He picked up her photograph and, as he had done several times, wondered if she was going to be, The One. She was certainly the most photogenic so far. A perfect picture. If he had only found her years ago, he could really have done something with her; could have made her famous, them both famous. But it was too late for all that now. He had moved onto other things, and if she had been interested in becoming an icon, she’d have done something about it long before now. After all she couldn’t help but be aware of the effect she had on people. Well you never know, he thought, by the time he was finished, maybe she would be an icon, of sorts.
Chapter 42
Carver sat on the sofa, reading by the dim light of the table lamp. It was sometime after one o’clock in the morning. He was alone. It had become a habit.
Rosanna had gone to bed hours ago. As she’d closed her book and risen from her chair, she’d confined herself to a simple, ‘Will you be long?’ before heading up the stairs. She didn’t challenge his promise that he would join her, ‘soon’, though they both knew it was a lie. Carver was grateful. He hated the accusatory looks, the pointed questions inferring something was wrong if he needed to stay up half the night just to keep on top of his statement reading.
He couldn’t say when separate bedtimes had become a habit. The real worry was he was no longer trying to kid himself it was just a temporary thing, brought about by the influx of statements and other gumph that flowed from Corinne Anderson’s murder. The truth was he couldn’t remember the last time he’d brought statements home. Most nights he wasn’t even reading, though tonight he was.
It was the final draft of the Operational Order setting out arrangements for the following night’s op. It ran to twelve pages. If asked, he couldn’t have said how many times he had read it already. Not even just that evening. Double figures somewhere, starting with a ‘2’. As he came again to the section towards the end headed, ‘Debriefing Arrangements,’ he put the papers down and reached for the glass on the table at his shoulder. If the operation got to that point without whatever he was missing becoming apparent, it wouldn’t be critical. But everything before that was.
As he savoured again the single malt’s reassuring mellowness, he was conscious that he was way-passed the point where it was actually aiding his concentration. He knew damned well he’d be better joining Rosanna and beginning again in the morning, refreshed, awake. Only he couldn’t.
He couldn’t be absolutely certain he was missing something, of course. In fact, given the number of people who had poured over the paper as he was now doing and declared themselves, ‘satisfied’, he would have been justified in concluding the opposite. That all the bases had been covered. All the possibilities considered. That the various contingencies catered for within the document were enough to meet every likely, and unlikely, eventuality. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He’d done that once before and been proven wrong. He wasn’t going to let it happen a second time.
Deep down, Carver knew he was wasting his time. ‘Failing to plan - planning to fail’, the saying goes. Only it isn’t always true. With an operation such as this, it simply wasn’t possible to anticipate everything. Too many imponderables. Too much to go wrong. Last time it was as simple as a door lock. Who knows what it might be this time?
Over the last week, Carver had felt the burden of responsibility for keeping Megan Crane safe growing as each day saw some new addition to the, ‘What-if?’ list. At least he knew that this time, if something went wrong, it wouldn’t be a locked bloody door. The debate about how and where they would monitor her session with Cosworth had been lengthy, and at times fractious. In the beginning, she was vehement in not letting them set up their Surveillance Control Point inside the house. But over time, as Carver countered her arguments and dealt with her concerns by pointing out that there was actually only one objective – her safety - she seemed to realise that for once, he wasn’t going to let her have her own way. Eventually she offered one of the attics at the top of the house. He’d have preferred one of the bedrooms on the first floor but, for the sake of keeping her onside, he took it. What she wouldn’t have at any price however, was a camera inside her Playroom. ‘I’m not having you record something that will one day find its way online. And believe me, it will.’ It was a hard argument to counter. The week before a video clip purporting to show a sitting Member of Parliament enjoying the company of two Vietnamese women had gone viral. The tabloids were still making the most of it. ‘You’ll hear straightway if something’s going wrong,’ she said. ‘Besides we’ll agree a safe-word. If I think I’m about to be in any danger, I’ll give it and you can come a-running.’ Despite the misgivings he knew would eat into his sleep, Carver felt he had no choice but to agree.
Now, as the details of the operation’s differing stages meandered through his mind like a running stream, Carver looked forward to whatever time it would be the following night when it would all be over. By then, whatever happened, good or bad, it wouldn’t be fear of the unknown keeping him awake. That said, there was no shortage of other candidates.
Chapter 43
Making his way along the echoing corridor that runs past the public reception area, Carver was going through the to-do list in his head when, from behind, he heard, ‘MR CARVER’ He turned to see Graham Dodd, one of the Volunteer Reception Clerks, hanging out of the door of the reception office. ‘There’s someone here to see you.’ Dodd nodded to indicate behind him in way Carver thought was a bit, over-conspiratorial.
As he retraced his steps, he struggled to think who he knew could be waiting for him at this early an hour. And as he squeezed between the clerk and the door, the older man whispered in his ear.
‘She’s been here since three o’clock. The night staff told her you wouldn’t be in ‘til now, but she said she’d wait.’
Stepping through, Carver saw the slight figure, bundled up in a black parka with the hood pulled low, curled up across a couple of the blue metal seats. He couldn’t see her face. He didn’t need to. The sight brought one word to mind. He whispered it to himself.
‘Shit.’
Ten minutes later Carver returned to his office bearing two coffees, to find her checking out the only photograph he was ever minded to display wherever he worked. It was the one of his Initial Police Training Class. It helps to remember where you come from.
As she turned to take the plastic cup off him, Kayleigh Lee said. ‘You look funny in uniform.’
‘That’s why I went for CID.’
She made a, ‘Ha-ha,’ face, but he didn’t respond to it. She needed to know he wasn’t pleased with her. He made a point of leaving his door wide open, then motioned her to the chair facing his desk. She chose the one to his right instead. He stifled the sigh.
‘Rita’s on her way. She’ll be here soon.’ She pulled a face. ‘It’s no good looking like that. I can’t do anything for you.’
‘You can do something about him.’
‘I can’t make someone be a good father. I deal with criminals’
‘You think he’s not a criminal? I can give you plenty of-’
‘You know that’s not what I mean. I’m not going to see the project fail because your Dad’s done a bit of thieving and drugs in his time.’
‘Whatever. I’m not staying there anymore. They’re all doing my head in.’
‘It’s your home. They’re your family.’
She gave a derisive snort, looked away. He let her stew.
Eventually she turned back. She gave him a defiant stare.
‘I’m not going back.’
‘Where else will you go?’
‘Dunno. But not there.’
‘You’re fifteen. You can’t live on your own.’
‘I’ve been living on my own all my life. I’ll be a lot better off without them all round my neck.’
Carver met her gaze, saying nothing. Inside he felt guilty. She was so right.
Suddenly she smiled. ‘I’ve got an idea.’
‘What?’
‘I could come and live with you.’
He didn’t return the smile.
He hoped Rita wouldn’t be long.
‘I did warn you.’ The look in Rita Arogundade’s face wasn’t sympathetic. ‘At her age they can be really clever, and really dangerous. Now she’s seeing you as the person who can take her away from all the crap in her life.’
Carver looked round. They were in the canteen, the far corner table. He kept his voice low. ‘Bloody hell, Rita. You make it sound like I’ve been grooming her or something.’ ‘Have you?’
Carver froze, like he’d been slapped. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means men like you aren’t good at dealing with girls like her. That’s why you get in trouble. You’re all too naïve.’
‘Naïve? I’m a fucking DCI for God’s sake. I deal with murderers, rapists and robbers. How can I be naive?’
Rita gave a self-satisfied look. ‘How many of those rapists, murderers and robbers were fifteen-year old girls?’
He saw her point. ‘Right. That settles it. As from now I’m off the project. You’ll have to find someone else.’
‘That’s not the answer.’
‘It is for me.’
‘But not for the Lees, and not for Kayleigh. You’re the only cop I’ve met prepared to support what we’re trying to do. You’re the only reason Kayleigh hasn’t gone before. If you go, Kayleigh will go, and that will be that. I need you to stay on board’
‘How will that work? You’ve more or less just said it’s my fault she sees me as her white knight.’
‘I didn’t say it was your fault. I just said you were naïve.’
He threw his hands in the air. ‘Oh, right. So I just carry on do I? And how’s that supposed to work when there’s a chance I walk into a room one day and find her waiting for me, naked?’
‘You don’t encourage her. You stay professional.’
‘I haven’t been encouraging her. I’ve never encouraged her.’
‘Like I said, you might think you haven’t. Sometimes all you’ve got to do is give the wrong sort of smile at the wrong time. Hormones do the rest. It’s nothing new. Teachers deal with it all the time.’
‘Well I’m glad I’m not a bloody teacher.’
Rita almost smiled. They drank their coffee.
Eventually Carver said, ‘So what do we do?’
Rita put her mug down. ‘I’ll speak to her. She’ll go back.’
‘How can you be sure? What if she refuses?’
‘She won’t.’
‘How do you know?’
‘This was just a test, that’s all. When she realises it hasn’t worked she’ll accept it. Deep down she loves her family and actually wants to help them, though God alone knows why.’
Carver nodded. He sat back in his chair, relieved. ‘I’m glad you’re involved Rita. We need someone like you.’
Rita stood up. ‘Just one thing.’
‘What?’
‘It won’t stop for a while yet. Eventually Kayleigh will get over you and grow up. Until then, be on your guard.’
‘Great.’
Carver and Jess watched from the window as Rita’s car, with Kayleigh in the passenger seat turned out the gate. As it headed away down Arpley Street, Carver heaved a sigh of relief.
‘Thank God for that. I don’t know which is worse, dealing with a fifteen-year-old girl, or someone like Megan Crane.’
Jess turned to him. ‘Any other time, I’d say the fifteen-year-old. In Megan’s case I’m not so sure.’
Carver checked her. ‘Why’d you say that?’ For a moment he thought she was about to tell him something.
‘Nothing really. Just instinct.’
Carver waited to see if something else was coming. It didn’t. ‘Well if your instincts are right, then we’ve got no chance. I’m struggling enough with Kayleigh.’
Jess gave a half smile. ‘She seems like a nice kid.’ She had stayed with Kayleigh while Carver met with Rita.
‘That’s the problem. She is.’
Chapter 44
Cosworth arrived at the Poplars at seven-fifteen, as he’d been instructed. He parked his Porsche next to Megan’s Mercedes soft-top before walking up to the front door and ringing the bell. Megan kept him waiting some minutes before admitting him. Carver watched from the confines of the Control Van secreted in her oversized garage. It nearly hadn’t happened at all.
Up to thirty minutes before, Caver had been close to calling an abort on the whole operation. Late in the afternoon they’d had to abandon their plan to locate in the attic they’d agreed on earlier when the tech guys finally gave up trying to identify the source of the interference blocking the wireless signal needed to establish the vital coms link. ‘Must be something in the material used in the house’s construction,’ the senior of the pair finally reported to a frustrated Carver. By then he’d already put out the call for an Ops Control Vehicle. He’d seen the changes in the faces of the two men as the afternoon wore on and the various bits of kit they ferried in and out of the house failed to sort the problem. It was sheer luck that a suitable vehicle came free only in the afternoon when a planned Drugs Squad op didn’t run because the intended subject had got himself knifed the night before. But it was close to six when it finally rolled up the Poplars’ drive. Carver breathed a sigh of relief when its roof proved just low enough to fit under the garage’s up-and-over door. It meant demoting Megan’s Merc to the driveway for the night, but that would mean nothing to Cosworth. The tech guys rescued some of their credibility by getting the links up and running just as Carver was beginning to think he’d have to call a halt after all. The OCV wasn’t as convenient – or roomy – as the attic would have been, but it was recently refurbished, and more comfortable than many he’d sat in for hours on end. It even had a water geyser for hot drinks.
But in the few minutes to spare before Cosworth’s arrival, and as the rest of the team took up their designated positions and settled themselves – Jess, Shepherd and a Coms man in the van with Carver, the rest at strategic points around the house and its approach - Carver was conscious that he’d already failed in his first objective. The attic would have meant no external doors between him and Megan which might, by some unforeseen quirk, end up locked.
An hour later, as the ‘thwack’ of leather on skin issued through the speaker, Carver didn’t let the responses of those present distract him from his mission. From the moment Cosworth crossed the threshold, Carver had focused on maintaining a mental picture of what was happening within. If the moment came they had to act quickly, he didn’t want to have to waste time thinking about the wheres and hows. Despite his focus, the others’ reactions still registered.
Jess was least affected. She’d had the benefit of hearing Megan describe how she intended to run the session and knew what to expect, more or less. Still, Carver sensed her discomfort. It couldn’t be easy maintaining a dispassionate calm while listening in to her first, ‘live’ Sub-Dom session in the company of three men.
Shepherd’s responses on the other hand, like the night in the restaurant, were overblown. Early in proceedings, his ‘harrumphing’ seemed intended to signal his low regard for what they were witnessing, as well as the people involved. But once Megan moved the action to her Playroom, the tone of the session became darker, more ‘hard-core’. Since then Shepherd’s expressions of disgust had begun to sound increasingly forced. What did he expect for God’s sake? Soft music and romance?
The fourth van-dweller was a DC by the name of Owen Williams. Owen was as experienced as any Op Controller Carver knew. Yet even the normally unflappable Welshman was struggling to remain unfazed by the bizarre sounds emanating from the console in front of him. ‘Bugger me,’ was his earthy response to witnessing Megan Crane’s transformation from wary-but-willing ‘bait’, to full-on paddle-wielding Dominatrix.
Carver was conscious of something else. Jess was definitely giving Shepherd the silent treatment.
No eye contact either. It seemed he wasn’t alone in having ‘issues’ with his fellow SIO. It was only the second time he’d been in Shepherd’s company since he’d seen Angie, and was having to work at not giving anything away. But he didn’t want anything to break until he’d heard back from the former Superintendent and ex-colleague he’d spoken with at the NCA. He hoped it would be soon. He was already wondering about his decision to not say anything to The Duke. Nevertheless, he took some pleasure from the fact that with his gangly frame, Shepherd was suffering the van’s cramped confines more than the rest of them. Seeing Jess going through the scarlet-covered Operational Order for ‘Operation Chaperone’ prompted him to enquire again about the matter that wouldn’t go away.
‘You definitely told her to make sure to leave the back door unlocked?'
Jess shot him an impatient look. 'You’ve asked me that already. Several times. She knows. Stop worrying.'
Carver returned to his listening.
The scene being played out in Megan Crane’s ‘Playroom’ was based around the stern headmistress/naughty schoolboy fantasy, common in the SM world. Megan was clearly familiar with it and had slipped easily into her role, dispensing verbal humiliations and chastisements that fitted perfectly. She had a way of making even the most mundane transgression sound like a capital offence.
'Look at my floor, you miserable worm. You’ve scuffed it. When I told you to crawl to me I didn’t tell you to ruin my floor did I?'
'No Mistress. I’m sorry Mistress. Would Mistress like me to clean it up?'
'You’ll clean it up alright, but first you need to be punished. Bend over. Drop your trousers.'
'Yes Mistress.' The clink of a belt-buckle spoke of his compliance.
Over the next few minutes, as Megan had continued to verbally abuse her ‘pupil’ Carver struggled to interpret the string of background noises that accompanied her admonishments. Shuffles, footsteps, bangs, heavy breathing, groans, clinks and clunks all spoke to activity taking place. Carver tried but failed to visualise what was happening. He looked across at Jess. She returned an empty shrug. No idea! Eventually, bit by bit, the noises died away, becoming fainter until they seemed to stop altogether. Inside the van an eerie silence descended as everyone held their breath. After several seconds a loud ‘click’ was followed by the sound of a door, opening, then closing.
Last Gasp Page 20
