Page 103 of Her Last Breath

It made sense to her. Dave Johnson had been steeped in death all of his personal and professional life. He himself had told her about the trafficked victims he couldn’t save, the young woman dying in his arms. He talked of his mother reaching out to him for the first time in his life when she was on the brink of death. In those moments he had finally found a connection to this woman who had hitherto neglected her unloved son. Is that how early it had begun in him?

Jane felt it with her mother, understood a fraction of what he might feel. The amazing charge from being with someone as they breathed their last breath, it was so intimate, powerful, meaningful. DS Johnson would be there, helping them come to terms with the realisation that the end had come. He wielded that power, that connection, feeling his worth, his purpose. Life had no meaning until the point of death.

The young girl that was shot a street away from where Alice Rogers lived, Daisy Price. She had bled out in his arms. How did that make him feel? Knowing that he was there at the end, making sure this little girl didn’t die alone? Seeing in her eyes the look of desperation, the fear, the fervent desire to live. He wasn’t there to comfort her, he was there to swallow their last moments to feed his own twisted needs.

With a jolt she was faced suddenly with another grotesque reality. These weren’t the only cases that DS Johnson had played out his twisted fantasies through. How many people had he helped over the line so he could get that feeling? Jane felt overwhelmed by the thought of what might be uncovered if he really was guilty.

To her enormous surprise, DS Johnson laughed. The sound was disturbing. In all the time she had known him, she had never heard him laugh before.

‘And how do you get through life, DI Hacker? By shagging married men in public alleyways?’

Jane felt heat rush into her face. Had he been watching her? Following her?

‘Don’t you care about Alice’s children? You took their mother from them,’ Jane shot back, enraged.

‘And who cared about me, back then? Do you know what it felt like day after day craving just the most basic affection? Not knowing if I would be fed or cleaned, sent to school. The bullying I faced being the unkempt kid of a couple of junkies. Where was the compassion for that child?’

He was breathing hard, his whole body shaking. Realising he had confirmed what Jane had been accusing him of, he withdrew into himself, staring at her blankly. She had to look away, unnerved, as though there was someone else staring back at her from inside him.

‘OK, let’s get this over with,’ Jane said, rising briskly and tugging her handcuffs from her belt.

But DS Johnson just smiled in response. Unnerved, Jane felt her skin start to crawl, even as nervous energy coursed through her body. Instantly, she realised what was happening; how foolish she had been. There were no puncture wounds on DS Johnson’s pliant victims, meaning they had probably ingested whatever drugs he had given them. They wouldn’t have thought twice about taking a drink from a detective.

Jane, you idiot. She could see it so clearly now. He had washed the mugs, boiled the water, dipped teabags from the box straight into the two cups. She assumed the cups were clean, she assumed the teabags were randomly picked from the box. Only they weren’t. Because he had doctored her teabag. Slipped something into it. How could she be so stupid?

Gripping her baton, Jane tried to stand, but her legs gave way and she stumbled forward. She forced herself upright, her vision blurring, urging herself to focus, to get away from this man. She needed to move, to escape this place. But she was only able to take a single step before her body let her down, collapsing into DS Dave Johnson’s welcoming arms.

Chapter 72

There was warmth around her, sleep inviting her into its comforting embrace. It would be so easy to leave all of this behind. She could hear her mother, hear Ed. They were whispering her name. Yes, it was time. She had done what she needed to do for them both. She had found out the truth about Ed, had given her mother the good death she needed. Now it was Jane’s turn. Then she saw Emily, Alice’s daughter. Her legs swinging, the tatty rabbit in her arms, the big eyes questioning Jane. You promised. You said you would find out the truth about my mother. Yes, Jane had. She needed to make sure she finished this job.

Coming to with a start, Jane tried desperately to move. Her head was throbbing and she felt nauseous. Worse still, her hands were tied behind her back. Trying to work out her surroundings, she could feel a hard surface beneath her and on each side, realising now that she was lying face up, her legs folded, in a ceramic bathtub. Natural daylight was gone, the lights above her were bright, fluorescent, attached to a brickwork ceiling. They were clearly in DS Dave Johnson’s basement, the unmistakable smell of mould, of damp, strong. Panic gripped her as she tried desperately to move, only to feel her body succumb to a crippling wave of nausea.

‘Your brother killed himself, didn’t he? Edward Hacker. Died twentieth of July, nineteen-ninety-two. So young. You were younger though, weren’t you?’

Don’t say my brother’s name, she screamed at him. Only it was a groan, no words came out.

‘It’s OK, ma’am. You will soon be joining him. And your mother. But it’s OK, Jane, I won’t let you be alone at the end. We all hope that we won’t be alone at the end, don’t we? That we are with people who care for us and love us. Well, I can’t give you that, I’m afraid, but I will make sure I’m with you. Watching the light die in your eyes, helping you to a better place.’

Again, Jane tried desperately to escape her confines, hitting the cold, hard sides of the bathtub as she twisted violently. Her arms throbbed from being pinned beneath her, refusing to move, no matter how hard she tried.

‘With your mother gone, what do you have to live for? Who will question you taking your own life?’

She heard something scraping on the ground, a sloshing sound with it. Water. Her breathing became shallow, fear pulsing through her.

‘Tell me, Jane, what was it like, watching your mother die? Did it feel powerful, primal, gratifying? After all, there’s nothing more intimate, more meaningful than those last moments. The living will never give you that connection.’

Jane flinched violently as DS Johnson’s face finally came into view. He was smiling at her kindly, as her eyes pleaded with him.

‘Look into my eyes, Jane. I will make this easy for you, I don’t want you to suffer unnecessarily.’

He disappeared briefly, then came back into view, dragging something behind him. Jane felt water splash down onto her, soaking her clothes and body. DS Johnson was using a bucket to scoop water from a barrel, intent on filling the bathtub.

‘The water is from the lake your brother died in,’ he said between pours. ‘I read up on his case before you started the job.’

Jane felt the water creeping over her stomach, her chest, her chin, DS Johnson working furiously to fill the bath. She bobbed her head up, tried to lift herself away from the deepening water, but her body felt leaden.

‘They will find your body floating in the lake where Ed had drowned and the subsequent post-mortem analysis by your dear friend, Dr Lydia, will reveal lake water in your lungs.’