Last Gasp

by Robert F Barker

  She gave a throaty chuckle. 'Next time it’ll be different.'

  God, she loved this game.

  The two detectives watched as the Golf turned, wheels spinning in the gravel, and came down the driveway. Dan Hewitt returned Carver’s quick wave, then he was gone, accelerating down the track, rather quicker, Dan thought, than was good for the car’s sump.

  'Bugger!' he said.

  Tony Turner logged his DCI’s departure, then held out a hand.

  'You’re not very good at this, are you, Danny-me-old-mate?'

  Dan fished inside his jacket. 'Only an hour?. He must have had a knock-back.'

  'Not our Jamie Carver,' Tony said. 'I told you, he’s straight as a die. There’s no way he would get involved with someone like her.'

  Dan Hewitt handed the tenner across to his colleague. 'Well someone ought to tell him to lighten up a bit.'

  Carver banged his hand against the steering wheel. He was furious with himself for forgetting - again - the oldest rule in CID. Stay away from beautiful victims and witnesses. He hadn’t intended it would happen. That was all in the past. The present belonged to Rosanna. But as he put the miles between him and his narrow escape, his thoughts came round to Shepherd. They needed to find this Tracy, and quickly. One thing was clear. Megan had kept things from them. What else was she holding back? It was time to do what he should have done a long time ago.

  He rang the duty DS again on hands-free. After briefing him up, he issued three instructions. The first was to arrange a search warrant for The Poplars. ‘Tell whoever it is she’s withholding personal details of a suspect, and that there’s no privilege involved. Two. I want a POLSA Team briefed and ready to go at six tomorrow morning. Third, call out the duty Intelligence Officer. I want a full search and trace on a Tracy Redmond living in the Cheadle Area. Give it a ten-mile radius. Oh, and she may be a barrister. In which case it should be easy.' He waited as the DS wrote it down and listened as he read it all back, then rang off. It meant another early start. But at least they would have a few hours together. He remembered Jess’s words. 'Rosanna just wants you back.' Well it was time to come back. And to tell her. Everything.

  Half an hour later as he locked the Golf, he heard the plaintive tones of Amalia Rodriguez, Rosanna’s inspiration, coming from the cottage’ open window. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d played it. As he walked in, her voice drifted through from the front room.

  'Jamie?'

  He walked through. Open on her lap was the bulky biography of Maria Callas he’d given her for her last birthday. She let it slip to the floor as she rose, smiling, to come round the sofa. As they embraced, a weight lifted off his shoulders. He wasn’t sure when they would talk, but it didn’t matter now.

  'I got back as soon as I could. Things are happening and I’ll need to be out early tomorrow. But it’s nice to be-.' He felt her stiffen. 'I know. I’m sorry. It can’t be helped. But we have the rest of the evening to ourselves. Let me see you. You look beautiful.'

  He held her at arm’s length, but her face was cold, the smile gone.

  'You smell of her,' she said.

  Chapter 59

  It was late evening when Jess finally stopped re-running the CCTV footage from the garage near Corrine Anderson’s home. After hearing Jamie’s story, she’d wanted to see how close the blond woman was to Tracy. But after watching the grainy sequence over and over and slowing it right down, the best she’d come up with was - maybe. It was the problem they’d faced since the enquiry began. Too many, ‘maybes’. She’d just logged out of her computer when her mobile rang. It was Megan.

  'Hi Megan. What’s up?'

  'Sorry to bother you Jess, I’m-. Are you alright? You sound strange.'

  'I’m fine. Tired, but fine.'

  ‘You work too hard. You need to take some time off now and again.’

  'I wish. Go on?’

  ‘Jamie came to see me this evening.’

  ‘I know.’

  'He was asking about Tracy.'

  Jess bit her lip. Why did she feel like a snitch? She’d done nothing wrong. 'I know.'

  After a longish pause, Megan told how they’d tried her mobile, but without success. ‘The thing is, since he left, I’ve thought of another way I might be able to contact her. I’ve been trying his mobile but he’s not answering. If you hear from him could you tell him? I’ll ring him to let him know how I get on.'

  Jess sat up. 'Hold up, Megan. Don’t be doing anything until you’ve spoken to Jamie. It could be dangerous.'

  'Nonsense. You saw what Tracy is like. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. I just need to convince him, that’s all. Besides, if I don’t catch her tonight I might not get another chance. I’ll let you know.’

  'Wait Megan, we-’ But she was gone. ‘Damn’. She rang her back. It went straight to voicemail. She waited for the beep. ‘Whatever you do, Megan, do NOT, attempt to contact Tracy. I’ll try and get hold of Jamie. Don’t do anything until you’ve heard back from me. That’s an order.’ She rang Carver. Also voicemail. ‘Whhaaaat?’ She left a message for him to ring her back. Urgently. Then she dropped the phone on the desk and held her head in her hands. ‘Aaargghhh.’

  Carver woke with a start and realised that the banging noise wasn’t a dream, but real. The bedroom was filled with a flickering, blue light. Together with what he’d put away before coming to bed, it made his head spin. As he swung his legs out of bed, blinking himself awake, Rosanna appeared in the doorway. She looked scared.

  'What is it?'

  'It’s alright. It’s work.'

  As he stood up he glanced at the alarm clock. It read 02.23. By the time he got downstairs the adrenalin had kicked in and he was awake.

  He opened the door. It was raining, heavily. Looming in the doorway, the dark figure of a traffic cop was silhouetted against the lights of the Range Rover halfway up the track. In the drizzle, its flashing lights lent the scene a surreal quality, like something from a science fiction film. Carver was glad they had no immediate neighbours.

  'DCI Carver?' the PC said.

  'Yes?'

  'Sorry to disturb you sir, but Control Room’s been trying to get hold of you.'

  Typical, Carver thought. The night you disconnect your landline so you can get some sleep is the night they need you.

  'And they’ve tried your mobile but it seems not to be working.’

  That’s right sonny, don’t dare suggest I might have switched it off.

  The PC completed his message. 'They’ve asked me to tell you. They’ve found DCI Shepherd.'

  Chapter 60

  Megan Crane gazed down on the woman’s sleeping form, thinking about how best to accomplish her next step, knowing how dangerous it could be. The blond hair formed a yellow gauze over the pillow’s white cotton, and as she’d gone about her preparations she’d taken a moment to reflect on the woman’s beauty, unadorned by shackles or chains. Now, as she listened to her soft breathing, Megan’s expression changed with the emotions running through her; tenderness, pain, regret, and – especially - resolve.

  Careful not to disturb her, she slipped a handcuff round the slim white wrist next to the pillow. Reaching under her, she flipped her onto her back and, in one quick motion, dragged her other arm behind her, locking them together.

  'Wh-, What are you doing?' the woman said, waking to her predicament. She tried to twist round and sit up. But Megan’s gloved hand gripped her jaw, pulling her round so she could see her face.

  'You’ve been a naughty girl, Tracy. It’s time for a little chat.'

  'You BITCH,' Tracy screamed. But before she could say anything else, Megan swept the bedclothes back, grabbed a handful of blond hair and pulled her to her feet.

  'OWW! You’re hurting.'

  'Now, now,' Megan said, pulling her towards the door. 'Be a good girl, or I’ll have to punish you.'

  As Megan dragged her through the door, the woman stopped struggling to concentrate on the handcuffs. Hair in one hand, wrists in the o
ther, Megan led her up some stairs. They ended at a plain, white door.

  'Now don’t struggle, or you’ll fall,' Megan said, releasing her hair to turn the handle.

  She pushed her prisoner through the door and, still holding her wrists, reached back to close it behind them. As she turned, a man was standing in the middle of the room.

  Keeping a firm grip on Tracy she said, ‘William, this is Tracy. Tracy this is William. Or am I right in thinking you’ve already met?’

  Chapter 61

  Howard Gladding stood up and flexed his knees before turning to the watching detectives. ‘It’s not what I’d call, 'Classic Worshipper Pattern.' But I don’t think there’s any doubt, do you?’

  Carver glanced at The Duke next to him. His gaze was rooted to the bed, and the body arranged on top of it. It was the first time he’d known his boss ignore the banned ‘Worshipper’ tag. But right now he suspected the other man’s thoughts were less on how Gary Shepherd had come to meet his death, as the fact he’d lost one of his team, and in the most horrible way imaginable. And for all the ill-feeling that had lain between him and his colleague, Carver was finding it hard not to give in to the twin tugs of rage and grief – grief; he could barely believe it – that kept threatening to overwhelm him. He’d once heard a Merseyside Chief-Super speak about the time they lost a PC during a summer street riot. He described the impact on himself and the force as a whole as, ‘Like a small nuclear device going off.’ He was already beginning to get a sense for what he’d meant.

  As for the way Gary had died. Howard was right. There wasn’t any doubt.

  Apart from the dining chair which had been turned upside down on the middle of his bed and over which Shepherd was tied - his bachelor-semi being without the regulation post - the familiar trademarks were there. The closely-wound ropes. The super-glued fingertips - the way his arms were tied to the chair legs, the killer hadn’t quite been able to get the palms to meet. The ligature - one of Gary’s brightly-patterned ties - that bit deep into his neck. The only departure was the red boxer shorts, stuffed roughly into Shepherd’s mouth and which prevented what Carver regarded as the series’ most gruesome trademark - the swollen, blue-black tongue - from showing. And it was no good speculating about how the killer had managed it. It was way too early for that. Even so he couldn’t stop thinking about Tracy. Had Gary invited her back here after leaving Megan’s instead of taking her home? Howard was yet to pronounce on an estimated time of death. But given the state of the body – and the smell – they were clearly looking at days rather than hours.

  They’d already established that the ex-girlfriend who’d found him - she’d called to collect some old clothes and let herself in with her key thinking he was out – hadn’t been there for weeks. For all anyone knew, he could have been here since the night he’d left Megan’s. On the other hand, the fact that the unopened ready-meal on the counter in the kitchen hadn’t rotted, spoke of someone being here more recently.

  A noise behind made him turn. Jess was framed in the doorway. She’d put on a paper suit to join them. Carver suspected she would wish she hadn’t. The way she was staring at the bed, he guessed the tableaux was already burning itself into her memory like nothing she’d witnessed before.

  As if sensing his stare, she turned to him. ‘Claire and her team are just arriving.’

  Carver nodded. The call for Forensics had gone out even before he’d arrived. He gave The Duke a nudge. When he turned, Carver was surprised to see wetness on his cheeks.

  Carver nodded towards the door. ‘We need to talk.’

  The Duke took one further lingering look at the body on the bed. Then he turned and, without saying a word, marched out of the room.

  They gathered on the small, paved patio at the back, out of Claire and her team’s way. The Duke had already been on-scene when Carver arrived and this was the first opportunity he’d had to bring him up-to-date about Tracy and her meeting Shepherd at Megan’s. The big man’s face was grave as he listened.

  When Carver was finished The Duke said, ‘How sure are we he left with this Tracy?’

  ‘That’s what Megan says.’

  ‘And we don’t know where she lives?’

  ‘Not yet, I was going to-’ Carver stopped, feeling Jess’s hand on his arm.

  She said, ‘Did you get my message?’

  ‘I’ve not had time to-’

  ‘Has Megan spoken to you since you saw her last night?’

  ‘No, why?’

  Jess described Megan’s call, about her trying to contact Tracy.

  ‘You told her not to, I hope.’

  ‘I did, but I’m not sure she was listening. That’s why I rang you.’

  Caver checked his watch. Five fifteen. At Macclesfield nick the POLSA team would soon be assembling. Stepping away from the others, he dug out his phone and rang the number of the duty watch at the Poplars. Tony Turner answered. During the minute the conversation lasted, Carver’s voice rose several levels. He finished with, ‘I don’t care if you are due off at six. Neither of you go anywhere until I’ve seen you.’ He reported back.

  ‘Someone left the house late last night. They think it was Megan.’

  ‘They THINK?’ The Duke said, his face darkening.

  Carver shook his head, but said nothing. He would deal with Tony and his mate when he got there. He dialled Megan’s mobile, then held it up so they could hear the steady, ‘unobtainable’ tone.

  ‘Fuck,’ The Duke said.

  Jess said, ‘Oh, Christ.’

  Carver turned to The Duke. ‘I need to get there.’

  The Duke nodded. ‘Go. Find her.’ But as Carver made to leave, Jess following, The Duke called after them and they both turned. He looked at them, square.

  ‘Whoever this fucker is, find ‘em before anyone else dies.’

  Carver and Jess exchanged glances, and left.

  Chapter 62

  ‘Bloody Hell, Tony,' Carver snapped. 'How can you not be sure?' He was furious, and didn’t care who knew it.

  Looking like a man who feared his days on CID may be numbered, Tony Turner shuffled his feet in the gravel, the sound echoing under the trees at the bottom of Megan Crane’s drive. Next to him, Dan Hewitt was keeping quiet. Dan was the junior, service-wise. He was happy that Tony should do the talking. Outside the gate, a blue van containing the search team waited. Leaning against the bonnet, a tall, gangly man in dark blue fatigues with the legend, ‘POLSA’ on a breast pocket was drawing on a roll-up. Inspector Brian Bennett, the duty POLSA Search Advisor, was working hard at not letting Carver see him taking amusement from the detectives’ discomfort. The DCI was pissed-off enough as it was. Jess stood off to the side, observing.

  'We just assumed it was her,' Tony said in answer to his boss’s question.

  'You assumed? You were supposed to be watching. What the hell were you doing?'

  Tony did his best, but knew he was on a loser. His explanation about them not expecting her to be on the move so late sounded weak, even to him. By the time they’d come to, the car was already through the gates and behind them, half way down the track. 'I’m sorry Boss. We’ve done four straight shifts. And you know what nights do to you.’

  'It’s nothing to what I’ll be doing to you if we’ve lost her. I assume you didn’t see if she had anyone with her?'

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘LIKE ANYONE. Does it matter?’

  'Er, no, we, er, didn’t see. Was someone with her when you left last night, then?'

  Carver sighed, and shook his head. He gave Tony a last, disappointed look, then dropped it. He called to Bennett. 'We’re going in Brian.'

  Bennett took a last pull on his cigarette, squeezed the tip out between finger and thumb, and put it in his top pocket. He banged, twice, on the side of the van. Eight men and women wearing blue overalls spilled out through the back doors, draining coke cans and flicking away stubs as they eased life back into cramped limbs.

  At the front door, the rest of the team
hung back as Carver spent some minutes ringing the bell, banging on the knocker, shouting trough the letter box. It drew no response.

  As Carver turned back to them, Tony Turner spoke up. 'It must have been her.' It was clear he was hoping it might mitigate their error.

  But Carver was in no mood to let anyone off hooks. 'Unless she’s already lying in there, dead.'

  Tony reddened and clamped his mouth shut. Next to him, Dan Hewitt glared at his partner.

  Carver turned to Bennett. 'Let’s get inside.'

  Five minutes later, Carver stepped over the shattered and twisted remains of what had been Megan Crane’s kitchen-door and frame. Like most modern-made doors with good locks, the frame had to be more or less knocked out of the brickwork before it gave. The thought went through his mind that if Megan could see the mess, she would have a fit. And he would be more than happy to witness it.

  He made straight for the Playroom, Jess right behind. When he saw it empty, he heaved a sigh of relief. Jess pointed to rings set in the wall to the right. 'That’s where Tracy was.’ He nodded. They returned to the kitchen where Bennett was waiting for some of his team to return from their initial sweep. Open on the table was the copy of the house-plan they’d used during the Op the night Cosworth went missing. He would be using it as their search plan. A minute later he turned to Carver.

  'Confirmed the house is empty, Mr Carver. She’s not here.'

  Carver nodded, ‘Come with me.’ He led him to the Playroom.

  ‘Fuck me,’ Bennett said, taking it in.

  ‘Keep everyone out of here. I’m going to call Forensic in to do it. We don’t know yet it isn’t a murder-scene.’

  They returned to the kitchen and Carver left them to do their stuff. He wasn’t POLSA-trained and knew better than to interfere. The team knew what they were looking for. If there was anything in the house that could tell him who, or where, Tracy was – or Megan for that matter - they would find it. Jess stayed with the team. She would act as ‘interpreter’ - to give pointers on anything they found. Carver headed to the front living room where they’d all met that first time.