Last Gasp (11 page)

The Duke sat at his desk, Carver
facing. ‘DOM!’ magazine lay between them, open at the page showing Megan
Crane’s listing. The Duke’s face was grave.

 ‘So do these bloody stars mean anything, or is someone
fucking with us?’

Carver hesitated. He’d been asking himself the same question
all the way back. ‘There’s no way of knowing. It could be whoever sent it,
simply got things wrong-’

‘Or?’

‘Or like you say. Someone’s fucking with us.’

‘The killer?’

Carver shrugged. ‘Right now, your guess is as good as mine.’

‘For fuck’s sake, Jamie. It was you said we needed to focus
on the magazine in the first place. What are you saying now? It may be a load
of bollocks?’

Carver ignored the accusatory tone, shook his head. ‘I’m
saying, on what we’ve got, we can’t say one way or another. We need to keep an
open mind.’

‘An open mind,’ The Duke repeated, more evenly. Carver
sensed his frustration. ‘Great.’

Still, Carver waited. The Duke was playing catch-up. In
reality nothing had changed, apart from someone else had died.

‘Was she listed?' The Duke said.

‘Just a photograph and a reference, but she was there. Some
of the longer standing subscribers don’t always put a full entry in every
reprint. Just enough to show they are still active.’

The Duke mused on it. 'That might cause us a problem.’

Carver nodded. The thought had occurred as he’d watched
Howard Gladding going about his business.

After discovering the link with ‘DOM’ they’d met with the
ACC overseeing the enquiry. They’d talked about whether to contact all of DOM’s
two hundred-plus entrants, or just those starred. He’d argued that contacting
them all risked alerting the killer. They might lose their only advantage, and
there may not be another. Eventually he’d got his way. The decision to contact
only the starred entry - Megan Crane - was recorded in the enquiry Policy Book
under The Duke’s signature, and ratified by the ACC. It was a calculated risk.
The sort SIOs often have to take. On this occasion it hadn’t paid off, and
Corinne Anderson had died. Of course, if and when the next Six-Week Review fell
due, it would find that the decision had been taken only after all possible
consequences had been properly weighed. No blame would attach to Carver, or any
of them, over Corinne’s death, though he could already hear the words, ‘with
hindsight’, ringing in his ears.

But Carver’s mind was still clear. 'We’ve got to stick with
it John. ‘DOM’ is still the only thing we’ve got.'

John Morrison took a deep breath. For a long time, he said
nothing. As SIO It was his decision. But nothing had changed and they both knew
it.

Eventually he gave a slow nod. ‘Okay.’ He thought a few
moments more then added, 'But if Cleeves is right, then all bets are off. This
one was earlier than expected by a good few weeks. Now that the killer’s broken
his schedule, he thinks he might start diverging from his MO in other ways. If
that happens, everything could change.’

Carver nodded. He’d read Cleeves’s Interim Assessment. The
psychologist had prepared it as soon as the bare facts of the latest killing
had been relayed back to the MIR.

'So long as he’s using DOM there’s a good chance we’ll pick
up something, either through the Crane woman or someone else. She still matches
all the victim profiles remember, including Corinne Anderson.’

The Duke gave his deputy a long look. He’d dealt with plenty
of murder cases, but Carver had more experience with series. When it comes to
enquiries like Kerry, conventions around rank and seniority don’t always count
for much.

'You know this stuff better than me, and Cleeves. What’re
the chances he may change his MO? Choosing his victims at random or snatching
them off the street?’

Carver got up and walked over to the window. The Duke’s
questions actually hid another. How far could they depend on Pinnacle? He, of
course, would say, ‘all the way’. But then, he’d invented it.

Carver developed what had since become known as the,
‘Pinnacle Inventory’, in the wake of his experiences in the Ancoats Rapist case
- his first ‘series’. After days and weeks spent trawling the web, looking at
‘repeat offending’ studies, one thing in particular had struck him. Almost all
sex-crime ‘repeaters’ are motivated by a single, driving fantasy – the
‘Pinnacle’, as he coined it, of what they hope to achieve through their crimes.
It led to him devising his, ‘Pinnacle Inventory’, basically a questionnaire
that collects data about repeat-crimes and the victims, as well as a wide range
of circumstances leading up to, during and after the crime itself. Properly
analysed and compared, crime by crime, the data could reveal enough about an
offender to lead to identification – or so Carver believed. To his knowledge,
Pinnacle had been used in five ‘live’ investigations; two in the US, three in
Europe. In two cases, the SIOs were on record as saying Pinnacle was of
significant help in identifying the offender. A third felt it had been, ‘little
or no value whatsoever’. The remaining two were undecided, but would consider
using it again. From an evaluation point of view, the jury was still out. But
Carver’s gut told him that, used properly, his ‘PI’ was as good as any other
tool available to an SIO - and better than many. As he mused on The Duke’s
questions, staring out of the window at the grey day, he thought on what it had
revealed so far about the Kerry series.

'One of the killer’s drivers seems to revolve around getting
his dominatrix victim to switch, to submit to being restrained. That initial
consent seems to be a vital element in what he does. I can’t see that changing.
Not yet. The only alternative would be to start targeting prostitutes…,' he
tailed off as his words triggered a train of thought.

'But?' the Duke prompted.

When Carver turned, his face was set. 'There’s something
about the way he kills. The mind games are important. He needs the victim to be
a willing participant, not just someone who’s doing it for the money. Otherwise
he could have gone for pros to begin with and spent less time gaining their
confidence.' He thought on it some more. 'As long as he doesn’t know we’ve
sussed out the ‘DOM’ connection, he’ll stick with it.'

The two men looked each other, both thinking the same.

They were flying blind now, basing decisions on instinct and
gut feelings rather than evidence or facts. During the months they’d worked
together they’d come to trust each other’s judgement. Still, The Duke spoke for
them both when he said, 'I hope to God we’re right on this.'

'So do I.'

For several moments there was only silence. Then The Duke
said, 'You’d better get on with setting things up with the Crane woman.’

Returning to his office, Carver took
out his mobile and brought up Jess’s number. About to dial, his office phone
rang. He snatched it up.

‘It’s Claire,’ the familiar voice said to his greeting.

Carver brightened. An unsolicited call from a case Lead
Forensic always held out the promise of something. He made a quick calculation.
She would still be at Corinne Anderson’s.

‘Wassup Doc?’ It was an old joke. A play on her PhD. They’d
first met on the Ancoats job. Back then she was just one of the team.

‘We’re just finishing up here. Thought I’d let you know.’

Carver sat up. ‘What?’ Even before she said it, he guessed.

‘Blond hairs.’

Carver’s pulse quickened. ‘Like the others?’

‘Same shade and length. I’ve prioritised them for DNA and
we’ll know for sure tomorrow. But I’m prepared to bet right now they’ll match.’

‘Jesus,’ he said, and lapsed into a thoughtful silence.
Blond hairs. Again. That made all four scenes.

‘Still there, Jamie?’

‘Sorry Claire. Anything else?’

‘Not right now. We’ve got plenty of swabs and traces, but
then it’s a sex-dungeon. We’ll see what comes.’ Then she added. ‘Sorry. That
was accidental.’

‘Thanks Claire. Speak tomorrow.’

He rung off. Tried Jess. She answered at once.

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m on my way back from seeing Corinne Anderson’s ex in
Buxton’

‘And?’

‘He’s in the clear. They only see, saw, each other a couple
of times a year. Kids birthdays, that sort of thing. He didn’t even know she’d
become a full-on Dom, though he wasn’t too surprised. It was why they broke
up.’

‘How’d he react?’

‘Devastated, I’d say. He was holding onto the hope they
might get back together.’

‘No pointers then?’

‘None. And he insisted he wants to tell their kids without
any police present. Which I suppose lets me out.’ She paused. ‘So what’s next?’

Carver told her his next step was to ring Megan Crane and
tell her about Corinne Anderson and that they now had permission to go ahead as
they’d all discussed the day before. There was a Press Conference planned for
an hour’s time, after which he and The Duke would be briefing the team.

‘Do you need me there?’ Jess said.

‘Not especially. Something you got to do?’

‘I’ll struggle to get back in time. My mother’s dropping in
on her way to my aunt’s in Newcastle. I haven’t seen her for months.’

‘That’s okay. There’s not much else you can do on the victim
side tonight anyway.’

‘Thanks Jamie. If it’ll save you a job, I can ring Megan and
fill her in?’

‘That’d be good, thanks. Besides, I’ve been called to attend
a Lee Family Case Conference after. I sense a late night coming on.’ On their
way to The Poplars the day before, he’d told her about his call-out to Carnegie
Avenue.

‘That’ll be fun,’ she said.

He harrumphed down the phone. ‘See you tomorrow.’

After ringing off, Carver stared at his phone, tapped the
desk. It wasn’t like her to duck out of Press Conferences and briefings. He
hoped he wasn’t missing something. That said, she’d just had her first scene,
and what was no doubt a difficult meeting with the victim’s husband. A bit of
family time might do her good, even if she had seemed fine the last time he saw
her. About to go looking for the Press Officer who was around somewhere getting
things set up, he remembered he’d forgotten to tell her about the blonde hairs.

It’ll do tomorrow
.

As she ended the call, Jess let out
a long breath. It was the first time she’d consciously lied to him - and she
hated herself for it. But right now press conferences and briefings weren’t
uppermost in her thoughts. Turning to her right, she stared at The Poplar’s
iron gates.

She still wasn’t sure why she had diverted here on route
back from Buxton. All she knew was that since escaping the horror that was
Corinne Anderson’s basement, she hadn’t been able to stop reliving the
experience. All afternoon the images had kept coming, even through her
difficult meeting with Corinne’s ex. The cold, stone steps leading down. The
dungeon setting. The poor woman bound to the post. She deserved a medal for
managing to stay focused enough to show the compassion that was needed when she
broke the news to Kevin Anderson, and dogged enough to get what she needed to
eliminate him as a suspect. And though she could have given in to his request that
she tell him exactly how his wife had died, she spared him. For all that
relatives insist they need to know, there are occasions when it’s better they
don’t. But she was grateful when Corinne’s former husband said he wanted to
break the news to his children himself. It left her free to do what she needed
to do, which was get her head straight. Her first instinct was that the best
place to do that was home, on her own. But her route back took her through
Macclesfield, not far from Calderton, and, somehow, she’d ended up here. She
was actually sitting looking across at the gates, wondering what the hell she
was doing, why she’d come, when Jamie had rung. Now she had the perfect excuse.

About to get out, she hesitated. In the time she’d been
there, she’d seen no sign of life and though it was now well into evening, no
lights showed. Best check first. She rang Megan’s number. It rang out several
times, then cut off. No voice mail option.

That’s that, then.

She started the engine and was about to pull away when a
light came on downstairs. She stopped. A moment later her phone rang. The
screen read, 'Megan Crane'. She hit the accept button.

‘Sorry I missed your call, Jess. I was busy.’

‘No problem, I was just-’

‘-Ringing to tell me there’s been another murder?’

‘Actually, yes. How did-’

‘The TV news is reporting a murder in Chester. They keep
mentioning the Worshipper Killings, but say it’s not been confirmed yet.’

Jess tutted to herself. They should have rung her earlier.
‘It will be. There’s a press conference in the next hour.’

‘Will you be there?’

‘No, I’m-’ She hesitated, conscious of how it might sound.
‘The thing is, right now I’m sitting outside your house. I was just on my way
back from-.’

‘Tch. You should have said. I’m
just changing. Give me a few minutes. I’ll open the gates. It’s getting dark so
you’d best drive in.’

Ten minutes later Jess waited on the
sofa as Megan mixed them both drinks. Tonight she was draped in an
oriental-style black and gold lounging robe. Fastened up to the neck and floor
length, Jess thought it looked gorgeous and wondered if and when it would be
appropriate to ask where she'd bought it. Her guess was, not The Trafford
Centre.

Returning to the sofa, Megan handed Jess her drink then sat
at the other end. They chinked glasses. ‘You look like you need that.’

Jess cocked an eyebrow and made a half-smile, but said
nothing. She drank it down, and gave a little cough as the liquid burned its
way down her throat. It had been a while since she'd tasted whiskey this good.
They drank in silence. Jess sensed Megan waiting for her to begin. She felt
awkward.

‘What are they saying on the news?’

‘Just that a woman’s been found dead at her home in Chester,
and that officers from Operation Kerry had been called in.’ As she spoke she
adjusted her position so she came round to face Jess more. At the same time,
she bent her legs under and sat on them. Her arm fell so it was draped across
the back of the sofa. Despite what they were talking about, she looked relaxed,
glowing. Done up in the black robe as she was, Jess was put in mind of a sleek,
black panther.

Over the next few minutes, Jess confirmed the details,
describing what they’d found in Corinne’s cellar. When she mentioned Corinne by
name, Megan shook her head.

‘I can’t say I’ve ever come across her. Was she listed in
DOM?’

Jess nodded. ‘Not as prominently as you, but she was there.’

When Megan asked if Corinne’s entry had been starred, she
confirmed it wasn’t, then repeated the conversation she’d had with Carver about
its significance, or not.

‘Does this undermine your theory about what the stars mean?’

‘Not necessarily. We still think the killer is using the
magazine to choose his victims’

‘What does Jamie say about it? Does he still want to go
ahead as we discussed?’

‘Absolutely. His view is, it doesn’t change anything. We’re
carrying on.’

Megan nodded. ‘And do you agree? That we should carry on I
mean?’

Jess wondered what, if anything, lay behind the question.
She nodded again. ‘God yes. I think it’s more important than ever.’ By now she
was conscious that Megan was staring at her, closely. As during that first
meeting, she seemed to be weighing her. Her next question surprised her.

‘Will you be okay if we carry on?’

Jess gave a quizzical look. ‘I’m not sure what you mean. Why
shouldn’t I be okay?’

Megan took a deep breath. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, you
look like you’ve been through hell since I saw you last. Would I be right in
thinking that today’s been a bit of an ordeal?’

Jess stared at her. ‘Let’s just say it’s not something I
want to repeat any time soon.’

Megan nodded. ‘I can imagine. Most people find sex dungeons
unsettling at the best of times. When it’s the scene of a real-life murder, it
must be horrific.’

‘It was. Though-’

‘What?’

‘I was going to say yes, it was a horrific sight. But it’s
not so much that that’s bothering me as-’

‘As what?’

Thinking on what she was trying to say, Jess looked up to
find herself staring into the dark pools she remembered from that first encounter.
She also became aware that Megan seemed to be sitting closer than she had been,
though she hadn’t seen her move.

‘-As what led up to it.’

It was Megan’s turn to look puzzled. ‘How do you mean?’

‘What I mean is, since I joined this investigation, I
haven’t been able to get my head around what it is these women, woman like you,
do. These games you play. The whole fantasy role-play thing. I guess this
morning just brought it all to a head.’

A knowing look crept into Megan’s face. ‘Ah.’

But Jess wasn’t finished. 'This whole sub-dom thing?' She
gave Megan a sheepish look, conscious how naïve it must sound. 'I don’t
understand how intelligent, attractive, confident women like you can expose
yourselves in such a way. It doesn’t make sense. Why do they do it? Why do you
do it?'

Megan cocked her head but said nothing.

Jess sipped her drink. 'I sometimes wonder-’ She stopped,
fearing she’d said too much. More than ever, she was conscious of Megan’s
stare.

For a couple of minutes, neither spoke. Jess drank and fidgeted,
embarrassed at having revealed herself, unsure what to say or do next, or even
why, exactly, she had come.

Reaching across, Megan took Jess’s glass then rose and went
across to the drinks cabinet for a refill. When she came back, she handed it to
Jess but didn’t return to her seat. Instead she stood over her, looking down.
After several seconds she said, 'Would you mind giving me a few minutes?
There’s something I have to attend to.' Before Jess could say anything she
left, closing the door, firmly, behind her.

Lifting her glass, Jess gulped its contents down. Suddenly
she worried what she was doing. Why she was there at all. Part of her thought
she should leave, right now. But another was telling her she was imagining
things. That she was just wrung out from the events of the past twenty-four
hours.

How long she wavered, Jess was never sure. It seemed a long
time, but was probably only minutes. Eventually, the door opened and Megan
Crane came back in. But it was a different Megan Crane to the one that had
left. Jess sucked air and her heart started thumping in her chest.

This Megan Crane was the one whose picture she had seen
staring out of the pages of DOM! Her torso was squeezed into a shaping, black
corset, supporting matching black stockings. Round her neck was a leather
collar. The heels of the knee-length boots were about the highest and spikiest
Jess had ever seen anyone manage to walk on without toppling over. She wondered
how she had changed so quickly, then realised. She’d been wearing the outfit
under her robe all the time. Megan stalked towards her, the cat-like eyes
locked on their target. Jess’s stomach flipped somersaults. Then she was
standing over her again, hands on hips, appraising her, like a teacher weighing
a pupil before a difficult test. While she’d been gone she had done something
with her make-up. She looked different somehow, and not just because of the
outfit.

Jess’s first instinct was to get up and leave, right now and
without saying a word. But something - the impulse that had driven her to come
in the first place? - stayed her. She remained frozen in her seat.

Megan bent towards her and Jess tensed, the way she might if
someone was about to attack her. But she simply took Jess’s hand and pulled
her, gently, to her feet.

'Come,' she said.

She led her through to the kitchen. The door halfway down
the right-hand wall was open. It led into a short passageway at the end of
which was a stout, wooden door with heavy, iron hinges and a lock with a large,
round, black handle. As Megan took hold, and turned it, a loud click echoed in
the bare passage. Jess’s nervousness increased as Megan pushed the door open
and ushered her through.

Spotlights, set into the ceiling lit the large room. The
walls were mostly bright white, lending it a clinical appearance, though one
area was finished in what she’d come to think of as ‘dungeon stone’. It was
equipped, like the other places she’d seen including Corinne Anderson’s cellar,
with the usual items of ‘furniture’. Harnesses, chains, ropes, and other
accessories were set into, or hung from the walls and ceiling.

But while all of this registered in Jess’s brain, it was not
what drew her eye the most. As she turned her head, taking it all in, she
looked to her right, where her gaze fell on the strangest sight she’d ever seen
in her life.

On their knees and facing the wall, were a man and woman.
They were both laced into face-hugging leather hoods, their wrists locked
behind in leather cuffs which were attached by short lengths of chain to
similar restraints around their ankles. As Megan and Jess entered, the pair
shuffled round. Apart from their hoods and collars, they were all-but naked.
The woman wore a body-harness with straps that framed her modest but firm
breasts and the small ‘v’ of blond hair between her legs. The man was wearing a
skimpy, black-leather jockstrap. Their stifled grunts suggested that under the
masks, they were also gagged. Thin chains ran from their collars to metal rings
set into the wall.

Megan led Jess into the centre of the room, then returned to
the couple. Bending down, she unzipped eye holes in their hoods which Jess
hadn’t noticed before. Seeing the visitor, they both became agitated, turning
from Jess to Megan and back again, swaying frantically, mewing and grunting into
their gags. It was obvious that Megan had given them no warning of Jess’s
arrival.

Jess’s stomach squirmed with embarrassment, both for the
couple and herself. She didn’t know which way to look. But each time she
thought of turning away, she felt her gaze being drawn back to the strange
tableaux she had been brought to witness.

'Quiet,' Megan said, her tone stern.

Immediately, the pair fell silent and became still. It
reminded Jess that there was a side to Megan Crane she had not yet seen.
Certainly, her willingness to spring such a surprise on the couple hinted at a
capacity for cruelty that, up to now, she’d kept well hidden.

As the pair calmed, heads bowed, Jess used the opportunity
to take a closer look at them. Without seeing their faces, it was impossible to
guess their ages. The woman’s tanned and toned body suggested she was fairly
young. The man looked older. His greying chest hair and mottled skin suggested
someone of more mature years, fifty maybe? She wondered if they were a couple,
or just two of those Megan Crane counted amongst her, ‘friends’.

At last, the reason for Megan’s delay in answering her phone
was clear. Jess had indeed called at an inconvenient time. In fact she was
surprised Megan had bothered to answer at all. Before she could pursue the
thought, Megan turned to her and made a sweeping gesture.

'Mistress Jessica. May I present my devoted servants, Slaves
Arthur and Tracy.’