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.’
Chapter 16
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.'
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.
Chapter 17
Out in the smoking area at the back of the restaurant, Carver waited with the whiskies as his father lit his post-dinner cigar. He knew what was coming. Sure enough, as Peter Carver blew smoke away over his shoulder, he fixed his son with the stare Carver imagined he used to use on his old Command Team when he wanted them to think he knew something they didn't. As Carver handed him his drink he said, ‘How’s Kerry coming along?’
Carver was grateful. At least he’d waited until after dinner. He’d sensed his father champing the moment they'd arrived. A six-years-retired Chief Constable, he always asked after his son’s cases. It wasn’t always professional curiosity. From the day Carver was appointed constable, his father was settled in his view that his son should one day rise to the same dizzy heights as himself. Not that he ever put it as openly as that. Next to The Duke, Carver Senior was the slyest operator Carver knew. Still unsure how much to share, Carver lifted his glass and checked the malt's colouring. Eventually he said, ‘Slowly.’
His father nodded. ‘What’s it been? Four months since the last one?’
Carver sipped his drink. ‘Three and a half.’
Another nod. ‘Remind me of the intervals?’
‘Four months. Roughly.’
‘Hmmm.’
Carver waited. It was like being tied to a railway track, watching the train approaching.
‘Last time, you mentioned something about a possible lead? Some photographer?’
Carver nodded. ‘We’re still looking at him. I’m not convinced. I could be wrong.’
Carver senior pointed at him. ‘That’s good. Always keep an open mind.’
‘Thanks, Dad. I’ll remember that.’
The flash in the older man’s eyes reminded Carver how his father hated being patronised. Another reason why his ambitions would probably never match his father’s. What happens to their sense of humour?
'Any other developments?’
The question Carver had hoped wouldn’t come. His father was the one person he could never lie to.
‘We’re looking at potential victims. Seeing if they can tell us anything.’
The glass stopped halfway to his father’s mouth.
‘How are you identifying them?’
Knew it. ‘There’s a magazine. One of those contact journals. We think they’re in it.’
‘You think they’re in it?’
‘They’re in it.’
‘So are you… Have you approached any of them?’
‘Actually, I met one yesterday.’
His father’s head lifted, slowly, as if he’d just been told something significant. ‘And… how did it go?’
Carver met his gaze head on. ‘She wasn’t expecting us.’
‘I should bloody well hope not. How was she?’
‘Undecided. But I think she’ll come around, eventually.’
‘Is she one of these… dominatrices?’
Carver nodded.
They sipped their whiskeys
‘Everyman’s fantasy, I suppose?’
‘Not everyman's.’
‘Yours?’
Carver looked at his father over the rim of his glass. He could barely believe he’d asked. ‘No.’
In the silence that followed, Carver thought about heading back inside. Rosanna had met his mother and older sister once before, but this was her first time with Sally – the family’s problem child. But he decided against. Best deal with it now.
After a while his father said, ‘What makes you think she’ll come round, ‘eventually’?’
‘Because she’ll realise it’s in her interests.’
‘How will that happen?’
‘I’ll convince her.’
‘You’ll convince her?’ His eyes bore into his son’s face, searching for information.
Carver sighed. ‘Me. Or someone else. It doesn’t matter.’
‘Maybe someone else would be better.’
‘Stop it, Dad.’
‘Stop what?’
‘You know.’
‘I’m only thinking what’s best for you.’
‘I know you are, but-’
‘We don't want another episode like-’
‘DAD.’
The older man jumped so he almost spilt his drink.
‘What?’
‘Leave it. It’s nothing to do with you.’
Carver senior opened his mouth to say something, but saw the look in his son's face and stopped. For long seconds the man for whom one successful career would never be enough stared at his son. He changed the subject. ‘Any news on your board date yet?’
Carver gave a wry smile before replying. Their team’s biggest match in Europe in a decade was three days away, and still all he could talk about was shop.
‘Next month. The twenty sixth.’
‘That’s a bit short notice.’
‘Tell me about it.’
The older man hesitated, as if sensing his son’s mood. ‘If I can help with anything, just let me know.’
‘I will. Thanks.’
Carver Senior stubbed out his cigar and drained the last of his whisky before turning to his son.
‘All I’m saying is, be careful.’
‘I intend to be.’
They headed back inside.
Later, back at the converted farmhouse his parents had bought following his father’s retirement, Carver looked up from his undressing to find Rosanna sitting up in bed, giving him,
The Stare. They were in the room his mother called, ‘Jamie’s Room’, though he’d never lived there.
‘What?’
She swept her hair back off her face. In the low light he could see why his father said she reminded him of the old Italian actress, Gina Lollobrigida.
'What did you and your father talk about?’
Carver hesitated. ‘Guess.’
‘The case?’
He nodded, then shook his head. ‘He never changes.’ He stepped out of his trousers.
‘He worries about you.’
‘I know.’
‘I worry about you.’
He sat next to her, took her face in his hands. ‘I know.’ He kissed her on the lips, lightly.
She searched his face for signs. ‘Remember, Jamie Carver. You are a good man.’
‘You think?’
‘I think.’
‘Tell him that.’
‘He doesn’t need me to tell him. He knows already.’
As Carver drank in her beauty, the feelings that were never far when they were together stirred. Shifting position, he buried his fingers in her hair, luxuriating in its thickness. He kissed her, again, deeper. As she responded, he threw back the duvet, and they fell back onto the bed. Suddenly she stopped, pulled her mouth from his.
‘They will hear,’ she whispered.
Carver stopped, listening to the silence. His parents’ room was down the corridor, a bathroom between them.
‘Fuck ’em.’
About to start again, his mobile beeped a message alert. He stopped. Fuck. He leaned over to the bedside table, checked the screen.
It was from Jess. Can you speak?
Turning to the woman still half under him, he made a, ‘sorry’ face. She rolled her eyes, dramatically. He slipped off her, sat on the edge of the bed.
He had Jess on speed dial. As soon as she answered he said, ‘What’s up?’ Hearing her take a deep breath, his thought was she was about to tell him there’d been another murder. He was wrong.
'Sorry to disturb you so late, Jamie, but I went to see Meg- the Crane woman again this afternoon. We talked. She’s prepared to come on board. But she wants to see you, asap. Like in, tomorrow?'
Carver stared at the floor. Behind him, Rosanna lay, waiting. But the only thing registering in his brain at that moment was the echo of the words, she wants to see you.
Last Gasp Page 9
