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...
She shivered as a gust of wind blew a faint spray of rain against the back of her neck. The shame she’d felt in the lift was already forgotten. She was on the trail of something, she could sense it. And even though she hadn’t got as much as she’d have liked from Colley, on top of what she’d learned about Daniel Kimani, there was enough to make Giles sit up and take notice. Daly gave a little grin to herself, beginning to edit her memory of the evening into a more palatable shape.
She was still grinning when someone whistled behind her.
It wasn’t loud. Not a wolf whistle, or a fingers-in-the-mouth shrill. Just two soft notes; one high, one low. Daly tensed but didn’t look back. She continued walking, even though all her senses were focused behind her now. Probably just someone out walking a dog, she told herself. Except she couldn’t hear the scratch of dog claws on the pavement, or any footsteps other than her own. She continued at the same measured, unhurried pace. What had she just been telling herself? Don’t let them see you’re scared. A serious attacker wouldn’t advertise his presence, which meant it was just some tosser wanting to feel big. Get himself off by frightening a lone woman on a dark street. Well, think again, prick.
The whistle came a second time.
It was closer, and now Daly felt a flutter of alarm. She couldn’t pretend anymore that the whistle wasn’t meant for her. And while she didn’t want to give this creep the satisfaction of thinking he’d spooked her, if she didn’t react at all it would give the same message. OK, then. Let’s call this wanker’s bluff.
Pulling out the bottle of spray perfume, she turned around. The empty street mocked her. There were closed shops and waste ground on both sides of the road, tall slabs of dirty brick interspersed with patches of scrub and wire fencing. There was no one in sight but the broken streetlights left swathes of blackness where anyone could be concealed. Daly held the bottle of perfume poised, putting on her best fuck-you glare.
‘This is mace, arsehole! I’ve had a really shitty day, and if you want to try and make it worse, go ahead!’
Nothing. No movement, no sign of life. Daly tried not to acknowledge the fear that wanted to bubble up. She gave a start as the edge of her vision registered a movement at the other side of the road. But it was only a cat. No, an urban fox, she realised, seeing its size. Jesus, here? The dark shape picked its way silently across the road, then abruptly stopped. It stared into what looked like the dark mouth of an alleyway a few yards from where Daly stood, eyes glinting bright in the streetlight’s glow. Then it turned and slunk away.
Daly stared into the shadows where the fox had been staring. Had it seen something there? Suddenly she remembered the incident in the underground car park a few nights before. How she’d been convinced there was someone hiding down there, waiting. Oh, stop it! You’re just scaring yourself! Whatever the fox had or hadn’t seen, no one was showing themselves now. Because there’s no one there. Pull yourself together. With a last glare down the dark street, she turned away — deliberately slowly — and carried on walking.
She’d barely taken half a dozen steps when the whistle came again.
Oh, fuck! Fucking hell! Daly told herself to stay calm, but it took a huge effort of will not to glance behind her or speed up. Don’t let him see he’s scared you. That’s what the pathetic bastard wants. Christ, where had she left the fucking car? Gripping the bottle of perfume like a talisman, she groped in her bag again, this time for her phone. It was only when she pulled it out that she realised it was still turned off. Shit, shit, shit! Her hand shook as she fumbled to switch it on, fingers suddenly clumsy. The bloody thing always took an age to start, but the creep behind her didn’t know that. Putting it to her ear, she began to talk loudly into the dead phone.
‘Police, please. I’d like to report an attempted assault. Yes, right now. It’s on...’ She blanked as she tried to think where she was, then she saw a street sign up ahead. ‘... Ashton Way. I’m being followed, so please send a car. Yes, straight away. Thanks.’
The phone chimed as she finished speaking, its screen lighting up as it came on. About bloody time. She brought up the keypad before realising she couldn’t call the police now without giving herself away. As she hesitated, she saw her car up ahead. Thank God! Relieved, she realised it was a while since she’d last heard the whistle. She turned and looked back down the street. It was still empty, but now it also felt empty. The streetlights here were working, forming a well-lit patch of road through which anyone following her would have to cross. She’d not only see them coming, she’d easily be able to reach her car before they could catch up.
So fuck you, you sad bastard! Exultant, she gave the empty street the finger, just in case, and turned to hurry the last few yards to where she was parked.
Someone stepped out of a dark passageway in front of her.
Daly jumped, startled. Yet logic told her that whoever had been whistling couldn’t have overtaken her. No way, not without her seeing them. This couldn’t be the same person, and the realisation gave fuel to her anger.
‘Why don’t you watch where you’re—’ she began.
But she didn’t finish, or hear the perfume bottle smash when it hit the ground.
Chapter 19
‘Oh, Jonah, thank God!’ Marie practically pulled him inside when she opened the front door. She looked distraught and dishevelled. ‘The police have just left! Oh, Jesus...!’
‘OK, calm down, Marie.’ He’d seen Fletcher and Bennet leaving as he’d pulled up outside. He wasn’t sure if they’d seen him or not, but he’d hung back until they’d gone anyway. There was no reason he shouldn’t visit Marie, but the less he had to explain himself to Fletcher the better. ‘Come on, let’s go and sit down.’
She’d sounded hung-over when he’d called her that morning. She hadn’t wanted to get into why she’d phoned the previous night, saying she’d rather explain in person. Knowing Marie, that could either mean she’d forgotten the drunken call or had just wanted company. After Daly’s visit the evening before, Jonah had been planning to do some digging of his own, trying to verify what she’d told him about Daniel Kimani. Marie had been insistent, though. And there was always the chance it actually was something important.
They went into the kitchen. All the visible signs of the break-in had been cleared away, except for the back door. The broken panel in the porch was still boarded up with plywood, and fresh, unpainted wood showed where the splintered frame had been replaced.
Dylan was sitting at the kitchen table, his head bowed. He looked up as Jonah walked in. His face was pinched and pale, but it clouded when he saw Jonah.
‘What’s he doing here?’
‘I asked him to come, Dylan. He’s here to help—’
‘Yeah? What’s he going to do? Bring Dad back?’ The chair clattered over behind him as he stood up. ‘This is fucking shit!’
‘Dylan!’
Marie clutched at her son’s sleeve as he went past but he shrugged her off. He looked on the verge of tears as he barged past Jonah and rushed out. His footsteps thumped upstairs, then a door slammed, shaking the walls.
Jonah steered Marie to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair for her to sit down. A half-empty bottle of wine stood on the table next to an empty, lipstick-stained glass.