Last Gasp (4 page)

Carver sat at his desk and cast his
eyes over the mass of job sheets, folders and statements littering its surface.
Some he’d left there that morning, others were new. Two items drew his eye.

Top of the pile was a yellow sticky-note. He recognised Alec
Duncan's heavy scrawl. It read, 'Jackson rang. AGAIN!!! Wants you to RING HIM
BACK!!!'

Carver sighed. The Scottish DS’s exclamation marks were
becoming hard to ignore. But he wasn’t in the mood for reporters. Certainly not
Jackson. Even now, years on, those who liked to make mischief still
occasionally referenced the Sunday Times Magazine feature article he was yet to
live down. It wasn’t that long ago some bastard even left a copy on his desk.
If he’d known who, he’d have shoved it up their… He put Alec’s note to one
side, but where he could see it.

The second item was a bright white envelope with clean,
sharp edges. Drawing it from the pile, he recognised the distinctive typescript
showing his full name, title and station address. He tore it open, and digested
the single page letter’s contents in one quick scan.

His appearance before the Promotion Interview Panel was set
for 10.30am on the twenty sixth of the month following. He calculated. Four
weeks yesterday.
Wonderful
.

He stared at it for several seconds, before letting it slip
from his hands to float onto the desk. He turned his chair left ninety degrees
so he faced the window that looked out onto the dull, grey-slate roof of what
used to be the station’s grand Parade Room but had long since been converted
into extra office space. Another time, Carver may have looked forward to it.
Even allowing for the hiccup he would never be able to hide, the route mapped
out for him years before by a certain Chief Officer to help chart his upward
progress was still on track, more or less. But right now the timing couldn’t
have been worse. It was nobody’s fault but his. When he’d applied for the Board
appearance three months ago, it seemed like the right thing to do. He’d
realised since how much his decision was influenced by those whose support he
welcomed, but whose drip-drip encouragements had steered him down a route he
wasn’t certain he was yet ready, even willing, to travel.

'If you're not careful, you'll miss the boat.'

'Superintendent by forty. That's the benchmark if you
want to hit Chief Officer.'

'Now's the time. You're over what happened, and they only
have to look at how you're running things here to see you're back on song.'

He turned to check the date on the letter again. Eight weeks
was the widely-accepted minimum prep time for a, 'board' appearance. 'More like
three months,' according to Richard Dunning, the most recent of his peers to
have negotiated the process. Four-weeks-less-a-day when you’re helping to run a
series-murder enquiry was laughably short.

‘Bollocks.'

For several seconds he let his mind roam, seeking an option
that would enable him to give it a decent shot, whilst not detracting from his
role as Deputy SIO to the largest investigation the force had seen in a
generation. Eventually he realised. There wasn't one.

He checked his watch. Six minutes to debrief. After the
afternoon’s shambles he needed to focus on the job in hand, not what may or may
not happen four weeks from now.

Turning his chair a further ninety degrees, he faced the
white board behind his desk. Its ink-scarred surface was all-but-hidden under a
montage of felt-pen scribble, stick-its, photographs and papers held in place
with magnets. It was his Personal Investigation Log and had grown over the
fourteen months since Kerry Martin’s death. As often happened when he needed to
focus, he found himself staring at one particular photograph. It showed Kerry
on her knees, bound to a post by ropes wound round her upper body, waist and
thighs, her ankles crossed and tied behind. Her arms were extended out in
front, tied at wrist and elbow. Her palms and fingers were pressed and super-glued
together. As many commented at the time, apart from the lingerie, heels and
black silk ribbon wound tightly around her throat, she might have been praying
- hence the media’s ‘Worshipper’ Tag. Three others had followed Kerry since,
though he hadn’t felt compelled to add their photos. There was no need. Scattered
across the board, almost randomly it seemed, were circled question marks,
reminding him of the scale of the task they still faced. Apart from making him
forget about board appearances, they also made him aware of how much tighter
the knot in his stomach had grown since that morning. At that moment, an image
of Megan Crane, as she had appeared in her kitchen doorway, glossy and perfect,
ambushed him. He tried pushing it aside but quickly realised, he needed help.

'Fuck it.'

Rising from the chair, he snatched up the briefing-file that
was ever-present on the side of his desk, and headed out.

As usual on a Friday, the briefing
room was fuller than other days. Everyone liked to make a special effort to be
present for the SIO's weekly, 'State Of The Enquiry' address. As Carver entered
at the back, a big man with close-cropped greying hair rose to his feet from
the middle of the three chairs set out at the front. At once, a wave of silence
washed over the assembled throng, cutting through the jokey-chatter.

Detective Superintendent John 'The Duke' Morrison was
dressed, impeccably as always, in his trademark shiny-grey suit. Seeing his
deputy coming through, Operation Kerry's Senior Investigating Officer pulled
himself up to his full six-feet-five.

'Right Ladies and Gents. Let’s make a start.'

Behind, in the chair to The Duke’s right, a slim,
dapperly-dressed younger man came upright and alert as if he thought that by
doing so he was setting an example to the rest of the audience. As Carver took
the left-hand chair, he glanced across only to find the other man waiting for
it. As their eyes met, the younger man sent over a wink and grin that said,
I’ve
had a great day. How was yours
? Carver held his gaze, but kept his
expression neutral. Whatever his thoughts about his fellow Assistant SIO, he
was obliged, in public at least, to treat DCI Gary Shepherd as his equal.
Turning away, Carver gave his attention to the figure in front. Having gained
everyone’s attention, The Duke was taking a moment to scan faces. Carver knew
he would be noting absentees to mention to him after, along with the
superfluous request that Carver update them as soon as the opportunity
presented.

As he stared at the broad expanse of back, Carver noted, as
always, the ease with which the man in overall charge of the Kerry
Investigation asserted his authority. It wasn’t just to do with his size.
Though his nickname, ‘The Duke’, referenced the birth surname name he shared
with the old cowboy-actor, John Wayne, as well as his rolling gait, his record
as an investigator was known to all. Eventually his gaze settled on a paunchy,
middle-aged man, halfway down on the left. Back to the wall, he was drinking
from his favourite Celtic mug.

'Alec, perhaps you can start by tell us where we are up to
with the silver Astra?'

Detective Sergeant Alec Duncan spluttered a mouthful of tea
back into the mug and muttered under his breath. Though the Glaswegian's oath
carried to those nearby, they stifled their amusement, wary about getting
marked as, ‘next’. The former Lothian Police detective from long before Police
Scotland days reached behind for a sheaf of papers on the windowsill. Coming as
straight as his paunch allowed, he began speaking in his distinctive burr.

'Reet Guv’nor. For those who missed it, werr’ talkin’ aboot
the silver Astra that were seen outside Jeannette Fairhaven’s house an' which
featured in the Crimewatch recon. We’ve traced it back to a bloke called
Hamilton, from Ormskirk who works on a North Sea gas rig. On Monday, Geoff
Conway and I will be….'

As the old-sweat DS set about describing the process through
which he and his partner hoped to finally eliminate the vehicle that had been
the cause of so much speculation and, they all suspected, wasted effort, Carver
began to relax. He was grateful for the opportunity to focus on, 'normal
stuff'. While he wasn’t expecting anything dramatic – if there had been any
developments it would have been clear the moment they arrived back - he prided
himself on keeping up with all aspects of the investigation. Senior to Shepherd
in several ways, he was the enquiry’s ‘Designated Deputy’. As such he saw it as
his responsibility to spot the often-camouflaged links between lines of
enquiry. Experience taught him that if he didn’t, there was a good chance no
one else would.

For the next thirty minutes, The Duke went from team to
team, eliciting updates, posing questions. Carver listened mainly in silence
though now and again, he would raise a question or zero in on a particular
point. On these occasions The Duke always checked back with him - 'Okay Jamie?'
- before moving on. Sometimes the reason behind Carver’s query was obvious, as
often, not. One by one, the various lines of enquiry were covered.

The white nylon rope used in the last three killings?

'It’s made for B&Q. You can get it in any of over 300
branches anywhere in the country.'

The smartly-dressed man seen in the vicinity of Tracy
Wilcox’s home near the time of her murder?

'The Mormons have finally confirmed they
were
working
in the area after all. They’re sending us a list. We think he’ll be on it'.

The efforts to verify the alibis given by Trevor Hargreaves,
the Salford University Rapist released on license the month before the killings
began?

'His solicitor-girlfriend has confirmed he was on holiday
with her in Ibiza the week Anna Davis was killed. We think she’s telling the
truth this time.'

And so on.

Most of it was routine, though Carver sat up when The Duke
turned to the team whose task it was to follow up on the ‘Blonde Hairs’ link.
Of all the outstanding enquiries and potential leads, it was the one they all
knew could yield the break-through they longed for. Barry Swift, the DS running
the team rose to his feet. Even before he opened his mouth, his low-key
body-language told Carver all he needed to know.

‘Not much to add since last time, I’m afraid, boss. The DNA
has come back on the two blond women we traced last week and who were known to
be past friends of Tracy Wilcox and Kerry Martin. They don’t match the hairs
from the scenes and they’re both alibied to the hilt for the dates in question.
We’ve still got another name to follow up on. She’s a girl Kerry used to knock
around with, but we think it was before she got into the S-and-M stuff. Don’t
hold your breath.’

The Duke nodded his thanks, but remained up-beat. ‘Okay
Barry. But let’s all stay focused on this. The blond hairs are still the only
common link between the scenes. They belong to someone. Remember that everyone
when you’re knocking on doors.’

At the back of the room, a DC, Jack Rowe, spoke up. ‘Any
further thoughts on whether this blond whoever she is, is a suspect or just
someone who happens to have known each of the victims and visited their
playrooms, dungeons, or whatever?’

Carver came upright, nodded to The Duke. Since the link came
to light after the second murder, he’d been monitoring progress almost daily. The
Duke nodded back.

‘We still can’t say. If we accept the possibility the killer
is female, then obviously she’d have to be a suspect. But we’re still waiting
on Doctor Cleeves’s, assessment on the likelihood of a female killer.’ Ewan
Cleeves, visiting Professor in Forensic Psychology at the University of
Manchester was the enquiry’s allocated ‘profiler’. ‘When we first raised it he
seemed doubtful but we’re keeping an open mind. She could still just be a
common contact we haven’t yet been able to trace. The bottom line is, we won’t
know ‘til we find her.’ The party line delivered, he sat back in his chair. He
hated fence-sitting, but in the case of the blond hairs it was all they could
do.

From that point, and as it continued, Carver found it
increasingly difficult to focus on the updates. Despite his best efforts,
images of Megan Crane, her dramatic appearance and mocking smile kept coming.
At the same time, snippets of his conversation with The Duke before they'd left
for their abortive visit to Calderton that morning still lingered. The Kerry
Enquiry was into its second year, and was rapidly becoming ‘hot’. As The Duke
had said, unless there was a breakthrough soon, the Joint Chief Officers Board
– the panel of Deputy and Assistant Chief Officers charged with overseeing the
enquiry on behalf of contributing forces, and fuelled no doubt by an impatient
media - would start looking for scapegoats. Thankfully, John Morrison was one
of a rare breed, a career detective, but one with enough political nouse to
fight his corner. The prospect of a JCOB-inspired witch-hunt wouldn’t cause him
to lose sleep, nor Carver for that matter. They both knew that with an
investigation like Kerry, success was only ever a phone call away. But concern
over when, not if, they would be presented with a new victim, troubled them
both. It was now three months since Anna Davis had become the killer’s fourth
victim. The series profile put the murders at roughly four-month intervals. If
the breakthrough they were hoping for didn’t come soon, it could be too late.
They’d both had high hopes for Megan Crane, though in Carver’s case, other
factors impinged. He squirmed in his seat as he thought again on the possible
cost of his failure. But then he remembered his last, bullish words to Jess.
I’ll
sort it
.

Carver turned his attention back to his boss just as the big
man turned to his fellow ASIO.

'Gary, perhaps now's a good time to bring everyone
up-to-date with Cosworth?'

Nodding vigorously, Shepherd rose to his feet and stepped
forward. Lively and business-like, he never flinched from an opportunity to be
seen and heard. Opening a folder he'd been holding throughout, he began passing
out photographs and briefing sheets to people at the front to hand around.

'This is a photograph of William Cosworth. It was taken by
the Surveillance Unit before he clocked them.' He paused while the copies
circulated. 'As you can see, it’s a bit grainy but it’s the best we've been
able to get so far. The briefing sheet gives his personal details and vehicles
we know he has access to.' He waited again, letting his audience catch up.

Carver used the lull to weigh the younger man some more. A
product of the Accelerated Promotion Scheme, word was Gary Shepherd was
destined for greatness. Carver’s take on it was that if true, it wouldn't be in
CID. And he wasn’t alone in seeing Shepherd's appointment as ASIO to the
enquiry as nothing more than a career-broadening exercise - as opposed to
recognition of the 'Leadership and Investigative Qualities' he’d seen mentioned
in a Headquarters Memo on The Duke’s desk one day. Nevertheless, Carver had to
admit that Shepherd's vital, athletic look - gained from pounding the
treadmills at the five-star Portal Hotel's fitness centre out at Daresbury -
lent him a confident air of authority, even if it didn't match his experience.
Or detective skills.

Shepherd turned to hand copies of the picture to Carver and
The Duke. Carver studied it. It showed a slim man, around forty, dressed in
jeans and a white T-Shirt, getting into a black Porsche Carrera parked in front
of a high-rise apartment block. The picture had been taken with a long-distance
lens from somewhere overlooking the car park. But it was blurred, indistinct.
Carver wondered why Shepherd hadn’t produced a better one. Surely the SU had
managed to get a better picture than this?

'As some of you already know,' Shepherd continued.
'Cosworth's name has come into the frame only recently. He’s a fashion
photographer who specialises in the fetish end of the market. A few years ago
he escaped a conviction for raping one of his models. She withdrew her
complaint so as not to ruin her career.'

The Duke sat up. 'I think you mean that was a
possible
reason for her withdrawal Gary?'

Shepherd missed the hint. 'Technically, that may be true,
but I’ve spoken with her and she insists it was because her agent told her she
would be committing professional suicide if she went ahead.'

Alec Duncan’s hand went up and The Duke nodded.

'Sorry if I’ve missed something boss. But why's he of
interest? People escape rape convictions every day.'

'Good point, Alec,' Shepherd said, warming to his theme.
'For those of you who weren’t here last week, I’ll recap. Six years ago
Cosworth produced a feature for a fetish magazine called 'SkinTight'.
Ostensibly it was a fashion-shoot for fetish-wear. The leather and chains look.
Latex, boots, that sort of thing. The pictures were based around a
bondage-submission theme. They showed the model tied up and being threatened by
someone stretching a ligature. The set-up appears to mirror our murder scenes
in several respects, including the way the subjects appear to be praying. If
anyone wants to see the pictures they’re in my office.' As a forest of hands went
up, The Duke ‘harrumphed’ to show the humour was misplaced. They came down
again. Shepherd continued.

'It’s possible he may have taken his scenario a stage
further, and moved on from rape to murder.'

Carver checked the audience's reaction. Some of the older
detectives were looking openly sceptical. He wasn't surprised. A killer would
have to be pretty stupid to use an MO that could so easily be linked to him.
He'd been doubtful when Shepherd first voiced his theory. He'd heard nothing
since to make him think differently. But he also knew that when it comes to
crime investigation, any theory is a good one until disproved.

'Cosworth is highly surveillance-conscious. Twice he’s
clocked the SU within minutes of them picking him up. That raises the question
of what it is he wants to hide.''

Or maybe he’s just observant and
likes his privacy?

'We're still doing background but when we're ready
we'll be looking to lift him and bring him in for a closer look. In the meantime,
myself and DI Frayne-’ he paused to indicate the stocky Surveillance Unit Team
Leader at the back of the room, '-are monitoring his movements as best we can.
We’ll keep you informed of any developments. Until then, you all need to bear
Cosworth, and his vehicles, in mind.' As Shepherd sat down The Duke stood up.

'May I remind you, ladies and gentlemen, that what you
have just heard is strictly confidential? Cosworth’s name must NOT be mentioned
outside these walls. And I don’t want to read anything in the papers about the
Worshipper-, the Kerry Enquiry, having a possible suspect. Clear?' Murmurings
of, 'Yes Boss,' sounded round the room.