Last Gasp

by Robert F Barker

  'Who’s my beautiful baby then?'

  'MUM. You’re blocking Fleabits.'

  She laughed again as she stood, refreshed and ready to face the chores awaiting her.

  The chime of the doorbell echoed through the flat.

  Checking he was still engrossed, she headed to the front door.

  He was tall, slim and smartly-dressed in a grey suit. Good-looking in a certain kind of way. But standing there, on the block’s long walkway, he stood out like a chocolate dildo on a wedding cake. Although she had never seen him before, it was so obvious who, what, he was, he might as well have had a flashing blue light fixed to the top of his head. She fought against the panicky feeling that welled up in her.

  'Angela Kendrick?'

  ‘No, I’m sorry. There’s no one here by that name.’ Old habits. Give nothing away until you know what they want.

  He gave her a smart-arsed look. 'Yeah, you’re Angela alright. I’ve seen your photograph. You’ve not changed much. A bit older, that’s all.' She saw the hint of a sneer, the arrogance below the surface. She hated him already.

  'Who are you? How did you get my address?'

  'DCI Shepherd.' He flashed a warrant card but she didn’t need to look at it to know he was genuine. 'Call me Gary. I’d like a word Angela. Don’t worry you’re not in any trouble.'

  She debated whether to tell him to go to hell, but he’d got her address and that couldn’t have been easy. If he’d gone to all that trouble, he wasn’t going to be put off by a door slamming in his face. He would only be back, calling and knocking, harassing until she gave in. She knew what they were like. Rather, what some were like.

  'You’d better come in.'

  She led him into the living room, but carried on through to the kitchen. She didn’t want Jason to hear.

  'Nice looking lad,' he said, as he walked through. 'Got his mother’s looks.'

  She ignored him. Whatever he wanted, she couldn’t bear the thought of him touching their lives, not even to compliment her son. She closed the door just enough to block out the TV noise, but could still see her boy.

  'What do you want?' she said.

  For a second, he gave her the look, then the smile, as if he might be thinking of turning it on the way they often do before they get to the meat. But her eyes must have told him it would be wasted. He got straight to the point.

  'You used to know a detective called, Jamie Carver.'

  The bottom dropped out of Anna Kirkham/Angela Kendrick’s world.

  Chapter 37

  Carver was passing the MIR when he heard Alec Duncan call, 'Boss. Hey, Boss!' He stopped and retraced a couple of steps. Alec was at his desk, pointing at a screen.

  'Christ, Alec. It’s Monday bloody morning. Can’t I get my coat off?' But he was already heading across. The burly DS was clearly animated.

  'I’ve been on CCTV all weekend,' Alec said.

  Carver nodded. Soon after the second killing, they had realised that the only way to keep on top of the mountain of CCTV footage that arrived in a steady stream was to pay the teams overtime to view it. They worked a rota system, evenings and weekends. 'What you got?'

  ‘These blonde hairs everyone keeps talking about?’

  ‘Ye-es?’

  'Take a look.'

  Alec rose to let his boss take his chair. As Carver settled, he ran the video clip.

  The snowstorm of static cleared to show a night-time view of a petrol station forecourt. A street corner showed top-right. The time-stamp in the bottom corner showed, ‘02.47’

  'This is from Valley Garage, opposite where Dale Street meets Valley Road. The night Corinne Anderson was killed.'

  Carver’s heart skipped a beat. Dale Street was where Corinne had lived, and died.

  For several seconds it was like looking at a still photograph. Then, from round the railings that skirted the corner came a woman. She was walking quickly. As she turned so she was side-on to the camera, Carver saw the blond hair that flowed from under her woollen hat and over her shoulders. She was wearing a dark coat that met the top of calf-length boots. In her right hand she was carrying some sort of holdall. It looked bulky. She was in view for only seconds before passing out of shot on the left.

  Alec hit ‘pause’ and turned to Carver, eyes bright with expectancy.

  Carver stared at the screen. 'Play that again.'

  The way Ewan Cleeves kept swallowing and catching his breath, Carver could tell he wasn’t comfortable being pressured like this. But he wasn’t going to let up. They were still waiting for the psychologist’s assessment on the female killer theory. ‘Just putting some final touches to it,’ had been his last update. They could wait no longer. It was time he either put up, or shut up.

  Carver pressed again. 'We’re not asking for a definite yes or no, Ewan. All we need to know is, how likely is it? Is it a possible?’

  Across the table, The Duke, Jess and Shepherd focused on the academic. He’d just watched the clip for the second time. Carver could almost hear the cogs whirring.

  'Ewan?'

  The psychologist blinked, twice, then lifted his head. He looked pained. He would much prefer to give his conclusions on paper, in his own time.

  'Of course it’s possible. The motivating factors we are assuming could just as easily reside in a female’s psyche. And there’s nothing about the murders themselves that rule out a female killer. The absence of semen at the scenes tells us that. As for how likely? It’s impossible to say. Most repeat killers are male. But there are enough examples of female repeaters that we should not rule it out. Certainly, in a case like this and at this stage, where there is no direct evidence pointing in either direction, we have to accept that our killer could as likely be female as male.’

  Carver leaned back in his chair and locked his hands behind his head.

  The Duke turned his face to the ceiling.

  Shepherd snapped the pencil he had been playing with in two.

  Only Jess gave no visible reaction to the words that had just blown so many of their long-held assumptions out of the water.

  For several seconds no one spoke. Carver felt the weight of the investigation pressing more heavily than ever.

  'Okay,' The Duke said. 'Let’s talk about where this leaves us.'

  For the next half hour, they discussed possibilities. Carver pointed out several. The woman on the tape may have nothing whatsoever to do with Corinne Anderson. The blond hairs from the scenes could still be from a common ‘contact’ who, likewise, has nothing to do with the murders. Or they could, indeed, be looking for a female killer. In which case a good part of the investigation would need revamping. It drew anguished looks.

  'There’s another possibility,' Jess said.

  'What’s that?' The Duke said.

  'It could be a man dressed as a woman.'

  They all stared at her.

  Shepherd gave out a guffaw. 'Jesus Christ. Someone’ll suggest it’s Father-Bloody-Christmas next.'

  Carver continued to stare. Then he said. 'It looks like a woman to me. But Jess could be right. We shouldn’t rule it out.' He nodded to The Duke, who was taking notes. Shepherd turned to look out through the window. At The Duke’s urging, they turned their thoughts to what needed to be done.

  The list grew, rapidly. Most of it came from Carver. They needed to check the rest of the CCTV recordings in case the blond woman showed up elsewhere. The whole team needed to be told to review everything they’d done to make sure they’d not missed any references to a woman. Enquires were to be made with the National Crime Agency and the National Crime Faculty regarding women offenders. Carver would liaise with his FBI contacts over what their databases had on female killers.

  The others contributed as well. Shepherd would redouble his team’s efforts to trace Cosworth’s previous girlfriend. A blond, she seemed to have dropped off the scene of late. Cleeves would suspend his lectures to review his - previously ignored - profile literature on female-offending.

  'I’ll r
un it by Megan,' Jess said.

  Eventually the suggestions dried up. Carver was about to head back to his office with Jess to write up Actions when The Duke called him back. Concern etched his features.

  'I’m going to have to speak to the ACC again about more staff.' Carver nodded but said nothing. The Duke continued. 'Each time we think we’re making progress, something comes up to put us right back. The people upstairs are becoming jumpy.'

  Carver wasn’t surprised, but gave his SIO an even look. 'I know this will sound like bullshit, John, but… my sense is, we’re getting close to something. I feel like I’ve been here before… But I’m missing something. I just need time to put it together.

  'Well I suggest you get on with it, rapido.'

  Chapter 38

  Jess wrote ‘Alec D’ next to the item on the flip chart that read, “Review remaining CCTV.”

  'He’ll love you for that,' she said.

  'Alec’s thorough,' Carver said. 'If there’s anything there, he’ll find it.'

  The list now ran to eighteen items. Leaving The Dukes office, it had been ten. As they worked, other things kept popping up. Jess’s feeling of despondency was growing.

  'How are we going to get through this lot?'

  'One at a time,' Carver said. ‘As always.'

  As he went back to checking his notes, Jess shook her head, gave a wry smile. The video clip with the blond woman seemed to have restored his focus. More like his old self. It certainly seemed to have taken his mind off whatever was gnawing at him.

  His mobile rang. Deep in his notes, he reached for it. When he saw the screen, Jess was surprised to see him come bolt upright. He spun his chair round to face the window.

  ‘Angie?’

  The conversation lasted not much more than a minute. As Jess listened to his end, her interest grew.

  'No… Okay, just surprised to…No, it’s fine… Go on… Who…? He What?’ There was a longish silence, then, ‘Of course… TONIGHT?' His breath came out in a rush. 'I’m not sure… Yes. Yes I understand. Okay... ‘Bye.'

  He ended the call but continued to stare out of the window. High on his temple a blood vessel pulsed.

  A minute passed. Jess waited.

  ‘Jamie?'

  No response.

  'Jamie?'

  He turned. The slightly startled look made her think he’d forgotten she was even there.

  'Sorry Jess. Er… Where were we?'

  But he was miles away, eyes all over the place. She gave a half-laugh, trying to make light of his distracted state. 'I take it that was something important?'

  He tried batting it off. 'Hmm? Just someone I’ve not heard from in a while.' He lapsed into silence again.

  She waited. If he wanted to tell her, he would. About to ask if he wanted to postpone what they were doing he beat her to it.

  Sitting up suddenly, as if he’d made a decision, he said, 'There’s something I need to do. We’ll have to finish this in the morning.'

  'That’s okay. I’ve plenty to be getting on with.' Her first thought was to leave it there, but she couldn’t resist. 'If you need to go somewhere, would you like me to come with you?' His answer gave nothing away.

  'Thanks, but I can manage.'

  She didn’t press, but headed for the door. About to leave, he called to her.

  'Do me a favour?'

  She turned. He was going through the motions of tidying his desk. Picking things up, then putting then down. Who the hell was that? 'Sure.'

  'Ring Rosanna for me? Let her know I’ll be late? As in, very late.'

  'No problem.'

  Heading back to the office, Jess was worried. One phone call and he was back to the way he’d been the past week or more. It wasn’t just the call that intrigued her. She knew how close he and Rosanna were. She’d been with him a couple of times when he’d rung her to say he’d be late, or to break off some arrangement. He always promised to make it up to her. He’d even spoken of how understanding Rosanna was, compared to his ex. Yet this time, he’d ducked out. Even asked her to make his excuses. It meant only one thing. He didn’t trust himself to tell a convincing lie.

  Back at her desk, she rang the number he’d given her weeks ago, ‘In case of emergencies.’

  Rosanna sounded surprised when Jess passed the message. 'Jamie asked you to call?' But even before Jess could explain she continued. 'Is he alright?'

  'He’s fine. It just that he’s involved in something and can’t get to the phone.' Why the hell am I lying? The silence that followed made Jess wonder if she’d seen through it. 'Rosanna? You still there?'

  'Yes, yes I’m here.' She sounded tired. 'Is he fine Jess? Are you fine?'

  Jess frowned. 'Yes, like I said, it’s just...’ She dipped a toe. 'Why do you ask?'

  'It’s just that, these murders. They are a nasty business, yes?'

  ‘Yes, they are. Very nasty.’

  'And are you- Does it upset you, dealing with a case like this?'

  Jess wondered where the conversation was going. 'Sometimes. But a lot of what we do is upsetting. You know that.'

  'But do they give you the… the pesadelos? How do you say it? The horses of the night?'

  It took Jess a moment. 'You mean nightmares.' Another time Jess would have laughed at her tortured English. But murder and nightmares are no laughing matter. 'No. Some nights I don’t sleep much, but they don’t give me nightmares.' Then she realised Rosanna’s meaning. 'Is Jamie having, nightmares?'

  'There are times… Sometimes he is… troubled.' Jess waited for her to say more. When she didn’t she probed.

  'Tell me Rosanna. I may be able to help.'

  There was another long pause. Eventually she began to speak. For several minutes Jess listened in silence. The more she heard, the more her concern grew. When Rosanna was finished, Jess did her best to sound reassuring.

  'I’m sure it’s just the pressure of the investigation,' she lied. But she was at a loss what to do with her new-found knowledge, what else to say. It wasn’t like they were close friends. 'Look I’ll keep an eye on him at this end. If things don’t look any better in a few days, ring me.'

  'Thank you Jess. I’m so glad there’s someone I can talk to.'

  As Jess hung up the phone, she was more worried than ever.

  Chapter 39

  Jess worked on until everyone else had gone except the night-clerk through in the MIR. He wouldn’t budge unless there was a big break. Alec was last to leave, stowing the discs he’d been watching in the cardboard box with, ‘VIEWED’ scrawled on the side. As he passed he reminded her not to stay too long. 'You look tired,' he said. She promised not to.

  After he’d gone, she checked the rest of the floor - she didn’t want to make the same mistake as Shepherd - before making her way to Carver’s office. She closed the door and switched on the desk light, pulling the lamp right down to minimise spill.

  It took her the best part of twenty minutes to find Megan Crane’s personal folder. Its new hiding place was in one of his filing cabinets – it was locked but she knew where he kept the keys – within a docket marked, ‘Kerry Overtime Returns’. She spent another couple of minutes trawling through it before she found what she was looking for - the sheet of paper she’d seen Shepherd pull out and scrutinise. She scanned down it, ignoring the details she was familiar with. At first she couldn’t see it, and began to wonder if maybe it was her memory playing tricks. But then, right at the bottom, written in pencil, there it was. The name must have lodged in her subconscious and only surfaced when she heard him answer the phone, ‘Angie.’ Beside it was a reference; NCA/RI/0427/PS. She copied it onto a post-it note and put the folder back. Then she turned to his computer and switched it on.

  Ten minutes later, she swallowed hard and clicked on the ‘proceed’ flag. As she did so she tried to ignore the Security Warning – an intimidating black exclamation mark in a yellow circle - and its dire warnings about ‘unauthorised access’ and ‘punishable with imprisonment’. Nor did she
dwell on the possible consequences of hacking into the National Crime Agency Registered Informant Database using Carver’s system-embedded authorities and personal identifiers. It could mean her job. A prison sentence even.

  But after listening to Rosanna, she was determined to get to the root of whatever was troubling him. ‘Angie’ seemed a good place to start.

  That Carver had shared with her his PC boot-up passwords that first week they’d started working together was typical of the trust he placed in those close to him. But she knew he’d only intended it as a contingency. In case he wasn’t around and she needed to access a file-note or something they’d worked on together. It certainly wouldn’t have included her accessing any of the databases and Crime Information Systems that showed on his desktop after she booted up. VICAP? Wasn’t that something to do with the FBI?

  She clicked again. A text-box appeared. ‘Source Registration Number’. She entered the ‘Angie’ reference, hoping she was remembering correctly the demonstration of the NCA Databases – using dummy files of course - she’d witnessed during her Primary Investigator Course. The message that flashed back proclaimed, 'Confidential: Access to Source Handler Only: Authorised NCA User 2192: Enter Password.' An empty text box with a flashing cursor stared back at her.

  She had feared as much. His computer’s built-in permissions and memorised passwords had got her this far, but a final security feature, personal to him, had been added. She would have to gamble. Knowing how most people use the same password for multiple applications, she tried his desktop log-in. The message came back, 'Password not recognised. Please re-enter.' She tried ‘Rosanna’ - a long shot, but worth trying she thought. It didn’t work. She began to worry about how many failed attempts she would be allowed before alarm bells started ringing. It wouldn’t be many.

  As she stared at the screen, she sought inspiration. Who was, ‘Angie’, and why would her name and details be recorded in the Megan Crane file? What connected her with the dominatrix, and the Worshipper Enquiry? He’d first made a name for himself around Manchester. Was that where he knew her from?