The Lost

‘Jonah, I’m so glad you came! Where is everyone?’ she fretted. ‘Why aren’t there more people here? All his workmates, all those people from the church, where are they? I don’t understand!’

Neither did Jonah. ‘They’re probably on their way,’ he said, but he’d been one of the last to leave. Anyone planning to attend the reception should have been there by now.

Marie looked around the empty room, as though seeing it for the first time.

‘It’s like a nightmare. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up, but I can’t. God, I can’t bear to think of Gav lying in that place on his own, all...’ She wiped at her eyes and took a gulp of wine. ‘I’m glad it was you who found him. You were always such good friends, I never could understand why you lost touch.’

Jonah had already been through this when they’d spoken over the phone. ‘It was just one of those things.’

But she wasn’t really listening. ‘I still can’t take it in. You always know there’s a risk, but you never think anything bad’ll actually happen. Not to Gav. And for someone to take his body... who’d do that?’

He was relieved when she didn’t wait for him to answer.

‘That DI... Fletcher, the one with the face. He came round again last night, asking if Gav ever talked about someone called Owen Stone or Stokes. But he wouldn’t say why.’

Jonah’s heart rate had jumped at the name. ‘Did he? Say anything, I mean?’

‘No, you know what Gav was like. He never talked about work.’ Her eyes searched his face, pleading and scared. ‘Is that... is that who they think did it?’

‘I’m not sure what they think, Marie. They aren’t telling me anything either.’

It was true as far as it went, and he wouldn’t be helping Marie by opening up even more uncertainty for her. He doubted she’d have any reason to connect Owen Stokes with Theo’s disappearance. He hadn’t been a suspect for very long, and even if Gavin had mentioned his name it was unlikely she’d remember after so long.

But Jonah still hated himself for the evasion. He felt even worse when she clutched at his hand.

‘I’m so glad you’re here. I can talk to you, you know what it’s like. How could you stand it?’

‘Just try to take it one day at a time,’ he told her, wishing he had a better answer.

‘I do, but it’s that... that not knowing. I just wish someone would tell me who did it or why, or what he did with... with... Oh, God!’

The older man Jonah took to be her father came over and gently prised her away.

‘Now, Marie, come on. Gavin wouldn’t want you to get upset. Think of Dylan.’

That prompted more tears. Her father stayed by Jonah as one of her sisters led her back to her seat.

‘This is the first time she’s left the house in weeks. I’m her dad, I’m supposed to be there to support her, but I’ve no idea what to say. What am I supposed to tell her? Or Dylan?’

‘Haven’t the police said anything at all?’ Jonah asked.

‘Not really, just that they’re following leads. But what does that mean? They say they can’t give away details of an ongoing investigation. Not even to his wife. Where’s the compassion in that?’

The man seemed to collect himself, blinking at him as though he’d forgotten anyone was there.

‘Anyway, it’s a free bar.’ He made an attempt at a smile but his eyes were far away. ‘Please order whatever you like.’

Jonah moved off with a sense of guilty relief. Going to the bar, he ordered a beer, opting for a bottle rather than a glass on the theory that it would be easier to carry. Taking a pull from it, he regarded the almost-empty room. So much for his big hopes of learning more. Where the hell was everyone? The place should have been packed with Gavin’s colleagues and senior officers, but it looked like they’d all left as soon as the church service was over. As though they couldn’t wait to get away. Jonah didn’t think even the awkward questions surrounding Gavin’s death could explain a snub on that scale.

So what was going on?

‘Nice to see somebody in a uniform decided to turn up.’

Jonah looked round and recognised the thick-set man who’d been on the same pew at the church. He was standing at the buffet table, an overladen plate in one hand and a half-eaten sausage roll in the other. Rather than a suit and tie for the occasion, he wore a black polo-neck sweater and navy chinos under a tan leather jacket, the front of which was speckled with flakes of pastry. He was munching as he looked at Jonah, the small eyes above the bunched cheeks shrewd and watchful. Not exactly hostile, but not friendly either.

‘Not much of a turnout, is it?’ The man’s voice was gruff and slightly hoarse, as though he was getting over a cold. ‘Look at it. It’s a fucking insult.’

Jonah made his way over. ‘You a friend of Gavin’s?’

‘I am.’ The big man drew himself up. ‘I worked with him for eight years, up till I took early retirement last year.’