Last Gasp

by Robert F Barker

  Nothing came.

  She thought on what she knew of him. Carver wasn’t a techie. He had little time for computers, and only used his mobile’s features as much as he needed to. He wouldn’t be good with passwords. She could easily imagine him paying little or no attention to the regular implorings from the IT people about the, ‘absolute necessity,’ for proper password management. In which case… She cast her eyes over and round his desk. No out-of-sight sticky notes. Nothing taped to the side of the monitor or the computer. She cast wider, turning in his chair as she gazed about his office. He wouldn’t want to have to leave his chair each time…

  She checked the cork notice board by the door. Nothing there. Next, the bookcase behind his desk. Nothing obvious. She turned to his white board, ran her eyes over its familiar details. At first nothing jumped out at her, but then, about to move on she spotted something. A single word, written in green in the bottom right corner. No dotted lines or arrows connected it to anything else. In the dim light she had to lean forward to make it out. WentWorth29

  To begin with, it meant nothing, then her heart did a little skip as she remembered. Churchill Wentworth was the name of the Ancoats Rapist. Carver’s first serial sex offender. And she wouldn’t mind betting he was twenty-nine or thereabouts when he was convicted. She turned back to the screen. Typed it into the box, just as it showed on the board, hit ‘enter’.

  'Yesss.'

  The screen it brought up was headed, ‘Personal Details’. And there was a photograph. She started noting details in the notebook she’d made sure to bring with her.

  Her name back then was Angela Kendrick, since changed to Anna Kirkham. She was in her thirties, born Manchester, now living in Leeds. The photograph showed an attractive, mixed race woman with mid-length dark hair and a slim face. But there was an edge to her, a certain hardness. ‘Prostitute’ Jess thought, conscious she was stereotyping terribly. At the bottom of the screen was a ‘next’ flag. She clicked on it. A page headed ‘Informant History’ contained paragraphs of text, all timed and dated, all attributed to Carver. She began to read.

  She’d been right. Angie was, or had been, a prostitute. The early entries related to the Ancoats Rapist enquiry and detailed the information she provided to Carver about the drug-dealer/pimp, Wentworth, who was eventually convicted of the crimes. The entries also showed details of the Informant Payments that had been made to her.

  The other entries, two years later, concerned the Edmund Hart, ‘Escort’ killings.

  Jess was familiar with the case. Anyone around at the time would be. She’d still been in her probation when they started and people were always referring to them, for one reason or another, on the many training courses she attended. The investigation into the murders of seven high-class, ‘Escorts’ - for some reason, people shied away from calling them prostitutes - beaten, sometimes smothered but mostly stabbed to death around the North West was one of the biggest of its kind. Since then, much had been said and written about the enquiry, and the man - Hart - who was convicted of all but one of the killings. More was said after he was found hung in his prison cell, just when it seemed the police might be getting close to the truth about the outstanding case. Much was also written about the intuitive Detective Inspector who brought Hart to book.

  It was one of the first, ‘live’ enquiries to take place under the full glare of the media spotlight. A TV production company was just starting on a documentary about the Longsight CID when the fourth murder occurred in the district. Overnight, the film-makers ditched their original - hidden - agenda, which was to expose the racism reported to be rampant amongst certain elements within the force’s CID, in favour of following the investigation ‘fly-on-the-wall’ style.

  The completed series gave due recognition to the man who led the enquiry in all but name during its final six months, and the last three murders. Before Carver’s arrival, fresh from his stint with the National Crime Faculty’s Operation Chain-Link, things had stalled and seemed to be going nowhere. Carver was credited with turning it around.

  Now, as she read of Angie’s involvement, Jess saw some of how he’d done it. He had someone working on the ‘inside’.

  By then Angie had come up in the world, operating from a smart apartment in the fashionable Salford Quays area. An entry described her as, 'one of the area’s higher-class escorts’ There was reference to her specialising in, ‘fetish’. Jamie had taken her on as a, ‘Special Advisor’, guiding him and his team through the shadowy world of the paid escort. It wasn’t clear if he’d approached her, or the other way round. The record showed that for several months she’d worked almost on a salaried basis, receiving regular payments of several hundred pounds - a thousand in one case. Jess wondered what she’d done to earn such sums. The last few entries were even more revealing.

  Angie had been contacted, several times, by a man calling himself Eddie, who seemed eager to meet her. A ‘session’ was arranged, but something went wrong – the report didn’t say what - and Edmund Hart was arrested in the act of attacking her. The record wasn’t clear on the point but the wording made Jess suspect he’d raped her, maybe other things as well. Forensic matched up rope-fibres and wounds on the victim’s bodies, with the assortment of restraints, knives and hammers found in the bag Hart had with him. He pleaded guilty to all but one of the killings, though everyone knew he was connected, in some way, with it. There was speculation about a second killer, but it was never proven.

  Angela Kendrick was well-rewarded for her assistance, and the risks she’d taken. The last entry referred to a one-off payment of five thousand pounds, and her being given a new name and re-housed in Leeds. The final entry was her new name, and an address.

  Jess shook her head. It was clear now why Jamie seemed so at home with some of the more bizarre aspects of the Worshipper Killings. He had seen it all before, been close to it. How close, she wondered? The entries were simply a record of a handler’s dealings with his source. But they mentioned covert operations where she and Carver had worked closely together, much as they were now doing with Megan Crane. And Angie only ever dealt with Jamie.

  Jess sat back, pondering. She had learned much, but still didn’t know what lay behind Angie’s call, or why he’d had to rush off. There was any number of possibilities. Some she preferred not to think about.

  Checking she had all the information she needed, she clicked on ‘Close Record’, logged out of the various systems and closed down. Gathering her notes, she switched off the desk-light and left the office, remembering to leave the door open.

  Chapter 40

  As the door opened and he saw the face that was once so familiar, Carver felt a pang of regret. The exotic beauty that once was, was no more. In her place was an unremarkable, though still attractive, woman whose understated appearance proclaimed what she now was. A working mum. But even as he took in the crows’ feet around the eyes, the ever-so slightly worn-out look, he could still detect the traces of the woman for whose services certain men – usually those with money and power - had once been willing to part with large sums. It triggered the thought of what might still lie, stashed away in some cupboard somewhere, followed, immediately, by a rush of guilt for even thinking that way. Ashamed, he banished the feeling of disappointment, replacing it with the fervent hope that she was happy with her new life, the reason for his visit apart.

  'Hi,' He said.

  Angie Kendrick returned him the slightly-knowing smile she’d always liked to use when she wanted to unsettle him, as if she’d guessed what had flashed through his mind.

  'Thanks for coming. Come in.'

  In the cramped hallway, there was a moment’s awkwardness. He made to kiss her on the cheek, but she misread it and turned towards him so he had to pull away quickly as their lips met. At the same time her fingers brushed, briefly, against his. Then she was leading him through into the living room, urging him to sit while she put the kettle on.

  'What? No Cointreau?'

  'I
’m sorry,' she said. 'Would you prefer…?'

  'I’m teasing. Coffee’s fine.'

  He looked around, taking in the simple furnishings, the toy boxes, the children’s DVDs under the TV. Above the fireplace were several photographs of Jason. He homed in on the latest. It showed him head thrown back, laughing. It looked to have been taken in a park somewhere. Even out in the sun, his dark features stood out. Like his father. Either way.

  'Where is he then?' He was conscious of a feeling like nothing he’d experienced before.

  Her head popped round the kitchen door. 'He’s stopping over with Debbie, my business partner. I thought it best.' She gave a wan smile. Please understand.

  She came back in with two mugs, handed him one. He smiled at the cartoon animals on the side. She read his thoughts, and smiled also. For several seconds neither spoke. He took a deep breath.

  'So. How you doing?'

  Over the next several minutes they caught up with each other’s lives. He asked after her, the nursery and, of course, Jason. She told him they were all fine, about how she’d gained her Nursery Attendant’s NVQ Level Three and used it to set up the business with Debbie, who she’d met at ante-natal classes.

  He marvelled. Five years ago he could never have imagined… Then he remembered. She was no longer that person.

  She told him how well Jason was doing, how bright he was. 'Just like his Dad!' He ignored it, though he could hear the pride and love in her voice. She, at least, had no doubts. She mentioned Rob.

  'Rob?'

  'My boyfriend. He’s divorced.'

  He wasn’t sure how to react so said nothing.

  She seemed to sense his awkwardness.

  'He’s nice. You’d like him.'

  'Is it serious?'

  She nodded. ‘I think so.’

  He forced himself to relax. She deserved it. 'I’m glad.'

  She asked how he was doing and, tentatively, about Rosanna. He lied of course, telling her he was fine, then more truthfully how he and Rosanna were still together. He left out the 'but'.

  'That’s nice. How long is it now? Three years?'

  He nodded, drank his coffee. Time to move on.

  'Tell me what happened.'

  She took a deep breath, and began. Shepherd’s story was that he was working on the Worshipper Case. She’d remembered hearing about it on the news, but not much. It was away the other side of the Pennines. But it had crossed her mind that Carver might be involved. Shepherd had said he’d been ordered to resurrect her, so she could assist the enquiry through her, 'specialised knowledge of this sort of thing.'

  Carver was aghast. He could barely believe the man would be so stupid. Strict rules govern approaching a dormant informant, the first being that the original handler has to be consulted before any approach. But Carver knew what he was trying to do. Conscious of the role Megan Crane was playing, Shepherd was after an ‘inside’ source of his own. But that he should try to get one this way, wasn’t just against the rules. It was unethical, dangerous, and, potentially, fatal to the investigation. Curious, he asked how Shepherd had tracked her down. She could only repeat what he had told her. Someone ‘high up’ had passed him her details. She’d known he was lying, right off.

  As he listened, Carver remembered how Jess had caught Shepherd rifling his office. Even so, he was puzzled. The only place Angie’s details were recorded was the NCA Intelligence System. Either Shepherd had accessed the database, or someone with high-level access had passed him her details. Either way he would need to follow it up. He let her carry on.

  To begin with she’d tried to blank him, referring him back to Carver, saying she would only speak to him. But he had given her some story about Carver being ‘unwell’ and no longer in charge of things. He told her he’d been appointed her new handler.

  Carver shook his head. 'How the hell did he ever think he would get away with it?' he muttered, as much to himself as her.

  ‘I got the impression he assumed that because of… what I used to do, I would be too scared to argue, or do anything.’

  ‘Hmm. Maybe.’ In which case he couldn’t be more wrong.

  'There’s more,' she said. She became sombre. 'When I held out, he became threatening. He said I had no choice and that if I didn’t cooperate, people would hear about the past. He said he knew what happened between you and me, and that if I didn’t help him it would all come out. You would lose your job and I would lose the flat, the business, and Jason.' She hesitated and her eyes glistened. 'He said Rob would find out.'

  'He doesn’t know?'

  She shook her head. 'There was no reason to tell him. Was there?'

  He hesitated. 'No. None at all.'

  Carver was fuming. Shepherd had used the oldest tactic in the book to squeeze a woman. Threaten her family. He put the question as gently as he could.

  'Did he say, what he knew? About us, I mean?'

  'Not specifically, but-' She hesitated again. She would know how difficult this was for him. 'He said he knew we’d got involved. That Hart might have got off if it had come out during the trial.'

  The knot in Carver’s stomach doubled in size. He forced himself to stay calm.

  'He said something about you having a bad time of it afterwards. That you’d been referred for counselling, or something. He asked me why.'

  'Did you tell him?' He hardly dared ask. Her look told him he shouldn’t have.

  'I just told him you’d had some problems. The pressure of the case, that sort of thing.'

  'Did he believe it?'

  She shook her head. 'He said I was protecting you. That unless I told him everything it would all come out. He kept saying I had no choice and that as my new handler he needed to know it all. He gave me a week to think about it, then he’d be back.'

  Carver pondered on it. There was enough there to sink Shepherd, and then some. But he wasn’t sure that was best for either of them right now. He needed to think it through.

  'Is it true?'

  'What?'

  'About the counselling thing?'

  He smiled, weakly. 'After it was over, I saw someone a few times. Then I went back to work. Not long after I met Rosanna. That was all the therapy I needed.'

  She nodded. 'Do you ever…?'

  'It’s in the past. I’m over it. Unfortunately it looks like some people would like to think I’m not.'

  'But what about what happened… at the end of the trial? Do you ever think about that?'

  The curtain in his mind stirred. He managed to keep it shut, but a darkness fell.

  'Sometimes. At night mainly.' He was quiet for a while, but then made an effort and brightened a little, for her sake. 'Whatever he said, whatever threats he made, Hart’s dead Angie. He can’t get at you now. You’re safe.'

  'But what about Shepherd? Can he harm you, us?'

  He was amazed how she could still be concerned about him when her own, new life, was under threat. Then he remembered how things once were. He recalled The Duke’s words. 'He sees you as the opposition. Watch your back.' Until now, he’d not realised the scale of Shepherd’s ambition.

  'That depends on what he knows,' he said.

  For several minutes they sat in silence. He leaned across, took her hand. He rubbed his thumb along her knuckles.

  'I’m sorry. This shouldn’t have happened.'

  'It’s not your fault.' She forced a smile.

  Suddenly she gathered herself, and sat up straight, clasping her hands in her lap.

  'So. What do we do?' She said it as if she expected him to have the answer at his fingertips. For a brief moment, he caught a glimpse of the old Angie. Haughty, self-assured. An image from the past floated into his brain. He thrust it aside.

  'Right now, ' he said, 'You don’t do anything. I’ll deal with Gary Shepherd.'

  Chapter 41

  Megan Crane sat on the edge of her sofa. She was bristling.

  'I’m telling you. It won’t work. It doesn’t happen like that.'

  Car
ver took in the flashing eyes, the colour that had come into her cheeks. This wasn’t going to be easy. He glanced at Jess next to him, but she was staying tight-lipped, keeping out of the debate. He was on his own.

  Megan was right of course. Even he knew that no Dom would allow herself to be exposed during a first session in the way he was suggesting. But time was against them. They either needed to get something on Cosworth, or eliminate him. He needed to show that he understood her concerns.

  'You’re right Megan. I’m sure that it would normally take three, maybe four sessions before you’d trust a partner well enough.' She granted him a slight nod, acknowledging his grasp of things. It was a start. 'But these aren’t normal circumstances and this isn’t a normal session. You’re never going to have a relationship with Cosworth. We just need to see how he reacts if he’s given a chance to top you. Remember we’re trying to stop people getting killed.'

  She looked into her glass, swirling ice. They waited.

  'What about the others I told you about?' she said. 'Where are you up to with them?'

  Carver spread his hands. 'We’ve looked at them, but they all seem to live exemplary lives.' He paused before adding, 'At least they do until they meet you.'

  The look she shot him reminded him he still needed to be careful.

  'And Maurice?'

  'Same story. We’ve been watching him since the night at No12, but he’s not shown interest in anything else apart from you’

  She fell silent, out of questions. Eventually, she said, 'If I go with it… Where will you be?'

  ‘Twenty seconds away. Maximum.’

  She fixed her gaze on him. ‘Shall we make that ten?’

  As he re-read the letter, William Cosworth’s excitement mounted. At their first meeting he hadn’t been sure if she was being straight about seeing him again, which was why he’d taken her address. But now here it was. A letter inviting, no, demanding his presence the evening after tomorrow. Just enough time for him to prepare. He didn’t expect things would fall into place so quickly, but there was no harm in being prepared - just in case.