Last Gasp

by Robert F Barker

  But while all of this registered in Jess’s brain, it was not what drew her eye the most. As she turned her head, taking it all in, she looked to her right, where her gaze fell on the strangest sight she’d ever seen in her life.

  On their knees and facing the wall, were a man and woman. They were both laced into face-hugging leather hoods, their wrists locked behind in leather cuffs which were attached by short lengths of chain to similar restraints around their ankles. As Megan and Jess entered, the pair shuffled round. Apart from their hoods and collars, they were all-but naked. The woman wore a body-harness with straps that framed her modest but firm breasts and the small ‘v’ of blond hair between her legs. The man was wearing a skimpy, black-leather jockstrap. Their stifled grunts suggested that under the masks, they were also gagged. Thin chains ran from their collars to metal rings set into the wall.

  Megan led Jess into the centre of the room, then returned to the couple. Bending down, she unzipped eye holes in their hoods which Jess hadn’t noticed before. Seeing the visitor, they both became agitated, turning from Jess to Megan and back again, swaying frantically, mewing and grunting into their gags. It was obvious that Megan had given them no warning of Jess’s arrival.

  Jess’s stomach squirmed with embarrassment, both for the couple and herself. She didn’t know which way to look. But each time she thought of turning away, she felt her gaze being drawn back to the strange tableaux she had been brought to witness.

  'Quiet,' Megan said, her tone stern.

  Immediately, the pair fell silent and became still. It reminded Jess that there was a side to Megan Crane she had not yet seen. Certainly, her willingness to spring such a surprise on the couple hinted at a capacity for cruelty that, up to now, she’d kept well hidden.

  As the pair calmed, heads bowed, Jess used the opportunity to take a closer look at them. Without seeing their faces, it was impossible to guess their ages. The woman’s tanned and toned body suggested she was fairly young. The man looked older. His greying chest hair and mottled skin suggested someone of more mature years, fifty maybe? She wondered if they were a couple, or just two of those Megan Crane counted amongst her, ‘friends’.

  At last, the reason for Megan’s delay in answering her phone was clear. Jess had indeed called at an inconvenient time. In fact she was surprised Megan had bothered to answer at all. Before she could pursue the thought, Megan turned to her and made a sweeping gesture.

  'Mistress Jessica. May I present my devoted servants, Slaves Arthur and Tracy.’

  Chapter 25

  The man in the blue pin-stripe, and with the distinguished-looking head of steel-grey hair turned to look down at Carver, seated at the far end of the table. In the clipped tones Carver found mildly irritating, he said, ‘For the sake of clarity, can I ask, whose decision was it to make no arrests for what appear, prima facie, to be two incidents of grievous bodily harm, if not attempted murder?’

  Carver sighed and bowed his head so the table’s faded beech veneer swam into view. Ninety minutes gone, and they were still going round in circles. When he looked up, it was to find Spencer Wright, the Crown Prosecution Service’s Deputy District Prosecuting Solicitor, still waiting, eyebrows arched, expectantly.

  When he spoke, Carver tried to keep the disappointment - and impatience - out of his voice. ‘Like I’ve already said Spencer, it was my call. I was there. I was happy I had enough facts to hand to make a judgement.’

  Wright made a point of casting his gaze round the room, as if it might gain him backing.

  ‘But by doing so, you prevented anyone else from having a say. For all you knew, one of us may have felt that under the circumstances, due process should have been followed. I’m sure I don’t need to, but may I remind you of the fact that Kayleigh is still a juvenile after all?’

  Though stung, Carver was determined not to let himself be goaded. He had enough on his plate. Right now his aim was to get those gathered round the table to do what he needed them to do – endorse his decision and move on. Sadly, grabbing Spencer Wright by the throat wouldn’t help. Checking to his right, Carver threw a glance at Rita Arogundade, next to him. The expression on her face - she was staring at Wright with a mixture of contempt and anger - told him her thoughts were probably similar to his. More than any others of the eight agency representatives comprising the Lee Family Project Steering Group, Wright was the one who still seemed to have most difficulty with the principle of rapid decision-making. God knows, but when they began, there was plenty of evidence to show how red tape and bureaucracy was contributing to the family’s problems. Instead of issues being resolved quickly, as needed, delay and organisational dithering were encouraging the family to believe that ‘the authorities’ weren’t only uninterested in their plight, but were in fact their enemy. In truth, they weren’t wholly wrong. It was why the Joint Memorandum Of Understanding that underpinned the project allowed for decisions to be made outside the frameworks that would normally kick in when the family came to notice. It was also why those seated around the table occupied relatively senior positions within their organisations. After weeks and months and many long, often fractious, meetings, most now accepted that by dealing with problems straight away, even if a decision was later shown to be ‘wrong’, the benefits outweighed the disadvantages. Six months on, there were definite signs that trust between family members and the organisations in whose sides they had long been a thorn, was growing. Things were actually getting done. And to its credit, the family was beginning to take control of their lives in ways none of the project group had ever seen before. It had taken a long time, but as the most telling statistic kept showing, unauthorised school absences were down to single figures. Carver made sure he kept his voice even when he replied to Wright’s challenge.

  ‘You’re right, Spencer. I don’t need reminding. In fact it was Kayleigh’s situation I had most in mind when I made my decision. If I’d opted for a full-on investigation, we’d have had to remove her. That would have been bad for her, and bad for the family. The family would have split down the middle and everything we’ve achieved the past six months would have gone down the toilet. As it is, they’ve all made up and things are back on track.’

  But Wright wasn’t convinced. ‘I’m sorry, Jamie, but we’ve only your say-so on that. How do we know-’

  ‘For fuck’s sake Spencer, give it a rest will you?’ All heads turned to Rita. She looked ready to blow. ‘While you were playing golf, or whatever it is you do weekends, I’ve been at Carnegie Avenue, mending fences and building bridges. I was there as well, remember? And I can tell you, Jamie’s dead right. If you want to turn the clock back to when we were all spending half of our day dealing with problems coming out of twenty-five Carnegie Avenue, then just veto Jamie’s decision and tell him to go back and run a full investigation. But don’t forget, that would also involve arresting Stuart for what he did to Paula. And possibly other members of the family as well. And when that happens we may as well just pull the plug and go home.’

  She stopped to cast her gaze around the table, making sure to have eye contact with the six others present – two members having sent their apologies. No one came back at her. Carver could tell Spencer wanted to, but knew better. Not for the first time he thought on how Rita Arogundade would make an excellent lawyer – or detective - had she chosen a different path.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘If no one’s got anything else to say, can I suggest we take a vote, record the result then piss off home. I’ve promised my Nigel I’ll do him a curry tonight.’

  Leaving the Council Offices, Carver lingered to let Rita catch up.

  ‘Thanks for that show of support.’

  ‘No need to thank me. Besides, you didn’t need my support. You were right and everyone knows it apart from that dick-head. I just didn’t want to see blood on the table. Had enough of that recently.’ She paused. ‘Something I need to mention though.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘You do know Kayleigh’s got a cru
sh on you, don’t you?’

  Carver stopped dead. ‘What?’

  ‘Might just be she sees you as the father figure Stuart never was. Either way, you need to be aware of it. I’ve seen too many professionals end up in trouble over young girls.’

  Carver cast his mind back, remembering his most recent visits to Carnegie Avenue, occasions when he’d seen her looking at him in a way he suddenly realised he should have thought about more. He thought about the feelings he had when he saw her doing her best to keep her family afloat. They were the sort of protective, fatherly feelings most men would have when they see a kid struggling through a difficult situation. Then his stomach flipped, and suddenly he was scared.

  ‘Oh, fuck.’

  ‘That’s what I thought when I saw her looking at you the other morning.’

  Carver’s drive home took forty minutes. They passed in a blur.

  Chapter 26

  The next day the press was all over everything, working themselves up to a frenzy that the Worshipper Killer had claimed another victim. Even before Corinne Anderson, Carver’s plan was to call the journalist, Jackson, and get him off his back. But now he felt a face-to-face meeting would be better. Less risk of any, ‘misunderstandings’. But inviting him into the station risked stoking rumours of the, ‘Courting Media Attention Again’ variety. For that reason he arranged a meet in The Causeway Inn, half-way between Warrington and Stockton Heath. A large, traditional ale house and not a regular police haunt, The Causeway is the sort of place you can easily get lost in.

  Jackson was already there, seated at a table at the back, a pint of Carver’s favourite Bombardier next to his own Balvenie. After exchanging stiff-ish greetings, Carver sat down, took a long swig and gave the man across the table a hard look that said, Listen closely.

  To his credit, Jackson, leaned forward to give Carver his full attention. Younger than Carver by several years and slightly built, he was wearing the same mismatched grey, herring-bone jacket and jeans Carver remembered. He also still sported the designer-stubble Carver saw as part of the, ‘who-gives-a-shit crumpled look’ Jackson liked to effect. Carver had learned long ago not to be lulled by it all.

  ‘Before we start, let’s get a couple of things straight,’ Carver said. ‘First, I’m only meeting you because I’ve been asked to.’ Jackson nodded. ‘Second, I’m not going to give you any more about what we’re investigating than what’s in the official releases. Including yesterday’s.’

  ‘I wouldn’t ask you to.’

  ‘Third, if you print anything that tries to show me, or anyone else as anything other than just a small cog in a big machine, two things will happen. First, I’ll come round to that nice flat you’ve got in Knutsford and beat the crap out of you. Second, no detective in the country will speak to you, on or off the record, again. You know what I’m saying?’

  Jackson gave a wary nod. Carver had no way of knowing what he’d been expecting when he agreed to the meeting, but it probably wouldn’t have included being threatened with violence.

  ‘And I don’t give a fuck if you’re taping this or not. The same applies.’

  A hesitant smile crossed Jackson lips. Taking up the mobile he’d placed on the table as Carver took his seat, he played with it, then showed Carver a screen showing a button labelled, ‘Delete Recording?’ He pressed ‘Yes’, and put it away.

  ‘Right,’ Carver said. ‘What do you want to talk to me about?’

  Jackson took a slug of whiskey. ‘I’m being pushed to do a follow-up on our last piece.’ Seeing Carver’s look he added, quickly, ‘Sorry, my last piece. But I’ve already told them it’s a non-starter. Not after last time.’

  ‘So why are we here?’

  Jackson looked around, as if expecting eavesdroppers. ‘I’m still interested in the questions that remain un-answered after Hart’s suicide.’ He eyed Carver, warily. ‘It was suicide, I take it?’

  Carver stared at him. ‘That was the coroner’s verdict.’ If you think I’m going to make this easy, think again.

  ‘Of course. It’s just that, I didn’t ever feel it was properly explained?’ He put on an innocent face. ‘I’d be interested to hear your take on it?’

  Carver supped his pint, then stared into the glass. Eventually he lifted his gaze to meet the other man’s. ‘When someone talks of modern-day sex-killers, who you think of?’

  Jackson thought a moment. ‘Nilson. Black. The Wests. Hindley and Brady if you want to go back that far.’

  Carver nodded. ‘Hart was worse than all of them. Far worse. There was a lot didn’t come out during his trial. Stuff we found after he was arrested. I won’t give details but let’s just say that in several people’s opinion, including mine, Hart was the most extreme sexual-psychopath we’ve seen in this country. Think of a deviation that involves sexual violence, torture, sadism. He was into it. We know, mainly because he told us, that his plan was to go on killing and torturing for a long time, using a range of methods. For the Escort Girls he used a knife. But they were to be just the start of it. If we hadn’t caught him when he did, he’d have begun targeting other types of victims. Using other techniques. Other deviations. The point is, he was addicted to this stuff the way a junkie is to their drug of choice. When he was put away, he couldn’t stand life without the thing that had driven him for so long. Suicide was the easy way out. In fact, it was probably his last big hit.’

  Jackson nodded. ‘I’ve heard of that, but never come across it.’

  ‘Sexual suicide is more common than most people think. Coroners tend to go for accidental death for the benefit of relatives.’

  Jackson became thoughtful. ‘Jesus.’ He finished his whiskey, pointed to Carver’s empty glass. ‘Can I get you another?’

  Carver hesitated, then nodded. ‘It’s not often I get to charge to an expense account.’

  When Jackson returned, he was ready to change tack.

  ‘The other thing I’m interested in-’ He paused, as if needing Carver’s permission.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘There was talk at the time that Hart may have had an accomplice.’

  Carver gave another nod.

  ‘Did you ever bottom it?’

  ‘We could never prove it one way, or the other.’

  ‘So… it’s still possible there was an accomplice?’

  ‘Depends who you ask. Some believe he worked alone, others not.’

  ‘You?’

  Carver took another long swig. ‘Off the record?’

  ‘Off the record.’

  ‘I tend to go with the accomplice theory.’

  ‘Why?’

  Carver gave a non-committal shrug. ‘Small things. There was a lot of blood at the scenes. We never found traces in his car, yet we know he used one to get to and from at least some of them. Either he had another car we never found, which is unlikely, or someone else dropped him off and picked him up after. Also, before and after some of the killings he made telephone calls to a mobile we never traced. Which begs the questions who was it, and why? Then there’s the Black Merc.’

  ‘Black Merc?’

  ‘On the nights of two of the killings, cameras picked up a black Mercedes close to the victim’s homes. Both times it was on false plates, different ones each time. We couldn’t connect it to the scenes but it’s a hell of a coincidence. As far as we’ve discovered, Hart never owned or had access to a Mercedes, black or otherwise.’

  ‘And you think that’s enough to show there must have been an accomplice?’

  ‘It is for me.’

  ‘In which case whoever it was- is, you must believe they’re still out there, somewhere?’

  Carver gave Jackson a hard stare. ‘Yes.’

  Jackson stopped his glass halfway to his mouth.

  ‘My God.’ He paused. ‘So…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘So is anyone doing anything about it? Is anyone- are you, still working on it?’

  Carver shrugged. ‘The file’s still on my desk.’

/>   ‘So is that a, ‘Yes’?’

  Carver chose his words carefully. ‘The Hart investigation was officially closed after the court case. To my knowledge no one is working on it. Officially.’

  ‘Unofficially?’

  Carver held Jackson’s gaze. For long seconds, it was as if they were the pub’s only customers. ‘I’m hopeful that one day something will happen that will allow me to put the file away.’

  Jackson’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why so circumspect? Presumably your bosses know your views on all this?

  Carver lifted his glass and stared at Jackson, hard, as he took a long swig.

  ‘Fuck,’ Jackson said, but quietly. Realisation showed in his face. ‘They told you to drop it.’

  Carver said nothing.

  ‘But why? Surely, if there’s a possibility someone else was involved, then the investigation should have continued, shouldn’t it?’

  ‘That would seem logical.’

  ‘But it didn’t.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So I repeat, why?’

  Carver breathed deeply. ‘You’d be better putting that question to others. I can’t answer it.’

  ‘You must have a theory?’

  Carver took a long breath. He’d been over it so many times. ‘When Hart was arrested, certainly after his conviction, the media presented it as a success story. A victory for ‘local policing’. You’ll remember. You were part of it.’

  Jackson nodded, ‘I was, but-’

  ‘At the time there was lot of politicking going on. Police reorganisations. Force amalgamations. All the crap the Home Office digs out every few years whenever there’s some sort of policing crisis and they think they can convince everyone the answer is to get rid of a load of Chief Constables.’

  Jackson leaned forward, as if sensing something. ‘You’re going to tell me it involves The Black Quintet?’

  Carver acknowledged the man’s insight with a slight nod. But then Jackson would be more aware than most of the other, Big Police Story of the time.