The Lost

‘Look, I didn’t kill Corinne Daly,’ Jonah said, hearing the desperation in his own voice. ‘You can’t seriously believe I’d be stupid enough to hide her body in my own garage if I had?’

‘Here’s what I think. I think you lost your rag and killed her in your flat, waited till the middle of the night, then fetched your car and dragged her body down to the lift. You knew the CCTV cameras outside were broken — for all I know you could’ve smashed them yourself — so you didn’t have to worry about that. You were limited by your knee, so you put her body in your garage while you decided what to do with it. But then you had bad luck. The garage got broken into, either by these teenagers you’ve only just remembered or someone else. They ransacked it, then ran off when they saw what was in the locker. And then when your landlord called to tell you, you knew you’d no choice but to report it and try and brazen it out.’

Fletcher crossed his arms, resting his case. Jonah could see the man wasn’t playing devil’s advocate this time. He actually believed it.

‘For Christ’s sake, this is what Stokes wants!’

‘Here we go again,’ Fletcher snorted. ‘Give me one reason why Owen Stokes would go to all this trouble to kill a journalist he doesn’t even know? Why would he want to set you up?’

‘I don’t know!’ Jonah had to stop himself from yelling. ‘I’ve no idea what goes through that sick bastard’s mind! But he’s on the run because of me! Jesus, he’s even lost the money from the bedsit because of me! And why would I want to kill Corinne Daly anyway? Christ, I liked her!’

‘That’s very big of you. It probably made her job a lot easier.’

Jonah’s anger was snuffed out. He’d thought the trap had been sprung: now he realised everything so far had only been the preliminary.

‘She was writing another piece on you,’ Fletcher said.

‘I don’t believe you,’ Jonah said, but the denial was a reflex.

‘Oh, it’s true. According to her editor she’d been putting it together for a while,’ Fletcher continued. ‘He said she was certain there was more to the story. And she was right, wasn’t she?’

‘She turned her phone off, I saw her...’

But he was already thinking how Daly had made such a show of it. How quick she’d been to reassure him. See? It’s off, it’s not recording. And all those leading questions about Gavin...

Oh, Christ...

‘And you’re supposed to be a police officer,’ Fletcher said, voice dripping contempt. ‘DC Bennet, if you wouldn’t mind.’

‘We found Daly’s bag shoved down the side of the locker,’ she said, taking a small evidence bag from the box she’d brought in. ‘Her phone wasn’t in it, so whoever killed her obviously didn’t want to risk it being traced. But there was this.’

Inside the evidence bag was a small, rectangular object. Jonah felt his stomach knot as he saw the digital recorder.

‘Daly might have switched her phone off, but she still made a recording of her visit,’ Fletcher said, taking over again. ‘The quality isn’t brilliant but it’s good enough. We can hear you inviting her in, chatting away. All very cosy. And then we get to this.’

He pressed the play button through the plastic. Jonah heard Corinne Daly’s voice followed by his own, tinny and remote but recognisable.

‘... I’ve heard rumours about your friend. That he was in trouble. And he shouldn’t even have been at that warehouse because he’d been suspended. Is that true?’

‘Where’d you hear that?’

‘It’s OK, I don’t expect you to confirm anything, but... Well, you can’t deny it, can you?’

‘Jesus Christ...’

‘OK, I’m sorry, forget I said anything... Please don’t—’

There was an inarticulate yell, then a confusion of noise. A loud thump and screech of furniture followed by a muffled clatter.

Then nothing.

Fletcher stopped the playback. In the accusing silence Jonah could feel his own heartbeat.

‘The recording carries on, but you can’t hear much after that except bumps and rustles,’ the DI said, putting the evidence bag down. ‘Still, I’d say there’s more than enough, wouldn’t you?’

Jonah felt in freefall, as though the ground had dropped away from under him. ‘It’s not how it sounds.’

‘No? Because it sounds like you losing your temper and assaulting Corinne Daly.’

‘No! Jesus, that’s not what happened!’ Jonah felt a clammy sweat that had nothing to do with the temperature in the interview room. ‘OK, I was angry, but at myself for letting my guard down! I stood up, my knee gave out and I knocked the coffee table over as I fell! That’s it, that’s all! Daly’s bag ended up on the floor, so the recorder must have got covered over.’