Last Gasp (20 page)

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.

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 minutes, 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.

'Bollocks.'

He checked his watch. The Duke should be back from his early
HQ meeting any time. He might even be in his office right now. As he reached for
the phone there was a rap on the door. Before he could, say anything it opened.
Shepherd’s head appeared. Seeing Carver alone, he slipped inside and closed the
door, before settling himself in the chair next to the desk.

For several seconds the two men stared at each other. Then
Shepherd began.

He started with a firm, ‘So, ’then tried to make it sound
casual when he continued, ‘where does last night leave us?'

Carver wasn’t fooled. They’d gone over things before leaving
Megan’s – after waiting for the dog handlers to confirm that Cosworth wasn’t
going to be found hiding in any ditches or thickets. He knew an agenda when he
saw it. He said, 'With work to do.'

He rose, intending to go in search of The Duke. He was in no
mood for buggering about.

'Hang on,' Shepherd snapped. 'I want a word.'

Carver stopped, took a deep breath.
What the hell
. He
returned to his chair.

‘I’ve put out the All Ports on Cosworth.'

Carver nodded.

'And I’m meeting Forensic at his flat in an hour.'

Carver didn’t respond. They’d agreed it all the night
before. He gave Shepherd a look.
Get on with it
.

'I want to get one thing clear.'

Here it comes.

'When he turns up, he’s mine, agreed?'

Carver let out a weary sigh. 'Gary, I couldn’t give a shit
whose he is. But I’m not the SIO. Speak to The Duke.'

'Don’t give me that bullshit,' Shepherd said. He leaned
forward. 'You’ve blown this one and you know it. I was right all along, and you
were wrong.'

Carver checked himself. He would rather avoid an argument,
but he wasn’t going to be browbeaten. 'If you feel that last night vindicates
you in some way, Gary, then I’m pleased for you. I just want the bastard
caught, that’s all.'

Shepherd made no attempt to hide his bitterness. 'So you can
get your face in the papers again?'

'Grow up Gary. This isn’t a game. I couldn’t give a monkey’s
fuck about faces in papers.'

'In that case you won’t have any qualms about leaving
Cosworth to me then, will you?'

Carver sighed again and stared at the man facing him. He’d
never seen anyone so anxious about getting his name on a collar. 'What’s this
all about Gary?'

For several seconds Shepherd said nothing. Then the dam
broke.

'Cosworth was
my
man, and has been from the start.
While you and Miss Prim and Proper were wasting time taking tea with perverts,
I was sussing out our killer. I’ve worked on him. I should have him. And
anything that comes after.'

Carver nodded. ‘Ah.’ He sat back.  ‘I see.' Shepherd bit his
lip. 'You think that whoever nails this guy is going to get, what? Promotion?
Or maybe you think it’s your turn for a bit of media exposure?'

'Whatever I get, I’ll deserve.' Shepherd spat the words
back.

'I’m sure you will. Now, if you’ve made your point, I need
to be somewhere.' Rising, Carver headed for the door a second time.

'I
know
, Carver.'

Carver stopped, his hand halfway to the handle. He turned
back to the man in the chair.

'Know what?

'About you. What you used to,
get up to
.' Carver
stared at him. 'You’re sick Carver. I’m just surprised no one’s ever twigged.
You’ve managed to fool all those people who wrote you up as ‘Ace Detective’,
but you don’t fool me. What’re you and the Crane woman up to? Played any games
yet? I’ll bet you’d love to. Maybe even involve that nice sergeant of yours.
She’d be a–.'

Shepherd managed to gain his feet a split-second before
Carver’s hand closed round his windpipe and he found himself pushed up against
the wall. His fingers clawed at Carver’s wrist, trying to relieve the pressure.
But Carver was strong, and angry. As Shepherd gasped and twisted, he found
himself nose-to-nose with the man he’d been tormenting.

'Listen to me you piece of shit. First of all, you don’t
have a clue what you’re talking about. Secondly, unauthorised use of NCA Source
files is a serious matter and as soon as I’ve got what I need, your feet won’t
touch the ground.' As the meaning behind the words sank in, Shepherd stopped
struggling. His face paled. ‘Thirdly, if I hear any more stupid remarks about
Jess
or
Megan Crane, you’ll have my fist to deal with along with all the
other crap that’s coming your way. Clear?' Shepherd pulled at Carver’s wrist.
He tightened his grip. 'I said is that
clear?
'

Shepherd grimaced, and managed a nod.

Letting go, Carver pushed him towards the door. He slunk
away, massaging his throat and gulping air. But at the door he turned, wounded,
but far from finished.

'You try and finger me for anything Carver and I’ll drag up
so much crap on you you’ll smell like a shit-house. I know enough to make it
sound good. That ex-girlfriend of yours, the one in Leeds with her new life and
nice little boy? I’m sure she’d love to be involved in a discipline
investigation. And that singer you’re shagging? I’m sure she’ll enjoy hearing
what you used to get up to. As will all the papers that wrote you up. Don’t
fuck with me Carver. I’ve got as much on you as you’ve got on me.'

Carver had had enough, bollocks to the consequences. His
hands balled as he started forward. But Shepherd had said his piece and was out
of the door before Carver could get near. His steps receded, quickly, down the
corridor. Carver stopped himself from following. Not here.

Ten minutes later, Carver had calmed enough to go looking
for The Duke. But as he rose from the chair a third time the door opened and
the man himself appeared.

'I’ve just seen Gary. Told him I was coming to see you and
we should talk. He didn’t seem keen.' He gave Carver a look. 'You don’t seem
surprised.'

Carver shrugged. All he had to do was mention the Angie
thing, and Shepherd would be history. But that would also mean having to deal
with the fallout that would follow. The Duke closed the door and gave him a
pointed stare.

'Whatever’s going on between you two it stops right now. I
can’t afford to have my two ASIOs at each other’s throats.'

If you only knew
, Carver thought. But he said nothing
and returned The Duke’s gaze. He wasn’t sure if the older man sensed it wasn’t
the right time to delve, but Carver was glad when his expression changed and he
dropped into the chair Shepherd had not long vacated.

'I’ve seen your e-mail. It seems Megan Crane’s a lucky woman.'

Carver said, 'I still don’t know how he caught her out. I
thought she was sharper than that.'

'What I’d like to know is how the hell he got away? The way
your report reads, he just vanished. Or am I missing something?'