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...
A rustle of plastic.
The hairs on Jonah’s arms rose as he turned towards the mound of wadded-up polythene sheeting lying a few yards away. It wasn’t a single mound, he saw now, but three large, distinct bundles. They could have been building waste, but as the torch beam fell on them they reminded him of something else.
Cocoons.
As though hypnotised, Jonah felt himself drawn closer. The bundles were each five or six feet in length, bound up with black gaffer tape. They were dusty, coated with white powder that made it impossible to see inside, but now Jonah realised where the rank, animal odour he’d noticed earlier was coming from.
Gavin’s body wasn’t the only one down there.
Get out. Now! Jonah began to back away, but then the same noise came again. A silky, crinkling whisper. He saw that a corner of sheeting had come loose on the topmost polythene bundle. Reaching down, he eased the plastic aside. Below it, blurred beneath more polythene, was a face.
As Jonah stared, the mouth opened and the polythene was sucked tight.
He stumbled backwards. The urge to run overwhelmed him before reason asserted itself. At least one of these people was still alive.
But not for much longer.
‘It’s OK, I’m going to get you out,’ Jonah said, fumbling at the polythene. There were multiple layers, wound round and round and held in place with long strips of gaffer. He wrenched and tore at both, trying to find an edge he could grip, but it was bound too tightly. The translucent covering made the blurred features look as though they were underwater, drawing in over them before slowly filling out again. But each time was weaker than the last. Pulling out his car keys, he tried to pierce the plastic with a sharp corner. It resisted, then gave way with a soft pop. Jonah tore at the hole with his fingers, until with a sibilant crackle, the polythene parted as though it had been unzipped.
Now the lower half of a face was revealed. The mouth was partly open but there was no movement or response. Come on, please breathe, Jonah willed, trying to tear more of the sheeting.
Suddenly, the mouth coughed and opened wider, spasming as it sucked in air. The polythene ripped, exposing a head topped with thick black curls. It was a young woman. Not much more than a girl, Jonah thought, although it was hard to be sure. Her skin was crusted with dried blood. In places it was livid and blistered, caked with the same white dust that coated the sheeting. Her face was contorted with pain and fear, but neither that nor the darkness could disguise a striking beauty that made the sight of her now all the more grotesque. Wishing he had some water to give her, Jonah continued ripping at the polythene, ignoring the human stench that came from the fouled plastic. He started talking as she coughed and fought for breath.
‘You’re safe now. I’m a police officer, I’m going to get you out, OK?’
She made a thin keening sound in her throat, then said something in a language Jonah didn’t recognise. It sounded like it could be Arabic.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Just try to lie still so I can get you out.’
‘... hurts...’
‘I know, I’ll be as fast as I can,’ he told her. Keep her talking. ‘What’s your name?’
She murmured something he didn’t catch. Christ, she was slipping away.
‘Na... Nadine...’
‘Hi, Nadine. I’m Jonah.’
He spoke with a calmness he didn’t feel, but now another sensation was beginning to filter through the urgency. His hands had begun to burn, and he noticed how the skin was smeared with the powder from the polythene sheet. It looked blotched and angry, and remembering the bags of building supplies outside he realised what it was.
Quicklime.
Oh, Christ. Jonah tried to think. The caustic powder could eat away skin and flesh down to the bone, and the woman was covered in it. She must be in agony, and Jonah knew she needed more help than he could give her. He checked the signal bars on his phone and saw there was still no reception. Much as he hated it, he knew what he had to do.
‘Nadine, I’m going to have to go outside to call for help,’ he said, though he wasn’t sure if she could understand. ‘I’ll be back as quick as I can, OK? I’ll leave you the torch.’
He set it down on the floor; he couldn’t leave the young woman alone down here in the dark. She moaned again, becoming more agitated. Jonah wondered if she was delirious, but the reddened eyes were lucid and terrified as she stared up at him. No, not at him, he realised.
Behind him.
He heard the soft footstep as he spun around, bringing up his arms in a block. Too late. Something knocked them aside and smashed into his head. There was a burst of light and pain, followed by a weightlessness like falling.
And then nothing.
Chapter 2
There was the chink of rusted chains in the dark, like an unoiled child’s swing. It had an irregular, ragged rhythm that beat at Jonah’s head. He tried to retreat back into the blackness, away from the awful sound and the knowledge it carried with it. But that led to an empty tunnel, filled with dead leaves. No, no, no. Now he could feel someone else with him, a familiar presence. Gavin. His voice was a whisper from the darkness.
Once you lose something, you never find it again.
The rhythm of the chains was pounding in his head. Jonah felt dizzy and sick, as though he were spinning. Christ, why did his head hurt so much? Something sticky was in his eyes, gumming them shut. It took him several attempts to open them. When he did, he still couldn’t see. Everything was black. The chains had stopped, but the hard surface he was lying on crackled when he moved. He tried to sit up. He couldn’t. His arms were pinioned behind him, and his legs were tied together as well.
Panicking, Jonah began to struggle. It made his head throb even more and he slumped back as a wave of nausea rushed over him. He wondered if he’d gone blind. Gradually, other discomforts began to filter into his awareness. Thirst. Cold. His hands were burning and he was shivering, aching all over. There was a foul smell in the dank air, and now memory began to return. The warehouse. A young woman, coated with quicklime and half suffocated, wrapped in polythene along with two other bodies. And Gavin.
Gavin.
Realisation came to him then. Someone had knocked him unconscious and blood from the wound had stuck his eyes together. And now he was bound hand and foot, lying on — oh, Jesus — lying on a sheet of polythene.
He began to slow his breathing, focusing on his diaphragm as he took long, steadying breaths. Gradually, the panic receded. Opening his eyes, he realised that the dark wasn’t as absolute as he’d thought. He was able to detect depth, maybe even shapes in the blackness. Turning his head — gingerly, every motion threatened to split it — he could make out a pale, vertical line of light. It was a partly open doorway, probably the way he’d come. And then he realised the light was growing stronger, accompanied by something else.
Footsteps.
Jonah shut his eyes as the door opened and the torch beam picked him out. He lay still, barely daring to breathe as the footsteps came closer. They halted next to him. Through his eyelids, the torch beam was filtered to a blood-red glow as it was shone directly onto his face.
Then it was gone, leaving miniature suns flaring behind his eyes. The footsteps continued past him before stopping again. There were more sounds: a grunt of exertion and the rustling of thick plastic. Opening his eyes to slits, Jonah saw the torch beam aimed at something on the ground. Silhouetted against it, little more than a shadow, was a bulky figure. It was stooping over something, but it was only when the crinkle of plastic came again that he understood what it was.