Last Gasp (18 page)

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.'

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.'

Carver 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.

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.

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.