The Lost

‘Supercala... friji... biscuit...’ his son had managed before dissolving into laughter.

Click.

Fletcher tossed the newspaper back onto the coffee table. ‘Nice bit of publicity, if you’re wanting to get the story back out there. Was that the plan? Use the warehouse investigation to remind people what happened to your boy, see if you can’t shake a few apples from the tree? Who knows, with a bit of luck you might even get the case reopened.’

‘Case? You mean Theo’s case?’ Jonah felt like he’d just walked off a step. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I think it’s time we were honest,’ Fletcher said. ‘You never accepted your son drowned, did you?’

Jonah’s mouth had dried. He opened it to speak but found he’d no idea what to say.

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ he managed.

‘Bear with me,’ Fletcher said. ‘I’m curious to know if you believe he died in that culvert. Because that’d mean it was all on you.’

‘It is all on me,’ Jonah grated. ‘I fell asleep and let him wander off. I’ve had to live with that ever since.’

‘But they only found a shoe, not his body. At the back of your mind there must have been doubts. Maybe it wasn’t his, maybe the inquest got it wrong. Maybe something else happened. Something you could blame someone else for.’

‘I don’t need anyone to tell me my son’s dead. Or that it was my fault.’ Jonah felt rattled and confused, unable to understand why Fletcher was pushing this.

‘So you’re telling me you never wondered?’ the DI went on. ‘That you just accepted it, thought, “fair enough, now I know what happened I’ll move on”?’

Jonah looked away. He hated this, hated laying himself bare. Especially to Fletcher. But he knew the DI wasn’t going to let it go.

‘Of course I didn’t. If he drowned, I wanted proof. All I got was a shoe.’ Jonah stopped, struggling to compose himself. Just talking about it brought back the desperation of that time: that terrible, yawning absence. It was still with him, even now, waiting below the everyday surface. He cleared his throat. ‘It didn’t matter what I wanted, though. That was all there was, so I’d no choice but to accept it.’

Fletcher folded his hands as he considered him. ‘Did you, though?’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘You’re a firearms officer. You’d know which boxes you’d have to tick to convince everyone you were safe to return to duty. And admitting you didn’t accept the coroner’s findings wouldn’t have been one of them.’

Jonah could feel his hold on his temper beginning to slip. ‘I didn’t pretend, if that’s what you mean. Everything else had been ruled out. It was the only thing that could have happened.’

There was something faintly reptilian about the way Fletcher considered him, like a lizard contemplating a fly.

‘That’s not strictly true, is it?’

Something cold raised its head in Jonah. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Just that everyone assumed your son had been abducted at first. There was even a suspect.’

‘Not for long,’ Jonah said, his confusion and disquiet growing. ‘He had a solid alibi. The enquiry cleared him.’

‘But did you believe that? Even if someone was only suspected of taking your boy, there’d always be that lingering doubt. I’d think you’d be desperate to get your hands on him. Wring the truth out of the bastard.’

Jonah’s chest had tightened. ‘Where’s this going?’

The DI gave a nod to Bennet. Without a word, the policewoman took out a photograph from her bag and reached across to place it on the coffee table in front of Jonah. He picked it up. It was a police photo, showing the shaven head and coarse features of the man Jonah had seen near the play area the morning Theo disappeared.

‘Recognise him?’ Fletcher asked.

‘He was the suspect. Owen Stokes.’ Jonah’s heart was racing. ‘Why are you showing me this?’

‘We found photographs of Stokes on McKinney’s laptop. Recent ones. By the look of it, McKinney had been keeping him under surveillance. Following him, staking out where he was staying.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?’

Jonah felt like the world had tilted. ‘No, of course not!’

‘So you’ve no idea why McKinney was so interested in Owen Stokes?’

‘No, I’ve told you! You’ve examined my phone, for God’s sake, you’ve seen I wasn’t in contact with Gavin.’ Jonah put the photograph back on the table, suddenly loath to touch it. ‘Was Stokes part of an investigation he was working on?’

But Fletcher was shaking his head even before he’d finished.

Stokes wasn’t on our radar at all. He’s kept his nose clean for the past couple of years. No cautions, no arrests. And he doesn’t have any gang affiliations we’re aware of. He’s a loner, keeps himself to himself. There was no official reason to keep him under surveillance any more than there was for McKinney to be at that warehouse. In fact, the only connection we can find between McKinney and Owen Stokes is what happened ten years ago.’ Fletcher regarded him through lidded eyes. ‘You, in other words.’