The Lost
- Автор: Бекетт Саймон
- Серия: Jonah Colley #1
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: Orion/Trapeze
- ISBN: 978-1-398-70690-3
- Жанр: Триллеры
Электронная книга - «The Lost». Краткое содержание книги:
Ten years ago, the disappearance of firearms police officer Jonah Colley’s young son almost destroyed him.
A GRUESOME DISCOVERY
A plea for help from an old friend leads Jonah to Slaughter Quay, and the discovery of four bodies. Brutally attacked and left for dead, he is the only survivor.
A SEARCH FOR THE TRUTH
Under suspicion himself, he uncovers a network of secrets and lies about the people he thought he knew — forcing him to question what really happened all those years ago...
Owen Stokes. Owen fucking Stokes.
After a while, he sat up, massaging his knee before hobbling to retrieve his crutches from the floor. Going into the kitchen, he ran a glass of cold water, but set it down when he saw the age-yellowed painting stuck to the fridge door. It could have been a blue giraffe or a teapot, messy and beautiful. Daddy, look what I made! Chrissie had been going to box it up, so Jonah had claimed it. He hadn’t planned to keep it there so long, but once he’d put it up he couldn’t bring himself to take it down.
Going into the living room, he stopped by the window. His flat was a characterless space on the ninth floor of a tower block in East London. He’d moved there after the divorce. Partly because it was cheap and close to the tube and bus routes, mainly because he didn’t have the inclination to hunt around. He picked up a framed photograph from the windowsill. Theo beamed out at him from it, frozen in time. Another captured moment hung on the wall, this one of Jonah and Theo laughing, their hair wet after a swimming lesson.
Oh, Christ...
He slumped down on the sofa. Whatever Gavin had found out about Stokes — and that was the only explanation that made any sense, no matter what Fletcher and Bennet said — Jonah bitterly regretted the flawed reasoning that had led to him keeping it to himself. At least, until it was too late. That decision had cost him his life, and probably that of the young woman Jonah had failed to save. Maybe the other two victims as well. And it had robbed Jonah of the chance to learn what had really happened to Theo ten years ago.
Jesus, Gavin, you had to go it alone, didn’t you?
But the thought was without heat. After a while, Jonah stirred. He looked at his watch and saw more time had passed than he’d realised. He’d have to leave for the memorial soon. The prospect still depressed him, but now there was an incentive for him to go. There would be people there who would have known Gavin, worked with him. Somebody might know something, and while Fletcher would already have spoken to anyone who might have information, Jonah knew how a few drinks could loosen tongues.
It was a place to start.
He showered, then dried off and went into the bedroom. Opening the wardrobe, Jonah took out his uniform and laid it on top of the duvet. He put a clean white shirt next to it, and then sat down to pull on his uniform trousers. It was awkward, but they were looser than the jeans he normally wore, so went over his knee brace more easily.
Standing up, he balanced on one leg, steadying himself against the wall as he buttoned his shirt and knotted his tie. Tunic next, tugging it down as he studied his reflection in the mirror inside the wardrobe door. The stitches on his scalp had been taken out but the wound was still visible. For the time being he’d kept his hair shaved to a stubble, and from time to time it still felt like someone else was looking back at him. The uniform hung loose on him as well. He’d lost muscle bulk since he’d been injured, though not so much that anyone would notice.
Tightening his belt another notch, he closed the wardrobe door. As the mirror swung past, he caught a glimpse of a figure behind him.
Jesus! Jonah almost fell as he spun around. There was no one there. Heart thumping, he hobbled over to check the hallway. Empty. What did you expect? The front door’s locked. His leather jacket was hanging up behind the bedroom door, swinging on a coat hanger. He looked in the mirror again, saw his own pale face looking back at him. There, you see?
Straightening his shoulders, Jonah swung himself down the hallway. Tying his shoes was as much fun as always with a leg that wouldn’t bend, but at last he was ready. Setting his uniform cap on his head, he took a deep breath.
Then he went to say goodbye to Gavin.
Chapter 10
The collar chafed Jonah’s neck. He started to ease it with his fingers again, thought better of it and put his hands down by his side. Stop fidgeting. It won’t make this go any faster.
The wooden pew was hard and uncomfortable. The memorial service was being held in an old, austere church that smelled of cold stone and beeswax. A large, framed photograph of Gavin was propped on an easel at the front. It showed a decade-older version of the man Jonah had known. More lines on the face, but the crinkled eyes and reckless grin were the same.
Jonah was still in a turmoil over Fletcher’s news about Owen Stokes. But he’d managed to calm himself during the taxi ride over there, and in the hushed atmosphere of the church he’d realised he needed a better strategy than steaming in with a host of questions. He wasn’t sure who’d have answers anyway. He’d spoken to Marie on the phone shortly after leaving hospital. The conversation had been as difficult as he’d expected, but it had been clear she didn’t know much either. If anything, even less than Jonah, although the way she’d been slurring made it hard to understand what she’d been saying. She’d sounded either drunk or on something. Or both. Although with her husband murdered and his body still not found, Jonah couldn’t blame her.
The church wasn’t as full as he’d thought it would be. There were a few police uniforms present, though not as many as he’d expected. He’d wondered if Chrissie would be there, but he couldn’t see her. Not that he was surprised. Or sorry, as it saved him having to decide whether or not to tell her about Owen Stokes. It might come to that, but Jonah didn’t want to involve his ex-wife yet, not until he knew more himself. Chrissie had been quicker to accept their son’s death than Jonah, had even remarried the last he’d heard. She wouldn’t welcome him lobbing a hand grenade into her new life any more than Fletcher would thank him for telling her.
For now, it was better to stay quiet.
The minister was winding down. The service had been mercifully short, with only a brief and relatively vague eulogy delivered by a detective superintendent. There was a final, intoned prayer, a few more words, and then the final piece of music was played. It was ‘Ave Maria’, which Jonah felt certain wouldn’t have been high on Gavin’s list of favourites. It was only a recording, but in the echoing church the plaintive melody was surprisingly powerful. The moment was broken by the bass rumble of a stifled belch from the end of the pew. Jonah glanced over as the thick-set man sitting there bumped the end of his fist against his chest.
‘Pardon,’ he muttered.
Nice.
Then the music ended, and the service was over. Jonah stayed seated as the front pews began to file out. Marie came first, sobbing as she was propped up by an older man who, he guessed, was her father, and a teenage boy with Gavin’s lankiness and dark curly hair. Jonah felt a pang as he realised it must be Dylan. Jesus, when did he get so big? The last time he’d seen Gavin’s son, he could only have been, what? Six? Seven? Ten years ago. Do the maths.
Behind them were two women whose resemblance to Marie identified them as her sisters. The other pews followed them out, but it didn’t take long until it was Jonah’s turn. He waited for the heavy-set man at the end to leave first, then edged out on his crutches.
The people from inside the church had gathered outside, but they were quickly dispersing, most of the uniformed police officers heading for the church gate and their waiting cars. Relieved to see the cameras and press were also packing up and leaving, Jonah joined a short queue of people waiting to pay their respects to the widow. His nervousness grew as the line shortened. As the self-conscious handshakes and condolences continued in front of him, he saw DC Bennet standing apart from the mourners, her black leather jacket and jeans a natural camouflage in that setting. There was no sign of Fletcher, and Bennet’s face registered no emotion as she looked across. He gave her a stiff nod anyway as the queue moved closer.