Last Gasp

by Robert F Barker

  Eventually she said, 'That sounds fine Maurice. But tell me. Are you totally sub, or do you ever switch?'

  His face registered distaste. 'I tried topping once, but it didn’t work. I don’t think I have a dominant side, sexually I mean.’

  Picking her words, she raised the topic they had rehearsed her through.

  'What if I asked you to switch? You top, me bottom. How would you feel about that?'

  He looked confused. 'Me, dominate you? I… I’m not sure…? I thought you are a-' He paused. '-Mistress? Why would you-?'

  She leaned forward, patted his hand. 'Don’t worry, Maurice. I’m just checking. Some men say they want one thing, but are really interested in something else. I just need to know if you would ever ask me to switch?'

  The confused look faded. He shook his head. 'For me the fantasy lies in putting my Mistress on a pedestal. It wouldn’t work if I knew she had a sub side. The answer is no.'

  For the first time, Megan turned towards Carver and Jess’s’ table. He nodded across, confirming he’d heard.

  For the next few minutes the pair discussed their preferences, though Megan seemed to be talking less freely now, reluctant to disclose more of herself. Clarke seemed to sense it, and leaned forward.

  ‘Well then, what’s it to be? Will I see you again?'

  She showed affront, as if shocked by his impertinence. 'I never make a decision straight away Maurice. I need to be sure. Let me think about it. I have your number.'

  The disappointed slump of his shoulders was visible across the room. But Clarke knew better than to push.

  'If that is your wish.' He paused, then, like a young boy who has finally plucked up the courage to approach the girl of his dreams and needs to get the words out said, 'But for what it’s worth, can I just say you are the most magnificent Mistress I have ever come across. I would give anything to be able to honour you.'

  The look Megan gave back bordered on affection. 'Don’t be too disappointed Maurice. I didn’t say, ‘no’, and there’s still wine in that bottle. Let’s get to know each other some more.' She smiled, and his face lit up again.

  Like throwing a switch, Carver thought.

  Over dessert, Clarke was like a pupil out to impress his favourite teacher. He poured her wine and hung on her every word. Carver still had the impression Megan was going through the motions, but letting him down more lightly. The power she wielded was fascinating. Eventually, she made to bring things to a close.

  'Thank you for a lovely evening Maurice. We may do it again.' She didn’t offer anything towards the bill and after the way she’d encouraged him, Carver wondered if they would witness a burst of petulance. But Clarke seemed resigned to the inevitable. During the last half hour his submissive persona had come out. By now he was at the point where he wouldn’t dream of doing anything that might offend her.

  'Mistress?' he said as she rose.

  'Yes Maurice?' There was a haughtiness about her. Like Clarke, she was in role.

  'May your humble servant give Mistress a, kiss?' As the words tumbled out, he cast his eyes down, avoiding her gaze. For a split second, a smile flitted across her face and her expression softened. Clarke missed it and when he glanced up again, she was back in character.

  'Although this is only our first meeting, I will allow it. But don’t think I make a habit of letting people I’ve only just met kiss me.'

  'Of course not Mistress. Thank you Mistress,' he gushed. Standing up, he leaned forward, brushing his lips against her cheek. But as he broke contact he froze, his face an inch away from hers and Carver both saw and heard him breathe deeply, savouring the essence of the woman he hoped to one-day serve. When he sat down again, he wore a contented look.

  'Goodnight Maurice', she said.

  'Goodnight Mistress. Thank you Mistress.'

  As he watched her go, along with those others who were in a position to follow her graceful meander out to the reception area, Carver spoke into his hand-mike.

  'She’s off and running. Heading home.'

  Mike Frayne, the surveillance team-leader, came back immediately. 'Roger. We have eyeball.'

  Carver sat back. For the first time since they’d arrived, he even managed to relax. He was looking at Clarke, but remembering her exit.

  Jess broke into his reflection. 'So, what do you think?' But before he could say anything she held up a hand. 'What’s that?'

  It took him a few seconds to work out what she was talking about, but then he heard it as well. A soft humming accompanied by a quick-tempoed, drumming. He pressed a finger to his earpiece and looked across at Clarke. He was sitting back in his chair. His eyes were open, but they seemed, dull, unfocused. His hands were under the table and he was making a humming noise that was too low to carry above the general hubbub. Suddenly his mouth started to hang open and Carver realised what the other sound was. Jess realised at the same time. Her eyes widened.

  'He’s, not-? Surely he isn’t-?'

  'He is,' Carver said. Even he was shocked.

  Clarke’s face tensed, his shoulders lifted, held, then dropped. Carver checked the diners closest to Clarke’s table. No one seemed to have noticed.

  Coming to, Clarke fumbled under the table with a napkin then straightened himself. He poured the remaining wine into his glass and drank it down.

  Carver shook his head. 'I guess we can safely say we’ve seen everything now.'

  Jess tried to look suitably disgusted, but he could see she was struggling to suppress just a little amusement.

  ‘Not everything, thank goodness.’

  Chapter 29

  'So what do you think?' Megan was saying. 'Does my theory hold up?'

  They were ensconced in a corner of the otherwise deserted ‘Arkle Lounge’ in Chester’s elegant Grosvenor Hotel. As he thought on what she’d said, Carver was conscious of her stare. Nestling in the brown leather sofa opposite, with her legs tucked under, - she’d actually kicked off her shoes - she was nursing a glass of Cointreau as she waited on his response.

  He ran his hand over his face and reached for his Jack Daniels. It had been a long day and he wasn’t sure he was up to getting his head round the more subtle aspects of sub-dom dynamics, but he was wondering if she might have hit on something. A role-reversal scenario in which the submissive asks to suffer the ultimate humiliation - being ‘forced’ to dominate his mistress – could explain how the killer gets his victims to let him restrain them. The dom-victim would think she was still in control, until her ‘sub’ revealed his true intentions - by which time it would be too late. But he wasn’t sure he could see an experienced Dom falling for it, and said so. ‘More to the point,’ he added. ‘Would you go for it?'

  Megan hesitated. 'At first, I thought it would be too contrived. But the more I consider it…. If I thought that I would still be in charge of things, then, yes, I might.' Seeing his doubtful look she shrugged. 'You said yourself, there’s no evidence he overcomes them by force.'

  He nodded, took another drink. Eventually, he said, 'Okay, let’s go with it for now. It’s certainly something we can start looking at.'

  She looked pleased. 'Does this make me a detective?'

  Carver tried to not respond to the smile he knew now was infectious. ‘I’ll think about it.'

  As they sipped their drinks, Carver was conscious it was the first time they’d been alone together. After de-briefing Megan on her impressions of Maurice Clarke, Jess had excused herself and bid them goodnight. Since Corinne Anderson’s murder they’d been working almost round the clock. They all needed to catch up on sleep.

  During the debrief, Megan had shown doubt over Clarke being their man. To her, he came across as a genuine sub - ‘Nothing more, nothing less.’ But Carver knew his early impression of Clarke had been off. Not as tongue-tied or nerdish as he’d first seemed, he was wary about writing him off too soon.

  Megan broke the silence. 'So what happens next?'

  Carver put his glass down. 'We’ll keep our Mr Clarke on ic
e while we get ready for your meet with Cosworth. It may produce something more positive.'

  'Just a minute,' she said. 'You’ve just said, I’m not a detective yet. That means I’m allowed some sleep even if you’re not.'

  This time he couldn’t stop the smile. There were times he found her genuinely amusing.

  'Don’t worry. I think we’ve done enough for one night.'

  'I’ll drink to that.' She raised her glass.

  A minute later, Carver was about to make a move when she suddenly said. 'Do you know, I’ve just realised something?

  He stopped. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You know all about me, but I know nothing about you. Who are you really, Jamie Carver? You never seem too shocked by what I do. Why is that?'

  He recognised the feeling that comes when a man thinks a beautiful woman is taking an interest, and reminded himself to be careful. She could get inside a man’s head before he knew it.

  'What’s there to know? I’m just an ordinary copper investigating some murders. Simple as that.'

  An eyebrow lifted. 'But you’re not an ordinary copper, are you? I believe you’re famous?'

  Dammit Jess, what have you been saying? But he was careful not to let his wariness show. 'I was involved in a couple of cases that got some media interest. Nothing special.'

  It didn’t work.

  'But according to one article I read, you are, how did they put it? “Britain’s Foremost Serial Sex-Crime Detective”’?'

  For a moment he was so surprised he forgot to respond. How the hell had she got her hands on that particular article? He tried to laugh the label away. 'Well there aren’t that many. This isn’t America.’

  'But it said that if it wasn’t for you, that man, Edmund Hart was it? He would have killed more women. It said the investigation was going nowhere until you arrived. That you were able to work out how he operated, or something. How was that?'

  Inside, Carver squirmed. Edmund Hart. A little research and, bingo. Maybe she should be a detective. He sensed things getting out of hand and hoped he didn’t look as uncomfortable as he felt. He tried to sound matter-of-fact.

  'I’d just done some work in the US. With the FBI. I had some insights the enquiry team didn’t. You shouldn’t believe everything you read.'

  Her response hit him like an express train. 'But didn’t I read somewhere that you had some inside information?'

  Stunned, he reached for his glass, buying time. He was certain there had been no mention of a source in anything that had been made public.

  'Where did you read that?'

  'Ohh… somewhere. I can’t remember now. What sort of inside information was it?'

  His mind raced, wondering if her questions were as innocent as she was making them sound. Or did she know something? Unable to see how she could, he blanked her.

  'I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it.'

  She was immediately contrite. 'I’m sorry, Jamie. I didn’t mean to pry.' Her voice softened. 'But from what I remember reading you had a hard time of it. Didn’t this Hart make some threats against you or something?'

  It was as if someone had pressed ‘play’ on a video. The court scene he couldn’t stop remembering played again. He shut his eyes, trying to draw across the curtain that seemed to be becoming flimsier by the day. He waited a moment. 'Let’s just say it wasn’t pleasant.'

  A look of what might have been sympathy came into her face, but he was glad when she didn’t probe further. Time to go.

  He knocked back the remains of his drink, but for some reason didn’t move. For what seemed like minutes but was only seconds, they regarded each other across the low table. He, trying to give the impression her questions hadn’t rattled him and reluctant to rush off in case she guessed they had. She eyeing him like a cat watching a mouse.

  Megan broke the silence. 'I think there’s more to you than you are letting on. In fact, I think you are rather…’ She drew it out. ‘...Interesting.'

  He was thinking about another diversion, when she stirred. Uncoiling herself, she swung her legs off the sofa, reached down for her shoes and purse then straightened up, ready to go. He breathed a sigh of relief. But she had one last move.

  Bending to him, she cupped his chin in her hand and brought her face close to his. Their gazes locked.

  'I think you and I have a lot to talk about sometime, Jamie Carver.'

  Her perfume surrounded him and her hair brushed against his cheek. He was conscious of the feelings she was triggering within him, at the same time remembering what she was capable of. He knew how close he was, and not just physically. But then her expression changed and the open, friendly smile broke through.

  'Thanks for looking after me, Jamie.' She kissed him on the cheek, light and quick. 'Goodnight.'

  Then she was heading towards Reception, shoes dangling from one hand, purse from the other. She didn’t look back as she rounded the corner towards the lifts.

  And as she disappeared from view, Carver knew why he hadn’t made too much of Maurice Clarke’s unorthodox way of bidding Megan Crane, 'Goodnight.'

  Chapter 30

  It was late evening when Jess climbed the stairs leading back up to the CID suite. Several phone calls - including a thirty minute one from Martin, at long last - had interrupted her work on the file report on Megan’s meeting with Maurice Clarke. It hadn’t helped that she’d had to use one of the Typing Bureau computers as hers was playing up. As she reached the CID landing she was looking forward to grabbing her things and getting off home. But about to push through the double-doors giving onto the main corridor, she stopped.

  At night, the station’s lights operated through a press-timer mechanism. Through the window set in the door she could see that the corridor and all the offices off it save one, were in darkness. The one was Carver’s office. The door was ajar no more than an inch or so, a green-tinged glow leaking from it. She knew at once it was the light from his desk lamp. That evening Carver had, unusually, finished early - for him, at least. Something to do with picking Rosanna up from a recital in Liverpool. Jess knew he was bit OCD about switching lights off. Her instincts kicked in.

  Opening the door, carefully, she slipped round into the corridor, easing it shut so it didn’t bang. The corridor was silent, but for a tinny-sounding murmur. Tiptoeing to Carver’s office, she peered in. Gary Shepherd was sitting in his chair, angled away from the door and facing the white board. He was holding something at ear level. The noises she’d heard were coming from whatever was in his hand. It took a moment, but as she saw his hand move and the murmur stopped, then started again, she realised. Shortly after Jamie had gone, Julie, the typing supervisor had brought up the transcripts of the taped conversations between Megan and Clarke at the restaurant. Jess had told her to leave them on his desk, which Julie did – along with the micro-recorder into which he’d copied the audio file for transcribing. Shepherd was listening to the recording, re-playing the part where Megan asked Clarke to spell out his fantasies, and she’d responded, kindly. Seeing the vacant look on Shepherd’s face Jess felt her skin crawl. It wasn’t too different from how Clarke had looked as he’d fumbled under the table. It wasn’t all. Open on his lap she could just make out a manila folder. She knew at once what it was. Jamie usually kept it locked in his bottom desk drawer. It contained everything they’d learned about Megan Crane. Personal details, contacts, associated pieces of information. At that moment, Shepherd turned his attention to it. In his other hand was a pen. She watched as he made a note of something. Browsing further, he pulled out a single sheet. Placing the folder on the desk, he turned to face the window where he continued to give whatever it was his full attention.

  Angered by Shepherd’s snooping - not just his invasion of Jamie’s office; the greater part of the folder’s contents was the result of her work - Jess was about to barge in and confront him, when something stayed her. It would do her no favours if she made an enemy of Shepherd, which is what would happen if she embarrassed him ou
tright. Similarly, until you need to confront a suspect with everything, it’s always better to let him think you know less than you do.

  Retracing her steps, she opened the fire doors, loudly, hit the light switch then strode, purposefully towards Carver’s office. As she neared, she heard the rustle of papers being shuffled, the ‘clunk’ of a drawer closing. Walking straight in, she switched on the light then stopped, effecting what she hoped would pass for a surprised expression. Shepherd was standing over the desk, looking flustered, already starting to redden. His hands still lingered over Julie’s typed transcripts, the recorder next to it. She tried to sound innocent.

  'I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t realise you were here. I didn’t mean to disturb you.'

  He shifted uncomfortably. 'Er, hi Jess. I’m, er… looking for something. Didn’t realise you were still about.'

  'I’m working downstairs,' she said, matter-of-factly. 'I just need some of Mr Carver’s notes.' She pointed behind where he was standing. ‘They’re in his desk.’

  Looking down, Shepherd’s face registered dismay. However he got into the drawer, he wouldn’t have had time to re-lock it. He stepped aside to let her pass.

  'What is it you are after?' she said. 'Can I help?'

  Recovering rapidly, he had a story ready.

  'I need a picture of the Crane woman. I’m about to brief the surveillance team for tomorrow’s op. I thought Jamie has some somewhere.'

  ‘He does,’ she said. Reaching up to the white board next to them, - right where he’d been looking as he sat in the chair - she detached one of the head-and-shoulders photographs from the magnet holding them there. It was the one SOCO had taken especially for use by the surveillance teams. The one Megan had provided was, as Jamie put it, 'not suitable.' SOCO had had to make several more copies than were usually needed for such operations. For some reason they kept disappearing.