found out about the connection recently and again, we’ve found no trace of any correspondence at the victim's homes. We’re assuming he removes it after.’
'But what about the people who run the magazine? Can’t they tell you anything?'
Carver shook his head. 'They simply forward on the envelopes that come in addressed to the subscriber’s code.’ He pointed down. ‘In your case, DW12987. As you know, they don’t check to see who, or where it’s from. They claim to be hot on privacy. All they do is record that they've forwarded correspondence.'
She gave a huffy look. 'Yet they gave you my details.'
'Yes, well,’ He glanced at Jess. 'In your case, they didn’t really have much choice.'
Jess suppressed a smile, remembering their visit to the cramped office above the industrial unit on a business park south of Birmingham. To begin with, the older of the two women, the matronly one who looked like she’d been around a bit, stalled, going on about, 'Client confidentiality,' and her, 'duty of care’ to subscribers. Carver had turned to Jess and said, 'Ring it in. Organise a search warrant,' before talking about seizing files and computers and taking maybe a couple of months to find what they were looking for before they could be returned. He wasn’t at all threatening, but Matron got the message straight away. Crossing to one of the grey metal filing cabinets that had seen better days she produced the information they were looking for in seconds. He thanked her for her cooperation and promised to tell her clients she’d been forced to disclose their details. But as they were leaving, he'd stopped. 'I’d advise against contacting any of them before we speak with them. It might be bad for business.' This time the threat was clear. Jess knew now it was the way he sometimes worked. Soft, then hard. A variation on the old, good-cop-bad-cop routine everyone's heard of. But he did it all on his own. Jess remembered his promise.
'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.'
Chapter 4
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?'
Last Gasp Page 3
