‘We still can’t say. If we accept the possibility the killer is female, then obviously she’d have to be a suspect. But we’re still waiting on Doctor Cleeves’s, assessment on the likelihood of a female killer.’ Ewan Cleeves, visiting Professor in Forensic Psychology at the University of Manchester was the enquiry’s allocated ‘profiler’. ‘When we first raised it he seemed doubtful but we’re keeping an open mind. She could still just be a common contact we haven’t yet been able to trace. The bottom line is, we won’t know ‘til we find her.’ The party line delivered, he sat back in his chair. He hated fence-sitting, but in the case of the blond hairs it was all they could do.
From that point, and as it continued, Carver found it increasingly difficult to focus on the updates. Despite his best efforts, images of Megan Crane, her dramatic appearance and mocking smile kept coming. At the same time, snippets of his conversation with The Duke before they'd left for their abortive visit to Calderton that morning still lingered. The Kerry Enquiry was into its second year, and was rapidly becoming ‘hot’. As The Duke had said, unless there was a breakthrough soon, the Joint Chief Officers Board – the panel of Deputy and Assistant Chief Officers charged with overseeing the enquiry on behalf of contributing forces, and fuelled no doubt by an impatient media - would start looking for scapegoats. Thankfully, John Morrison was one of a rare breed, a career detective, but one with enough political nouse to fight his corner. The prospect of a JCOB-inspired witch-hunt wouldn’t cause him to lose sleep, nor Carver for that matter. They both knew that with an investigation like Kerry, success was only ever a phone call away. But concern over when, not if, they would be presented with a new victim, troubled them both. It was now three months since Anna Davis had become the killer’s fourth victim. The series profile put the murders at roughly four-month intervals. If the breakthrough they were hoping for didn’t come soon, it could be too late. They’d both had high hopes for Megan Crane, though in Carver’s case, other factors impinged. He squirmed in his seat as he thought again on the possible cost of his failure. But then he remembered his last, bullish words to Jess. I’ll sort it.
Carver turned his attention back to his boss just as the big man turned to his fellow ASIO.
'Gary, perhaps now's a good time to bring everyone up-to-date with Cosworth?'
Nodding vigorously, Shepherd rose to his feet and stepped forward. Lively and business-like, he never flinched from an opportunity to be seen and heard. Opening a folder he'd been holding throughout, he began passing out photographs and briefing sheets to people at the front to hand around.
'This is a photograph of William Cosworth. It was taken by the Surveillance Unit before he clocked them.' He paused while the copies circulated. 'As you can see, it’s a bit grainy but it’s the best we've been able to get so far. The briefing sheet gives his personal details and vehicles we know he has access to.' He waited again, letting his audience catch up.
Carver used the lull to weigh the younger man some more. A product of the Accelerated Promotion Scheme, word was Gary Shepherd was destined for greatness. Carver’s take on it was that if true, it wouldn't be in CID. And he wasn’t alone in seeing Shepherd's appointment as ASIO to the enquiry as nothing more than a career-broadening exercise - as opposed to recognition of the 'Leadership and Investigative Qualities' he’d seen mentioned in a Headquarters Memo on The Duke’s desk one day. Nevertheless, Carver had to admit that Shepherd's vital, athletic look - gained from pounding the treadmills at the five-star Portal Hotel's fitness centre out at Daresbury - lent him a confident air of authority, even if it didn't match his experience. Or detective skills.
Shepherd turned to hand copies of the picture to Carver and The Duke. Carver studied it. It showed a slim man, around forty, dressed in jeans and a white T-Shirt, getting into a black Porsche Carrera parked in front of a high-rise apartment block. The picture had been taken with a long-distance lens from somewhere overlooking the car park. But it was blurred, indistinct. Carver wondered why Shepherd hadn’t produced a better one. Surely the SU had managed to get a better picture than this?
'As some of you already know,' Shepherd continued. 'Cosworth's name has come into the frame only recently. He’s a fashion photographer who specialises in the fetish end of the market. A few years ago he escaped a conviction for raping one of his models. She withdrew her complaint so as not to ruin her career.'
The Duke sat up. 'I think you mean that was a possible reason for her withdrawal Gary?'
Shepherd missed the hint. 'Technically, that may be true, but I’ve spoken with her and she insists it was because her agent told her she would be committing professional suicide if she went ahead.'
Alec Duncan’s hand went up and The Duke nodded.
'Sorry if I’ve missed something boss. But why's he of interest? People escape rape convictions every day.'
'Good point, Alec,' Shepherd said, warming to his theme. 'For those of you who weren’t here last week, I’ll recap. Six years ago Cosworth produced a feature for a fetish magazine called 'SkinTight'. Ostensibly it was a fashion-shoot for fetish-wear. The leather and chains look. Latex, boots, that sort of thing. The pictures were based around a bondage-submission theme. They showed the model tied up and being threatened by someone stretching a ligature. The set-up appears to mirror our murder scenes in several respects, including the way the subjects appear to be praying. If anyone wants to see the pictures they’re in my office.' As a forest of hands went up, The Duke ‘harrumphed’ to show the humour was misplaced. They came down again. Shepherd continued.
'It’s possible he may have taken his scenario a stage further, and moved on from rape to murder.'
Carver checked the audience's reaction. Some of the older detectives were looking openly sceptical. He wasn't surprised. A killer would have to be pretty stupid to use an MO that could so easily be linked to him. He'd been doubtful when Shepherd first voiced his theory. He'd heard nothing since to make him think differently. But he also knew that when it comes to crime investigation, any theory is a good one until disproved.
'Cosworth is highly surveillance-conscious. Twice he’s clocked the SU within minutes of them picking him up. That raises the question of what it is he wants to hide.''
Or maybe he’s just observant and likes his privacy?
'We're still doing background but when we're ready we'll be looking to lift him and bring him in for a closer look. In the meantime, myself and DI Frayne-’ he paused to indicate the stocky Surveillance Unit Team Leader at the back of the room, '-are monitoring his movements as best we can. We’ll keep you informed of any developments. Until then, you all need to bear Cosworth, and his vehicles, in mind.' As Shepherd sat down The Duke stood up.
'May I remind you, ladies and gentlemen, that what you have just heard is strictly confidential? Cosworth’s name must NOT be mentioned outside these walls. And I don’t want to read anything in the papers about the Worshipper-, the Kerry Enquiry, having a possible suspect. Clear?' Murmurings of, 'Yes Boss,' sounded round the room.
Satisfied, The Duke turned to Carver.
'Finally, Jamie. You’ve been to see a potential victim? How’d it go?’
Carver got to his feet but didn’t waste time on preliminaries. What he had to say would be brief enough.
'Jess and I visited a woman over in Calderton earlier today. She fits the victim profile but she’s reluctant to cooperate just yet. We’ve left her to think things over and we’ll be speaking to her again soon.' He sat down.
For several moments The Duke stared at him, shrewd eyes narrowed, as if trying to guess the story. Getting nothing, he turned to where Jess stood amidst the throng of detectives. But at that moment it seemed like she had found something at her feet that needed her attention. Freed from Morrison’s gaze, Carver stole a glance in Shepherd’s direction. He was doing a bad job of holding back a smirk.
A few minutes later, de-brief over, Morrison spoke the usual words of thanks and encouragement he liked to close with, before bidding
those who weren't working the weekend, 'Enjoy your break,' then adding, 'And keep your phones on. Mr Shepherd and his team are weekend cover. If there are any developments, they’ll text or call.' He turned to Carver. 'Got a minute?'
Chapter 8
Back in his office, The Duke was straight to the point.
'What's the story?'
Carver hesitated, thinking on how much to share. He respected The Duke as much as any man he knew. But it was complicated, the week was nearly over and it had been a long day.
'Like I said, she isn’t ready to co-operate yet. I think we caught her off-guard and she was embarrassed. She’ll come around once she’s thought things through.'
The Duke gave him a hard look. 'I hope so. We need her onside.'
Carver didn’t need reminding, but nodded. Noted. But he’d done enough thinking about Megan Crane for one day. 'What's the crack with Cosworth?'
For a moment, The Duke looked like he might probe further - Carver had hardly been forthcoming - but then with a sigh, let it go. He dropped into his chair and started flicking through the messages his PA had left during de-brief.
'I think we share similar views about friend Cosworth. But-'
Carver waited. The Duke was old school. He never criticised members of his team openly, not even to Carver.
'He can’t be ruled out, and God knows there’s enough weird shit there. I’m giving Gary his head.' He paused before adding, 'I need you to concentrate on this Crane woman.'
Carver nodded again.
Morrison hesitated, looked up at him.
‘What?’
Morrison sighed. ‘You probably already know this, but I’m going to say it anyway. Gary wants a collar like a dog on heat. You know what he’s after and he thinks this enquiry can give it to him.' Carver said nothing. 'Whether he’s right or not, he sees you as the opposition. If there’s any chance of an arrest, he’ll want it to be his.'
Carver gave a weary sigh, and met The Duke’s gaze. ‘He can have whatever he wants. I couldn’t give a toss. I’ve even tried giving him a few steers myself. Not that he listens much.'
The Duke nodded. 'I can believe that, but Gary wouldn’t. He’s as likely to think you’re trying to set him up. I’ll say no more. Just watch your back.'
'I will.'
‘Speaking of which. I believe the board dates are out?’
‘Just got the letter. I’m set for four weeks yesterday.’
The Duke tutted. ‘That’s tight, the way things are.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘You could ask them to put it back?’
‘I know.’
‘But you won’t.’
‘Would you?’
‘Point taken.’
The conversation over, Carver rose.
But Morrison wasn’t finished. 'One more thing.'
Carver stopped. ‘What?’
'Do me a favour and ring that reporter back who keeps leaving messages all over the place. Apart from Alec Duncan giving me grief, the ACC rang this morning. Looks like someone with clout told the Press Office you’re avoiding him. The Chief wasn't best pleased. He thinks a positive spin might help keep the heat off.'
Carver gave The Duke a straight look. 'Someone needs to tell the Chief I'm a detective, not a fucking poster boy.'
The Duke made a soothing gesture. 'Take it easy. I'm not suggesting you put yourself through it all again. Just speak to the guy. Give him some titbits, that's all.'
'It's not titbits he wants, John. He’ll be after doing another bloody feature. "The Man Who Brought Edmund Hart To Justice – Five Years On." Well he can piss off. He can find himself another Sherlock.'
'Just play him, Jamie. That's all I'm saying. If something breaks we may just need the press onside.'
Carver counted to three. But whatever his take on it, The Duke was right. There’s never anything to be gained rubbing the press up the wrong way, whoever it is.
'I'll ring him, but that's all. If we met I’m not sure I could trust myself not to strangle the bastard.'
The Duke sighed. 'Like I’ve said before, he wrote what he wrote in good faith. It's not his fault some saw it as you blowing yourself up. There’s jealous bastards in every organisation. We're no different.'
By now Carver had had enough and wasn't about to argue. 'Is that it? Can I go now?'
'Yes. Piss off. Enjoy your weekend, while you can.'
As Carver reached the door The Duke said, ‘By the way, are you still seeing your Dad this weekend?’
Carver turned and nodded. ‘It’s their ruby wedding anniversary tomorrow. We’re doing dinner. Some restaurant outside Ripon.’ As an aside he added, ‘If we all make it.’
‘Well if you get there, remember me to him.’
‘I will.’
Back in his office, Carver slumped in his chair and rubbed at his temples where a dull pain had grown through the afternoon. He spotted Alec’s note about Jackson. Picking up the desk phone, he dialled the number.
It answered on the third ring.
‘Jackson.’
‘This is Jamie Carver.’
‘Jamie. Thanks for coming back to me. You got my message?’
All of them. ‘Yes.’
‘Okay. Good. So… does this call mean you’re ready to meet me?’
It means, who the fuck rang my ACC? Carver remembered The Duke’s request. ‘I can’t right now, but give me a shout next week. Monday- no, make that Tuesday. We’ll sort something. It may only be over the telephone. There’s a lot happening here.’
There was a pause, then, ‘Of course. I can imagine how busy you must be. But I’d prefer if we could meet. His tone said, is this just another string-along? ‘I’d promise not to take up too much of your time?’
Carver shook his head down the phone. The man was a pro, and as persistent as he remembered.
‘We’ll speak next week.’
‘Great. See you.’
Carver hung up.
He checked his watch. Going on Seven-thirty. It was an hour into Manchester this time of evening. Still time to make it. About to rise, Shepherd’s face appeared round the door. The look of concern wasn’t convincing. Carver came on guard.
'Everything okay Jamie? Shame the Crane woman wouldn't come on board. Any particular reason? Would you like me to have a go?'
Carver bit back his first response. 'Thanks, but no thanks, Gary. Jess and I will sort our Ms Crane out. You’ve got your hands full with Cosworth.' Rising from the chair, he reached for his keys off the desk. Blind as ever, Shepherd slipped further inside.
'Speaking of Jess, how’s she doing? I have to say I was a bit surprised when you chose her. She worked for me once on a rape case. A bit lacking in experience, I thought.'
Carver knew the case. Alec Duncan was the first CID on the scene. His account of how Jess, then a uniform sergeant, had dealt with the hysterical victim and preserved the scene, was in his mind when he interviewed her. 'She’s doing fine. What she lacks in experience she makes up for in common sense.' Unlike some.
'Glad to hear it. Mind you, she’s not a bad looker either. I hope you’re making sure to give her the benefit of your… experience?'
About to head for the door, Carver froze. Straightening, he stepped back, looked Shepherd straight in the face and folded his arms. 'Scuse me?'
Whatever his failings, Shepherd knew when he’d overstepped. His swagger faded. 'Whoops. Sorry, Jamie. That’s my mouth running away with itself again. Don’t worry, everyone knows you’re straight down the line.' Along the corridor, a telephone rang. He hung out the door. 'Calls coming in. Needed in the MIR. Have a good weekend. You look like you need it.'
Carver listened to Shepherd’s footsteps receding. 'Prick,' he muttered.
Checking his desk one last time - it would still be there Monday - he pulled his jacket off the back of the chair, sending it spinning. As he strode out he was looking forward to his first proper break in weeks. But his inner voice was telling him, 'And pigs fly.'<
br />
Chapter 9
From the window in the main CID Office, Jess watched Carver’s Golf slow at the gate, before gunning forward and left into a gap in the streaming traffic. She followed its departure down Arpley Street. A voice close behind made her jump.
'How’re you enjoying the big time then, Jess?'
She spun around. Shepherd was right on her shoulder, way too near. Avoiding his gaze, she weaved passed him and headed back to her desk.
'I’m enjoying it fine, thank you. Sir.'
'That’s good.'
He sauntered after her, eyes wandering the room, fingers flicking, randomly, through papers on detectives' desks. They were alone, the others either left for home or grabbing refs.
Sensing something, Jess was wary, and set about tidying her desk. To her dismay, Shepherd settled himself on the edge of the neighbouring desk, lifted a foot and rested it on the edge of hers, hemming her in. She caught a whiff of something musky. It hadn’t been there when they’d passed in the corridor following debrief.
'You know Jess, this enquiry could be good for you. You're showing promise for this sort of work. I mentioned it to The Duke and he agrees. Keep it up and I’m sure there’ll be a permanent job when this is all over.'
She managed not to laugh. 'I appreciate that, Sir.'
There was an awkward silence before he continued. 'So what do you think of this Crane woman thing? It’s not just Jamie looking for a bit of a diversion, is it?'
Unsure what he was getting at, she said, 'That’s not for me to say. But Mr Carver's confident she can help.' As she picked up her shoulder bag and stood up, Shepherd chuckled in a way she found strange.
'He would be.'
Jess was intrigued, but wasn’t about to start talking about her boss in his absence. Before applying for the job she'd heard the rumours of course. But she’d avoided digging, preferring to take things, and him, as she found them. Turning, she skirted the back of her chair to avoid his leg-barrier. But he moved swiftly to catch up, traversing between the desks to come alongside her as she neared the door. Suddenly his hand was on her elbow and she stopped. His boldness surprised her, as well as his stupidity.
Last Gasp Page 5
