Last Gasp (28 page)

He thought to come back at her, but then realised. She was
right. If he stayed here any longer he would start to lose it. Fuck, he was
already
starting to lose it. ‘Megan’s still out there somewhere. She-’

‘We don’t know where she is and until Tracy turns up,
there’s nothing else we can do. It’s no good running round in circles.’

He gave in. Nodded. ‘Okay.’

‘Give me your keys. I’ll drive.’

‘Like hell.’

‘Give me your keys.’

In the end they compromised. Jess
sat up front while he drove them back to the Poplars where Alec had left a car.
She wanted to make sure he was fit to drive. He was, just. When they got there,
Claire and her team were just finishing up their examination of Megan’s
Playroom. The search team had gone long ago. He told Claire about what they’d
found at Oakfield Avenue, and gave her the name of the Forensic she would need
to liaise with in the morning. Now going on eight o’clock, Tony Turner and Dan
Hewitt had finally been allowed to go off shift to be relieved by another crew.
Carver made sure they knew to ring him at once if Megan, or anyone else,
showed.

‘You sure you’re okay?’ Jess said as he made ready to leave.
She and Alec were going to wait while Claire finished and left.

‘I’m fine,’ he said.

‘No, you’re not. Take it easy going home. Do you want me to
ring Rosanna and let her know you’re on your way?’

He thought about it. ‘Okay, but just that. I’ll fill her in
when I get home.’

‘Okay. Drive safe.’

As he headed down the drive, Carver’s thoughts were around
how, one day, Jess would make someone a good wife and mother. And though he
took her advice and drove, ‘safely’, he would never remember anything about the
journey.

Jess watched as Carver drove out
through the gates and waited until the Golf’s lights passed out of view down
the track. Then she took out her phone and called Rosanna. It rang several
times before dropping into voicemail. She left a brief message telling her he
was on his way and giving enough detail so she would have some idea what to
expect. She finished with, ‘Some TLC I think, Rosanna, if you know what I
mean?’ She said she would ring again in thirty minutes, just to make sure she’d
got the message. She left Alec talking with the gate team while she went to see
how long Claire would be.

Claire was in the kitchen with her two assistants. They were
labelling samples, organising and packing away kits and steel cases. Before he
left, Brian Bennett had called someone to do a temporary repair on the back
door. Most of the mess had been cleared away.

‘Finished?’ Jess said.

‘Just about. The room was actually pretty clean but we’ve
got hairs and we’ve taken swabs off everything. I suspect we’ll have traces
from several sources. Hopefully, what you need will be amongst them.’

As Claire’s team started ferrying kit out to their van, Jess
mooched about, going from room to room, remembering the times they’d spent
there with Megan, preparing for ‘meetings’, pumping her for information that
might lead them to the killer. Like Carver, she was worried.
Where are you
Megan?

Claire called from the back. ‘We’re going Jess.’

Returning to the kitchen, Jess thanked her for her efforts,
and waved her out. About to leave, Claire remembered she hadn’t closed up the
Playroom.

‘Don’t worry,’ Jess said. ‘I’ll see to it. You get off.’

The Playroom door was standing open, lights still on. As she
peered in, she realised it no longer spooked her the way it once had. She cast
her eyes over the fittings and equipment, remembering the night Megan had led
her there, the night she first met Tracy.
If I’d known then what I do now…

She reached round the door and flicked the light switch.
There were no windows so the room went totally black. Turning, she was about to
close the door when she saw something, and stopped.

Across the room, a vertical sliver of light seemed to be
showing on the far wall. Her first thought was that light from the kitchen must
be filtering through and catching on a piece of equipment. But she couldn’t
think what it might be. She flicked the lights back on. A padded bench-affair
fitted with straps and restraints rested at waist height against the wall, but
nothing else. She stepped into the room, closed the door and switched off the
lights again. The sliver of light still showed, only this time it seemed to be
joined at the top by another, this one horizontal so it formed an upside down
‘L’. She flicked the switch. The lines disappeared. Off again. They returned.
‘What the-?’

Leaving the lights on, she crossed for a closer look. That
part of the room was kitted out as a mock-dungeon, the wall covered in a
stone-effect paper. Leaning over the bench, she ran her hand over it. It seemed
smooth. But something caught her eye and she leaned in, closer. It took her a
while, but then she saw it. A thin gap in the wall followed the line of the
light she’d seen. She put her eye close to it. The light was coming from
behind. She stood back, looked up. A slight mismatch in the stone-pattern above
spoke of a similar gap running horizontal to the first.

‘It’s a bloody door.’

Carver spent the first twenty
minutes of his drive home re-ordering the to-do list he’d started on the moment
they left Oakfield Avenue. He did it to distract himself from the grief and
pain that was threatening to overwhelm him.

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.

‘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.’

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, and stopped dead in his
tracks. In front of him was the most terrifying thing he’d ever seen.

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.

Suddenly Megan let go and Rosanna fell forward, sucking air,
noisily, through her nose. She smiled at him again, torturing him. ‘'How was
that Jamie?' she said, innocently. 'Was that okay for a practice?'

He glared at her, chest heaving, nostrils flaring. ‘You
twisted, fucking bitch. You’re going to rot in hell.’

‘Maybe. We all have to die sometime. But at least I’ll have
had my fun. Speaking of which. It’s time for you to experience what Edmund
experienced. What he
wanted
you to experience. Time to say goodbye,
Jamie.'

Taking up the ends of the ribbon, she pulled them tight
again. But this time, as Rosanna started choking again she played out the ends
enough so she was able to step closer to the chair, while still keeping the
ribbon taught. As she placed her booted foot up onto the edge of the chair,
Carver saw her intention. She was going to make them watch each other die. He
saw her thigh muscles tense and he just had time to stiffen himself, before she
kicked the chair away and he fell.

The drop was less than twelve inches, but it was enough that
it could have snapped his neck. That it didn’t, was because he’d made sure the
knot was to the back of his neck, rather than the side. And by keeping himself
rigid as he dropped, he let his upper body absorb some of the impact that his
neck alone would otherwise have had to bear. But he could do nothing to prevent
the rope tightening round his throat, choking off his air.

But even as he fought against the constricting tightness
something happened that, had he not been fighting for air, would have grabbed
his full attention.

A noise like a bomb going off rocked the room. At the same
time, the front window crashed inwards, showering glass everywhere. Something
large and black came through to land on the floor in a tangle of horizontal
blinds and curtaining, rolling into the space between him and Megan.

Dangling on the end of the rope, legs kicking in desperate
search for the purchase he knew wasn’t there but which was his only possible
hope, Carver could only afford to be dimly aware of what was happening. He was
already becoming light-headed. He knew he had less than twenty seconds before
the blackness took him, after which… Still, he managed to register the look of
astonishment on Megan Crane’s face as she stared at the object that rose from
the midst of the debris, straightening up to reveal itself as a figure wearing
black motorcycle gear and a full-face crash helmet.

Before she could react, the figure’s head went down and it
charged forward like a bull in the ring to bury its head in her midriff with
enough force that Carver heard the, ‘whoosh’ as the air was forced out of her
lungs. At the same time the figure wrapped its arms round her and used the
momentum to carry her backwards several feet to where they crashed into the
sideboard. Megan screamed in pain as she took the brunt of the collision,
before they both fell to the floor.

Carver was still with it enough to fear that Megan would
recover first and in some way reassert herself. But even as she raised herself onto
an elbow, the intruder rolled up onto its knees and kicked her arm away so she
fell heavily again. As she lay on her back, the intruder dragged itself up to
sit astride her chest. Taking hold of Megan’s shoulders, it pulled her up so
her head was off the ground several inches.

By now Carver’s eyes were flickering so he could barely see.
He didn’t need to. He knew what was going to happen. The figure leaned back,
then snapped its head forward in a full-on butt that smashed the helmet into
the middle of Megan’s face. There was a crunch of breaking cartilage and bone,
and blood splashed. Then the figure let go of Megan’s shoulders so her head
fell back to hit the floor with a crack and she lay still.