He was still going over it when he rounded a left-hand bend and had to stand on the brakes to avoid running into a trailer full of potatoes. The tractor pulling it was stopped in the middle of the road waiting to turn right. The jolt of the near-miss brought him back to reality long enough for him to realise. It was exactly the sort of obsessive behaviour someone had warned him about years before. ‘It’s as if your brain gets stuck in a loop,’ the woman had said. ‘Unless something happens to break you out of it, it can go on for hours.’ As he swerved around the tractor, he nodded to the farmer who’d nearly killed him. He owed him one. But if he wasn’t careful, he’d end up back in that place he’d found himself following the Hart trial and which he’d sworn to never visit again. He needed something - anything - that would take his mind off things.
He pressed one of the buttons set into the steering wheel. On the dash, the menu screen lit up. ‘Music,’ he said. ‘Music,’ the car’s voice acknowledged. ‘Amelia.’ An album cover showed. ‘Play.’ Then he settled back and let the voice of the woman who was Rosanna’s inspiration wash over him.
By now Jess would have spoken with Rosanna. She would know he was on his way. He imagined her, waiting for him. She would be shocked, naturally, when he told her about Angie. But in a strange way, he was looking forward to it. It would be the start of a long conversation; one they should have had long ago. And once it was over, they could start rebuilding what they’d once had. He shook his head, realising how close he’d come.
‘Never again,’ he said, and gave himself to the music.
Chapter 67
‘Hang on,’ Alec said.
Jess stopped tugging at the bench as he bent double, peering beneath.
‘I think there’s… Yeah, there’s a catch here. His shoulders heaved. There was a click.
Jess pulled at the bench again, only this time it moved smoothly outwards – as did the door in the wall it was attached to.
‘Bugger me,’ Alec said.
Jess moved around to peer through the gap. Stone steps led down into darkness. A dim bulb fixed inside and above the door’s frame – the source of the mysterious light – lit only the top few.
‘Look at this,’ Alec said.
As she turned he pointed at the back of the door. It was covered in the sort of baffling she was familiar with from interview rooms.
‘Soundproofing,’ he said.
She was about to start down, but he pulled her back.
‘Not so fast, lassie. Uncle Alec first.’
Another time she might have argued. Not this.
The steps were steep. Alec took them slow and steady. As she followed, she tried not to think of all the films she’d seen were someone descends into a dimly lit cellar and something horrible happens. It was dark at the bottom and as she stepped off the last step she found herself up against Alec’s back as he cast about for another light switch. Hearing his heavy breathing, she realised her heart was also racing.
‘Aha,’ Alec said.
Another bulb came on, as dim as the one above. There were two doors on their left, side by side. Keys hung on a hook between them. To the right was an alcove. Jess peered round and saw it was set up as a home-office, complete with desk, chair, computer and printer. Shelves fixed to the wall held an assortment of storage boxes and ring-binders. Next to the desk was a metal filing cabinet, four drawers high.
‘Good God,’ Jess said.
Jess had never really believed Megan’s claim that she didn’t keep records or correspondence. But during all their visits, particularly when they’d surveyed the house to prepare for her meeting with Cosworth, she’d never seen anywhere she might do so. Now she knew why. Curious, she slipped around Alec as he reached for the keys.
On the desk was an angle-poised desk-lamp. She switched it on. On the wall above was a pin board, covered in photographs. About to check them out, she spotted a sheet of paper in the print-tray. She picked it up and scanned the text. A description of an SM scene - two women and a man she gleaned - it read like an extract from the sort of erotica that has become popular in recent years. But her instincts told her it wasn’t fiction. It seemed Megan was also a diarist.
Behind her, Alec muttered oaths as he tried keys in locks. ‘Bastard.’
Dropping the paper, she leaned forward to inspect the photographs. They were in shadow and she couldn’t see them clearly so she turned the desk-lamp up and round. At once she realised they were surveillance-type photographs. Taken at distance using zoom, some showed a man, others a woman, caught in random poses, going in and out of buildings, getting in and out of cars. The detail was still fuzzy in the dim light and she was having difficulty making out the faces clearly. She leaned in, closer. Behind, Alec said, ‘That’s the one.’ There was a click and one of the door handles rattled. She glanced round. He had one of the doors open, the room beyond was pitch black. He muttered something about a light switch. She turned back to the photos. It took a moment, then she realised what she was looking at. She gasped and stepped back just as a light came on behind.
‘Oh, fuck.’ she said.
At the same time Alec cried out, ‘FUCKING JESUS.’
Chapter 68
It was gone nine o’clock when Carver pulled into his driveway. He drove past the house and parked in front of the garage next to Rosanna’s SUV. He cut the engine but instead of getting out, he waited, giving himself a few moments, steeling himself for what was to come. Deep breaths... The music had worked as he’d hoped. He was ready.
He reached for the door lever. But even as he pulled it, his phone rang. His first thought was to ignore it. But there was too much happening. He checked the screen. It was Jess.
‘I’m okay, Jess. I’ve just got home. I’m fine.’
‘You’re there? Is everything okay?’
‘Sure. I told you not to worry.’
‘You’ve seen Rosanna?’ She sounded breathless, like she’d been running.
‘I’m about to, if you’ll let me.’ He heard something, in her voice. ‘What’s up?’ He opened the door, stepped out onto the drive.
‘We’ve found Tracy. And Cosworth.’
He froze. ‘WHAT? Where?’
‘There’s a cellar under Megan’s Playroom, with a hidden door and everything. She’s been keeping them there.’
‘WHAT?’ His head swam. ‘Keeping them there?’ ‘What are you saying? They’re dead?’
‘No. They’re alive. Not too good, but they’ll make it.’
‘What the hell…? What about Megan? Have you found her?’
‘No. But there’s something else.’ For the first time he heard the fear in her voice. His heart started pounding. ‘There’re some photographs here. Surveillance-type stuff. They’re of you, and Rosanna. They-’
‘ROSANNA? Me and Rosanna?’ He tried to digest it. He couldn’t. ‘Whose are they?’
As he spoke he looked up at the house. Lights showed through gaps in the curtains and blinds. But something was missing. Then he realised. He couldn’t hear anything. No music playing. He started towards the house.
‘They’re hers, Jamie. Megan’s. She’s been following you. Both of you. Some of them of are of you and Rosanna, at your house.’
‘She’s been here?’ His pace increased. ‘Why would she be following us?’
‘It’s her, Jamie. Not Tracy. Or Cosworth. It’s her. She killed Angie. And now she’s after you, and Rosanna.’
In that moment he saw it. Like the final piece in a jigsaw that he’d been holding the wrong way round. Suddenly everything fitted. A feeling of horror, ten times worse than when he realised he was looking at Angie, filled him.
He started running.
‘Alec’s ringing Control Room now Jamie. They’ll send someone. They- Jamie?’
But Carver wasn’t listening. He’d dropped his phone the moment he realised. It was no good to him now.
The back door was unlocked. He burst through, into the kitchen. Empty. He ran through into the living room, an
d stopped dead in his tracks. In front of him was the most terrifying thing he’d ever seen.
Chapter 69
Across the room, Rosanna was sitting on one of the kitchen chairs. She was swathed in rope, a strip of silver duct-tape across her mouth. Her face was streaked with tears. Carver recognised the handiwork at once. Megan Crane, wearing a long, blond wig, stood over her. Dressed in her classiest, dominatrix attire she was pressing the point of a knife like the one he’d seen in the sink that afternoon into the skin above Rosanna’s jugular.
'What sort of time do you call this, Jamie? Wherever have you been?'
For long seconds he could only look between the two faces. Rosanna’s, pleading; Megan’s, taunting.
'Oh Jamie,' Megan said. 'Your face. You should see yourself.’ She made a play of realising something. 'But of course. You haven’t seen my blonde look have you? I only wear it when I’m working. Do you like it?' She swung her head round, like a girlfriend showing off a new hairstyle.
Carver swallowed, fought to maintain control. 'It’s over Megan.’ He held out a hand. 'Just give me the knife.'
As he made to take a step forward, Megan went, ‘Ah-Ah,’ and pressed the point deeper into Rosanna’s flesh. A speck of blood appeared, trickled down her neck. Rosanna squealed and squirmed. He eased back.
'Now, Jamie,' she said. Her motherly voice. 'Don’t do anything silly.'
His mind raced, weighing his chances. A gap of several yards separated them. There was nothing to stop him launching himself across the room. But in the second or so it would take to reach her, she would have time to use the knife. He opted for reason.
'It’s too late Megan. We’ve found Angie, and Tracy and Cosworth. My people know you’re here. They’re on their way. They’ll be here soon. Don’t make matters worse than they already are.’
She tried to mask it, but he could tell she was unprepared for the news. There was no way she could know of the day’s events. He wondered how long she had been there. A good while he judged. He saw her eyes narrow, as if she was trying to work out how much of what he’d said was true, and how much guesswork.
‘You know Jack Shit, Jamie. You’re all bullshit. You always were.’
‘It’s true. We’ve found your cellar, the photographs, the court papers at Tracy’s, everything. You were Edmund Hart’s lover, like Tracy used to be This is all about revenge.’
‘Well that’s very fucking clever of you then, isn’t it?’ She grabbed a handful of Rosanna’s hair, yanked her head back. Rosanna screamed into her gag. ‘But who’s in control here, Mr Ace-Fucking-Detective? Me, that’s who.’
Her tone was bitter and Carver knew he needed to be careful. He scrambled for options. None came. Alec would have told control room by now. Help would be on its way. But Pickmere was pretty isolated. How long? Ten, twelve minutes? And what happens when they get here? Just keep her talking. He checked Rosanna. Her eyes were beginning to roll. Megan continued.
'I suppose I ought to be impressed, not that it matters. By the time anyone finds you and your-’ She brought her face close to Rosanna’s, licked her tongue all the way up her cheek, ‘-lover, I’ll be long gone. And unlike you, I’ll have kept my promise.’
‘Promise?’ Carver thought he knew, but he needed her to talk. She smiled an evil smile. ‘Come on, Jamie. You know what I’m talking about. To kill you and that other bitch of course. For spoiling everything. If it wasn’t for you Edmund would still be alive, and we’d still be together’
‘Still killing you mean?’
She gave an obstinate look. ‘Maybe, maybe not. That was always more Edmund’s thing than mine, though I have to say-’ She cast her eyes down at Rosanna in a way that made his skin crawl. ‘It has its attractions.’
‘If it’s about me and Angie, then there’s no need to hurt Rosanna. You can let her go.’
She feigned sympathy. ‘Oh Jamie, that’s so, gallant. But that’s the whole point. It was because of you the man I loved died. So now I’m going to kill the woman, or should I say women, you love. First, Angie. Now her.’
He didn’t even try logic. He needed to unsettle her more. He tried a different tack.
'So why all the window dressing? The whole Worshipper thing. Killing all those women. What was that all about?'
'Well, I had to make it interesting, Jamie. Or you would never have got involved. And without you I wouldn’t have been able to find Angie. A simple murder wouldn’t have done it. It had to be especially challenging to attract a man of your… experience?'
As it all became clear, his blood ran even colder. Five women murdered? Shepherd as well? Just so she could get close to him?
‘I admit I was stuck on how to do it at first. Then I remembered the little scenario Edmund came up with years ago, the one he got William to photograph. And I thought. “that would be perfect.” Right up your street as it were. And I was right, wasn’t I?’
Carver sensed another brick falling into place. ‘The magazine. DOM. You sent it to me.’
‘Of course. You were taking so long to make the connections, I decided you needed a little shove in the right direction.’
As if amused by her own cleverness, she threw her head back and laughed. For a split-second he thought he saw half a chance and girded himself. But she must have seen him tense and before he could move she focused again.
'Don’t Jamie. You’re not dealing with a novice. I know what I’m doing.'
The chance gone, he checked Rosanna again. Her head was lolling from side to side now, almost out of it. He needed to do something. Anything.
Having reinforced her command of the situation, Megan seemed happy to gloat. 'Once I had you, I knew it would just be a matter of time before you led me to Angie. As it happened, our friend Gary was most helpful in that regard. So talkative, once he got going.' The smile came back. 'Once I made him get going.'
‘And Tracy was going to take the fall, I take it? The hairs you left at the scenes were hers?’ She smiled a self-satisfied smile. ‘I had a nice little suicide pact planned for her, and Cosworth. It would have looked like they were both in it together. But it seems you’ve ruined my plan. Never mind. Another time perhaps.’
He shook his head, tried to inject confidence in his words. ‘There’s not going to be another time, Megan. Whatever you do here, you can’t get away. There’s nowhere you can hide.’
She gave a sly look. 'Oh, don’t worry about me, Jamie. I know lots of well-connected people who will be more than willing to help me disappear.' She gathered herself, as if renewing her resolve. 'But before all that, I have to keep my promise to Edmund.'
On the arm of the sofa, next to Rosanna’s chair, was a set of handcuffs. She picked them up, tossed them to him.
‘On your wrist. Just one for now.’
Puzzled, he did as ordered. Now what? He still couldn’t work out how she thought she was going to kill them both. Rosanna was her shield. If she did something to her, he’d be on her in a flash. Knife or no knife, he’d make sure she didn’t get up again.
Her next move provided the answer.
She nodded to his right. 'Now, up on the chair.'
At that moment, Carver was as scared as he thought possible. But when he turned to follow her direction and saw what she’d pointed at, he realised he was wrong. A second chair was set up under one of the room’s exposed cross-beams. From it, a noose of thick hemp dangled. His stomach flipped a terrified somersault as he realised her intention. He turned back to her, trying to control the panic that was threatening to engulf him.
'Megan, I-.'
'DO IT.' she screamed, and pulled Rosanna’s head back again, pressing the blade’s edge to her exposed throat. ‘Do as you’re told and I might let her live.’
She’s lying, he thought. But what choice do I have? 'ALRIGHT. Don’t hurt her. I’m doing it.'
He stepped up.
'Now, you know the drill. Over your head.'
Out of options, all he could think of was to beg.
‘For God’s sake, Megan, please. You can’t…’
‘I can Jamie. I am.’ The coldness in her voice told him pleading would do no good. ‘Do as you’re told, or your Rosanna dies.’
He slipped the noose over his head. Its coarse fibres itched his skin.
'Pull it tight.'
He did so, feeling it close round his neck.
‘Show me.’
He held the rope high, so she could see it was snug.
‘Good. Now, hands behind your back.’
He did as told.
‘Cuff the other wrist.’
The chair wobbled as he wrestled with the cold steel. He stopped and steadied himself before continuing. The noise of the ratchet was like distant thunder, heralding a storm. A precursor to death.
‘Let me see.’
He half-turned to show her his wrists. She examined them, then approached and made sure they were tight, closing the ratchets a couple more notches. Satisfied, she relaxed. ‘You’re such a good boy, Jamie. If I had more time, I’d give you a nice reward.’
The lascivious look she threw him fell on cold ground. Panicking to the point of despair, Carver was finding it hard to think straight. I should have gone for her.
'There now.' She dropped the knife onto the sofa. 'We’re all ready. Time to get on with it, Jamie.'
Standing before him, she held up a length of black ribbon for his inspection. ‘Recognise this?’ She smiled up at him. ‘Can you guess what I’m going to do with it?’
His eyes widened as he realised, helpless to stop it.
Turning, she stepped behind Rosanna and looped the ribbon around her throat.
‘NO MEGAN.’
As she pulled it tight, Rosanna tried to scream, but couldn’t. Her face began to redden, eyes bulging as she twisted from side to side, trying to escape the suffocating pressure on her throat. But it was no good. Megan was practised at her art, and strong.
Carver pulled at the cuffs, but, desperate not to lose balance, didn’t dare struggle too much. And as he watched, he felt his mind going. It was like falling asleep knowing he was slipping into some nightmare from which he would never waken.
Last Gasp Page 30
