The Lost

‘Leave it,’ Jonah told him. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing here?’

‘Nothing.’

He wouldn’t look Jonah in the eye.

‘Whose flat is this?’

‘It’s a friend’s. He lets me use it.’

‘What’s his name?’

Dylan’s eyes darted around the room, as though for inspiration. ‘Why should I tell you?’

Jonah sighed. ‘It’s your dad’s, isn’t it?’

The teenager seemed to consider denying it, then gave a grudging nod. When Jonah had seen the bedsit door’s extra locks and reinforced frame, for a second or two he’d thought he might have been wrong about Dylan rushing off to buy drugs. But a drug dealer would have installed a spyhole as well, to see who was outside. The bedsit didn’t have one, which suggested its tenant didn’t expect many callers. And even though Dylan had a key, the clothes in the wardrobe obviously weren’t his. They looked like they belonged to someone older.

According to both Fletcher and Wilkes, Gavin had moved into a flat in Ealing after he’d split up with Marie. There had been no mention of anywhere else, and Jonah was sure the DI would have quizzed him if he’d known about it.

So why had Gavin rented this place and then kept it secret?

‘You need to tell me what you’re doing here,’ he said.

‘Nothing.’ The shrug was forced. ‘I just come here sometimes. To get away, smoke a bit of blow.’

The posturing rang hollow. The teenager was scared but trying hard not to show it.

‘Did your dad know?’

‘No, ’course not.’ His expression became guilty. ‘I only started coming... you know. After.’

‘Then how do you know about this place?’

The teenager hitched a shoulder in a gesture that was painfully reminiscent of his father. ‘I saw Dad come here one night. I was on my way to see a mate and he got out of a car in front of me. He didn’t see me, but I saw him let himself in downstairs, then after a bit the light came on in the attic window. I hung around waiting for him to come out again, but he didn’t.’

‘Do you know what he was doing?’

‘Why would I?’ There was an evasiveness now. Dylan began to fidget as Jonah stared at him, saying nothing. ‘I thought he might be coming to see someone, OK?’

‘You mean a woman?’

‘No, Father Christmas, who do you think I mean?’ Dylan coloured again, realising he was pushing it. He went on, grudgingly. ‘Wouldn’t have been the first time. And I knew he’d got the other flat, so it wasn’t as though he was living here.’

Except, apparently, he was. Or at least he was spending enough time here to merit having a change of clothes.

‘How did you get the keys?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Yes. How did you get them?’

‘How do you think? I took them, all right?’ He seemed close to tears. ‘We fell out the last time he was home, and I was pissed off with him and went through his coat pockets.’

Marie had said her son had argued with Gavin over money to buy new trainers. Yet Dylan had complained that a pair he’d just bought had been stolen in the break-in, and he’d obviously been able to replace those. The ones he wore now looked both new and expensive.

‘Why did you take the keys?’ he asked.

‘Because I wanted to get back at him!’ Dylan was shouting, tears flowing freely. ‘He’d fucked off and left us, and I thought he was shagging someone else, so I thought it’d serve him right to get locked out of his — his fuck flat! I didn’t know that he wouldn’t... that he’d get...’

That he’d get murdered that same day. Jonah felt sorry for him, but he couldn’t ease up just yet.

‘What about rent?’

Angrily, Dylan brushed at his eyes. ‘What about it?’

‘Whose been paying it?’

‘How do I know?’

Gavin could either have paid in advance or set up a regular payment that was continuing, but that was one for Fletcher. Jonah nodded down at the new-looking trainers Dylan was wearing.

‘Where’d you get the money for those?’

‘What?’

‘Your mum said you fell out with your dad because he wouldn’t buy you any trainers. But you had a new pair stolen the other day, and the ones you’re wearing now look pretty new as well. Where’d you get the money from?’

‘Mum gave it me.’

He was a bad liar. ‘Try again. What did you sell?’

‘Who says I sold anything?’

‘You got money from somewhere, so don’t piss me about. What did you find here?’

‘Nothing!’ The teenager suddenly seemed nervous. ‘OK, there was a laptop. I didn’t know the password, so I... I sold it.’

That was bad. There was no telling what information might have been on the laptop Gavin had kept here. And no way of finding out, unless it could be recovered.

‘Who did you sell it to?’

‘I can’t remember.’

‘You’re going to have to, because the police are going to want to know. Who was it?’

‘A mate.’

‘What’s his name? And don’t give me some made-up bollocks this time.’