Last Gasp

by Robert F Barker

  'What’s happening?' Shepherd said. Carver shook his head, frowning. Moments before, Megan Crane had been berating Cosworth, telling him it was time to step up his punishment.

  'Come over here,' they’d heard her say. 'I’m going to make sure you are properly restrained.' It had been followed by the sound of buckles and straps, being made ready. But now it had gone quiet.

  For a full minute the group strained to listen. But while they could still hear sounds of movement, conversation had ceased.

  'What’s she doing?' Jess said.

  Then the noises began again. More buckles and straps. Heavy breathing. Then Megan’s voice, but in the background, indistinct.

  'Anyone catch that?' Carver asked. They all shook their heads.

  It had now been several minutes since Megan’s running commentary had stopped. Carver turned to Owen Williams. 'We’re dual-recording aren’t we?' Owen nodded. 'Rewind the copy to when it went quiet.'

  Owen’s face registered his concern. 'But it’ll invalidate-.'

  'Do it.'

  It took Owen a couple of attempts to find the right spot, but eventually he hit the ‘play’ button. Megan’s voice, harsh and brittle, sounded over the loudspeaker.

  '…need more severe punishment. Come over here. I’m going to make sure you are properly restrained.'

  'There.' Carver jabbed a finger at the point where things went quiet. After several seconds’ silence he said, 'Run it through again, Owen. But turn the volume right up.'

  Owen complied and they listened again. But this time they heard something, just before things went quiet. A faint squeal, like a cry of surprise, cut short. It was followed by grunting and quick and heavy breathing, followed by something that sounded like the thud of something hitting the floor. Carver rose out of his seat.

  'Come forward, to where we hear her again.'

  Owen cued the tape. For a moment, there was the noise they’d listened to, movement and heavy breathing. Then Megan’s voice, slurred, but recognisable.

  'Wha… What are you doing?' It was followed by a muffled, 'Mmmphhgghh.'

  'Oh Jesus,' Jess said, realising. But before she could do anything, Carver’s arm shot out and his finger hit the ‘transmit’ button.

  ‘FROM GOLD. ABORT-CODE-RED. STRIKE-STRIKE-STRIKE.’

  Then he turned, kicked the van doors open, and leaped out into the darkness.

  Chapter 45

  Jess was last out of the van. By the time she exited the garage through the back door Carver and Shepherd were already out of sight. Around her, shouts echoed through the trees, shadowy figures crashed through the undergrowth. It was too dark to make anyone out, but she knew the other teams would be rushing to take up their containment positions. House Entry was the Van Team’s responsibility.

  At the back of the house she found the kitchen door wide open, light spilling into the garden. Two men she recognised as Blue Team hovered by the far corner of the house. One raised an arm.

  ‘What’s going off?’

  'Stay there,' she said.

  She ran into the kitchen, and almost collided with Shepherd, coming from the passage to the Playroom. There was a panicked look in his face. Behind him came Alec Duncan.

  'In there,' he shouted, indicating back over his shoulder. He disappeared through the door to the hallway, Alec following.

  The Playroom door was open and she dashed in just as Carver dropped the ball-gag he had taken from Megan Crane’s mouth. He shot a glance at Jess then set to undoing the ropes binding her to the post that was set in the middle of the floor. Jess swept her gaze round the room. There was no sign of Cosworth. Megan appeared semi-conscious, head lolling from side to side. Jess rushed to support her as Carver worked on the ropes. She sniffed the air, winced.

  ‘Chloroform,’ Carver said.

  One arm round Megan’s shoulders, she reached out to undo the rope around her wrists that went to the hook in the ceiling from which her arms were suspended.

  ‘Careful with her hands,’ he warned. ‘They’ve been super-glued.’

  As Carver and Alec came back through into Megan Crane’s comfortable lounge, Alec was radioing Carver’s instructions back to Owen, still in the van. Carver looked across to where Jess was sitting next to Megan on the sofa, helping her drink from the steaming mug she was holding to her mouth. Megan’s hands, still joined, rested in the bowl of soapy water in her lap.

  Jess set the mug down and drew Megan’s gown around her. Her corset wasn’t made for sitting or sofas and her breasts kept threatening to spill out. But she was too drowsy to be concerned and Jess was glad she was on hand to preserve her dignity. She had seen the way Shepherd kept sneaking sly looks as he offered advice on how to work the glue apart. When did he become an expert?

  She threw Carver a questioning look, but he shook his head, looking glum.

  'Not a sign,' he said. 'The dog-handlers have done a sweep round the house but the only tracks they’re picking up are ours. Nothing heading away yet.'

  She checked with Alec. 'What about Nine-Nine?' Hotel-Victor-Nine-Nine was the call-sign for the force helicopter.

  Moving the radio from his ear, Alec shook his head.

  'They got halfway here but had to turn back. Cloud cover’s too low.'

  'Fuck,' Carver said. Not only was luck against them this night, so was the weather. The helicopter’s infra-red camera would have been their best chance of locating a heat source. Without it, or a track, the chances of finding someone in the dark were next to non-existent.

  'I’ll go see how they’re getting on outside,' Alec said, and left the room.

  'How’s she doing?' Carver said.

  'Coming round. Give her a minute.'

  As he stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the carpet. Jess could tell that beneath the calm exterior, he was beside himself. Not only had they nearly lost Megan, but Cosworth had somehow, unbelievably, got away. She’d seen the anxiety in him as they were untying her and she’d had to shout at him to stop slapping her face, telling him that she would come out of it on her own. It was the closest she’d ever seen him to panicking, as if he thought she wasn’t going to wake up. Eventually she told him to leave Megan to her and to go and help the others. He’d done so reluctantly, turning at the door, a tortured look on his face, before disappearing.

  She assumed it was because he’d have to explain how, and why, things had gone so wrong. In particular, how they’d missed Cosworth. She still couldn’t understand it. He must have been in the act of tying Megan when the abort was given. Even if he’d heard their approach – unlikely, given that the room was pretty much soundproof – she couldn’t see how he’d-.

  Megan took a deep breath and sat up, signalling her reviving. Carver pulled a chair over and waited as Jess helped her drink more coffee. When he spoke his voice was full of concern.

  'How are you feeling? Can you tell us what happened?'

  She lifted her head. 'I… I’m not sure. I turned away from him for a moment and the next thing, I felt something over my face and there was this horrible smell.'

  'Chloroform,' Jess said.

  Megan nodded. 'The next thing I couldn’t move and my hands were… were…' She looked down. 'My God, he was going to kill me.' Her shoulders racked and she fell against Jess. Carver looked anguished. Almost at once she rallied, fighting to re-establish her trademark self-control. Carver gave her a few minutes. She pulled at her hands and after a couple of tries and with Jess’s help, winced as they came apart. Jess handed her a towel.

  'Was there any sign of it coming?' Carver said. 'Any change in behaviour?'

  She shook her head, at the same time checking out the fiery marks to her palms. 'He was a classic submissive. No aggression. No anger. Before he turned, I’d have said you were on the wrong track, completely. I can’t believe I didn’t see through him.'

  'I guess this knocks the blond woman theory into a cocked hat then?'

  They turned. Shepherd was standing by the door, wearing a superior
look. Carver tensed and stood up.

  'Blond woman?' Megan said. 'Jess mentioned something about a woman the other day.' She looked at Carver. 'What does he mean?'

  'Just a possible lead we were following up,' he said, glaring at Shepherd. 'It looks now like it may have been a red-herring.'

  Jess thought that if he were a cockerel he’d be crowing.

  'Well, I’ve no time for red-herrings. I’ve got a killer to catch.' He threw Carver a loaded look. 'I’ll leave you to look after Ms Crane. We wouldn’t want anything else to happen to our prime witness now would we?' He flashed a last, smug smile, then left.

  Conceited prick, Jess thought.

  'What happens now?' Megan said, turning to Carver.

  'We’re putting everything into finding Cosworth. We’ve got his car and his flat’s being watched. He’ll surface.'

  'And what do I do?'

  'Tomorrow, Jess will take a full statement from you. In the meantime, you need a good night’s sleep.' He hesitated before adding, 'I’m putting a guard on your house until Cosworth’s caught.' The way he said it, Jess could tell that he was ready to rebuff any objection from Megan. But for once she didn’t argue.

  'Alright. But I don’t feel like staying here tonight. I’ll have to-.'

  'You can stay with me,' Jess said. 'I’ve got a spare room in my flat.'

  'Thanks Jess. I’d like that.'

  Carver checked his watch. 'I need to see how things are going.' He turned to Jess. 'If there’re no other developments, I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.' He bid them goodnight and left.

  As he made his way through the kitchen he heard her call, ‘Jamie?’ He stopped and turned to see her coming up on him. She stopped, close. In her boots, her face was level with his.

  'Jess said it was you who realised… If it had been any later…' She gave a shudder.

  He started to say something, but she put a finger to his lips.

  'You saved my life Jamie. Thank you.'

  Before he could do or say anything she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. At the same time, she closed her eyes and rested her hands on his chest. Her tongue found his, flicked it, lightly. Caught off guard, his hands rose, instinctively, to the level of her shoulders. His head swam as he took in her beauty up close, breathed in the musky fragrance that was still tainted by the chemical that had rendered her unconscious. Then as suddenly as the kiss had come, she broke it.

  Throwing him one last smile of thanks she turned and, without another word, headed back to Jess.

  It took Carver a minute or two to recover his composure. When he did he turned towards the back door. It was still wide open, light spilling out into the garden. At its extremity, he just caught the tall figure as it stepped back into the bushes, out of sight. From where he’d been standing he’d have had an uninterrupted view into the kitchen.

  Carver stood in the doorway and drew a deep lungful of clear, night air.

  'Fuck You, Gary,' he muttered, and went in search of his team.

  Chapter 46

  Julie Millar stopped outside Carver’s office, checked both ways – no one in sight – then put her ear to the door. She thought she could hear voices, but they were low, tinny, like a recording. She knew the closed door meant, ‘Keep Out’. But there was no chance. Something was wrong. She needed to know what. He’d looked awful when she’d caught a glimpse of him early that morning heading up the back stairs. His face and her instincts told her that Operation Chaperone had not gone to plan. Within the hour she was proved right. She’d heard more since. None of it sounded good.

  Julie was the station’s Admin. Support Unit Manager. An efficient, well-groomed woman in her late forties, she was the nearest thing Carver had to a PA, though she provided similar support to the other senior detectives who made up the hierarchy of the Northern Area CID. The arrangement suited her. It took her away from the dross most days and meant she was better informed about things than most of the station’s forty-odd support staff. But of the half dozen who relied on her to keep their schedules up to date and tidy up their reports, Carver was her favourite.

  She’d never quite worked out why. He could be a grumpy sod at times, and she knew him enough to suspect he wasn’t easy to live with. She’d heard people speak of a ‘dark side’, mentions of ‘traits’ that some women might find objectionable. But he’d always treated her with respect, and for a detective he was disarmingly polite. Unlike the others he never patronised her, and she enjoyed the sense of humour that was often so subtle her staff missed it. Like the occasions she knew he was flirting with her, but only because she could see his eyes. It helped that he always seemed to fall for the most interesting cases. The last few weeks she’d been preparing the Orders for the Chaperone Operations. The one for last night had been particularly enlightening. The clincher was that, again unlike the others, he demonstrated his thanks every now and then. And she was a sucker for chocolate. It was for these reasons she had never breached any of the confidences he sometimes shared with her. She wondered if he needed to share any now.

  The word was Chaperone had gone down the toilet. According to the rumours, the Crane woman – the Order’s ‘Principle’ - had nearly died, while the ‘Subject’ - Cosworth - had done a runner. In just the last half-hour she’d heard talk it was Carver’s fault. Julie was versed in office politics. It hadn’t escaped her that the rumours began circulating only after Gary Shepherd booked on. As astute as any detective, she had sensed the antipathy between the pair long ago, though she suspected it was housed more in Shepherd, than Carver. But while her inclination was to spring to his defence, she didn’t know enough to deny any of the whispers that were spreading.

  Straightening herself she took one last look around. As was her habit, she rapped once on the door and walked straight in.

  He was sitting at his desk, staring at his computer screen. It looked like he was watching something – a video - which explained the voices. His head was resting in the palm of one hand. He looked pissed off, and like he hadn’t slept. As she approached he did something with the mouse so that whatever was playing stopped. He also turned the screen slightly so she couldn’t see it. Leaning across, she placed the morning post she’d made a point of going looking for, in his in-tray.

  'Thanks Jules.' He was as distant as she’d ever seen him.

  'Bad night?' She tried to make it sound casual.

  A rueful look crossed his face. 'What’s the word?'

  'Oh… Just that last night’s op went tits-up. Your man got away. You were i/c.'

  He nodded, not denying it. But she saw the simmering anger, and wondered who it was directed against. Himself?

  'Anything I can do?'

  For the first time he looked up at her.

  God, you look awful.

  'You can keep me informed about what the jungle drums are saying, if you like.'

  'Will do… boss.' As she added the redundant reference that defined their relationship, she made sure he saw the playful half-smile. He looked like he could do with something to cheer him up. She made to leave.

  'Jules.'

  She turned.

  'Thanks.'

  This time she made sure the smile was as sparkly as she could make it, before closing the door behind her.

  Out in the corridor, Julie stood with her hand on the door knob, thinking about what, if anything, she could do. She looked down the corridor towards the main CID office. It was unusually quiet for that time of the morning. That alone spoke volumes. But she didn’t want to go there. Shepherd would be around. If she showed herself, he would guess what she was about. Arrogant bastard or not, he was sharp as a razor. With a sigh, she realised she couldn’t do anything until she knew more. Trouble was, who was around that could tell her? The Duke wasn’t in, so no point ‘dropping’ into his office. She thought of Jess, but she hadn’t seen her yet either.

  ‘Bugger.’

  Reluctantly, she set off back to her office. She had been away no more than ten minut
es, but was sure there would be more news by the time she got there.

  Carver listened to Julie’s footsteps receding down the corridor, then re-started the audio recording. He’d paused it at the point where Megan was starting to berate Cosworth. The point where it all began to go wrong. At the same time, he ran the video of Corinne Anderson’s cellar. Pushing away from the desk, he settled back in his chair, listening and watching. It was what he’d been doing since he’d arrived. Searching for the spark that would shed light on what had kept him awake all night.

  It wasn’t just that the operation had been a disaster, nor that he would have to explain why. And it wasn’t last night’s argument with Rosanna, though his stomach tied itself in knots each time he thought on how he’d snapped at her when she’d asked what was wrong. The forlorn look on her face as he’d left for work that morning still lingered. They both knew that his promise he would be more himself when he got home that evening was a lie. Even the sure knowledge of what Gary was doing didn’t particularly concern him. Right now his ‘colleague’ would be making it known to anyone who would listen that he had been right all along. That it was his suspect who had been revealed as the Worshipper Killer. And that Jamie Carver, the so-called sex-crime expert, the man who had been openly sceptical about Cosworth’s involvement, had been proved wrong.

  All these things were disquieting. But what bothered him most was that, even as the hunt for Cosworth was gearing up, he couldn’t put it together. Red herrings or not, the blonde hairs, the woman on the CCTV tape, they had to add up to something. But whichever way he did the sums – and he’d been doing them all night – he couldn’t get the answer to come out as William Cosworth. But Julie’s interruption had disturbed his concentration. After several minutes he paused both recordings and turned to look out of the window.