Free Last Gasp by Robert F Barker Page B

their incessant badgering – ‘Why so quiet tonight
Jess?’ ‘Is something wrong?’ - had lured her to mention a meeting with someone
a bit ‘unusual’, and that it had not gone well. It was a mistake. They all knew
of her involvement with Kerry. The media couldn’t get enough of it. Normally
tight-lipped, Jess’s uncharacteristic reveal was enough for them to fall on it
like wasps on jam.
    ‘What do you mean, ‘unusual’?’
    ‘Was it a suspect?’
    ‘You’ll have to tell us. Whoever it is, they’re obviously on
your mind.’
    She’d thought that if she could put the day’s events behind
her, she might be able to get on with enjoying her night out with friends she
saw less and less these days. She told how she’d met a ‘lifestyle’ dominatrix.
But when she realised that was about all she could share, she recognised her
error. It triggered a torrent of questions, the first from Abi, the youngest.
‘What’s a domin-itix?’ What followed was proof enough - were any needed - that
when it comes to ‘laddish’ humour, women in drink are no different to men. She
then spent the next twenty minutes denying she was holding back on some
earth-shattering secret that her friends had every right to know - ‘Remember,
it’s us who pay your wages.’ Eventually she called, ‘Enough’ and suggested they
find another topic to fixate on. It didn’t work. Cut off from their source,
they resorted to squeezing every drop of humour they could from the information
they’d been given. The string of puns and double-entendres that followed
covered everything from handcuffs to interview - read ‘interrogation’ -
techniques, and looked set to continue. The last, from birthday-girl Lou
herself, was typically inane. A telephone call from the woman in question
apologising for not being able to help with Jess’s enquiries because, ‘I’m tied
up today.’ It was the last straw. Jess was still smarting over the afternoon’s
shambles, and her friends’ behaviour struck her as not just disproportionate -
Charlotte looked like she was about to wet herself for God’s sake – but crass
in the extreme. They’d obviously forgotten that the subject they were laughing
about connected to a string of brutal murders.
    Close to saying something she knew she may later regret,
Jess grabbed her purse and slipped from her stool. ‘That’s it. If you’ve not
found something else to talk about by the time I get back, then I’m out of
here.’
    But as she headed for the Ladies, the digs followed.
    'I like it when she gets all dominant.’
    'Get her another drink. That’ll whip her into shape.’
    ‘Feeling a bit ropey are we?’
    ‘Just joking Jess. Not.’
    As always on a Saturday night in Jasper’s the Ladies was
jammed. Jess had to queue for a cubicle. When one came free, she was in it like
a rabbit down a hole. Locking the door, she leaned back and took a deep breath.
Then she sat down and put her head in her hands.
    When she’d arrived home that evening, following her
creepy-but-revealing encounter with Shepherd, she had little time to reflect on
her day. Already an hour late for her meeting with the girls, she’d been
desperate to try Martin again. She showered, changed and saw to her hair and
makeup in record time. Through it, she was conscious of questions lurking in
the back of her mind, waiting to be dragged out and pulled apart. Mostly, they
related to their failure to recruit Megan Crane to their cause. Jess didn’t do
blame, but her sense was that if she did, she wouldn’t be pointing any fingers
at herself. With an effort, she’d turned her thoughts away from the afternoon’s
events, grabbed her mobile and tried Martin.
    The 'unavailable' signal she'd been getting all week sounded
again.
    'Damn it Martin, Where the hell are you?'
    Two weeks earlier, as he’d left for his trip to somewhere in
Eastern Europe – Azerbaijan? – he’d warned that communication might be a
problem. ‘The way things are out