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...
On it was a plate with two slices of anaemic toast smeared with a greasy butter substitute, and a mug of lukewarm tea. Breakfast. Jonah realised he was starving. He’d demolished the toast and was finishing the tea when there was another noise as the door was unlocked. Jonah felt his stomach tense as it swung open, expecting to be escorted back for more questioning.
But it was Bennet who appeared in the doorway, not a uniformed PC.
‘You’re free to go,’ she said.
Jonah thought he must have misunderstood. ‘What?’
‘You’re being released on bail.’
Bail? That wasn’t usually granted for anything as serious as murder, so Jonah had never even considered it a possibility. And it didn’t mean he’d been cleared. He could still be brought back in for questioning or charged at any time. But at least he’d be free until then.
‘How come?’ he asked, relief sweeping through him as he reached for his crutches.
‘We’ve no further questions at this time.’
Pushing himself to his feet, Jonah stopped to look at her. Bennet’s face was as closed as ever, but he thought there was a tension about her.
‘You wouldn’t be releasing me on bail without a good reason. What’s happened?’
She held the door open. ‘Do you want to go or not?’
He did, but now his relief was tempered by suspicion.
‘Why am I being released now?’ he asked, going out into the corridor.
‘You’ll have to ask DI Fletcher.’
She waited for him to go in front of her, but Jonah stayed where he was. She sighed.
‘Now what?’
‘Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?’
‘Look, I don’t have time to argue—’
‘Then tell me why I’m being released.’
Bennet looked on the point of taking his head off, then some of the fight seemed to go from her. She looked away.
‘There’s new evidence.’
Jonah waited, but she didn’t explain. ‘What sort of evidence?’
Again, there was a pause.
‘We’ve had a reported sighting of Owen Stokes at the house where McKinney had his bedsit. One of the residents saw someone matching his description running downstairs, the same afternoon you and McKinney’s son were there. The witness described him as a tall man in a baseball cap, with what looked like either a birthmark or a tattoo on the back of his neck.’
So it had been Stokes at the bedsit. Jonah felt a bitter frustration to think how close he’d been, but that still didn’t answer his question.
‘That only proves Stokes knew about the bedsit,’ he said, setting off down the corridor. ‘It doesn’t have anything to do with Corinne Daly, so why are you letting me go?’
They’d come to a door. Bennet stopped to present her fob. ‘Have you never heard what they say about mouths and gift horses?’
‘Come on, there has to be something you’re not telling me.’
Bennet wrenched on the door when it buzzed. She opened it and stood back for him to go through.
‘The custody officer will return your things,’ she said.
Jonah had lost all sense of time when he emerged from the police station. It had been night when he’d last passed through its doors, and once inside he’d been in a clockless limbo of artificial light. Walking out into broad daylight felt disorientating, as though he had emerged into a different world.
There was a fine mizzle in the air, cold and penetrating. He turned his face up to it as he stood on the wet pavement, relishing the clean feel. Relatively clean, anyway. His clothes were creased and grubby and there was a thick rasp of stubble on his face. With no clear idea of where he was going, he set off down the street. Joining the queue at a bus stop, he boarded the first bus that came without caring where it was going. Even that was a struggle on his crutches, but once he’d paid he found a window seat close to the doors. Taking it, he stretched his leg out as best he could and watched the streets slide by outside.
He felt as though his life had come untethered. The fact that he’d been arrested — for murder — was still too huge a concept to grasp. As the bus swayed and jolted through the traffic, he tried to think what to do. His mistake had been to regard this as a one-way contest, with himself the hunter and Stokes the quarry. He couldn’t afford to do that anymore, not after Corinne Daly. Stokes had obviously been watching him. Stalking him, just as he had Gavin. If he was going to survive, Jonah had to adapt to a frightening new reality.
He was being hunted as well.
It took three changes of bus before he found a route that went close to where he lived. A fresh tension grew in him as he got off at a stop in his neighbourhood and began walking back to his flat. He scanned the street and doorways, alert for any sign of ambush. None came, and the forecourt in front of the flats was deserted except for a group of young kids slouching on bikes. There was no sign of Owen Stokes, or the teenagers who’d thrown the bottle at him, come to that. An elderly woman came out of the flats’ entrance as he was going in. As he stood back to let her pass, she looked at his crutches.
‘Lifts aren’t working,’ she told him.
By the time he’d hauled himself up to his floor, labouring one step at a time on his crutches, Jonah was out of breath and sweating. Unlocking his door, he let himself into his flat. Stripping off his clothes, he showered and then sat on the bed to pull on a clean T-shirt and jeans. His phone was next to him, and as he finished dressing there was the chime of an incoming text. It was from a number he didn’t recognise, and a shock ran through him as he read the short message.
Slaughter Quay, 7 p.m. Come alone.
Chapter 27
‘You’ve got a fucking nerve!’
Stan stood in the middle of his workshop, sleeves rolled up on his oil-stained overalls to display corded forearms and knotted fists. A radio played classical music in the background, while somewhere out of sight someone was whistling a completely different tune. A car was hoisted up at head-height on a ramp, and several others were nearby in various states of disassembly.
‘I’m sorry—’ Jonah began.
‘Fuck sorry! I keep my nose clean, I run a good business. I don’t want nothing more to do with you!’
‘Come on, Stan. If I’d known what was in there, do you think I’d have let you see?’
‘You think I liked being dragged off to some police station? Interrogated like I’d done something wrong!’
‘Just hear me out. Please!’ Jonah didn’t think Stan would take a swing at him, but he’d never seen the old man this upset. ‘You want your garage back, fine, I’ll clear my things out as soon as I can. But I really need to hire a car. An automatic, I don’t care what type.’
Jonah’s own car had been seized by the police. He’d get it back eventually, but only after it had been forensically examined for any signs that Corinne Daly had been in it.
Stan’s face was implacable. ‘I don’t care either, the answer’s still no.’
‘I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important.’
‘So what? Get a taxi!’
That would have been simpler. But Jonah had no idea what he was getting into. If he needed to get away from Slaughter Quay in a hurry he didn’t want to have to call for a cab. And none of the car hire firms he’d tried would entertain the idea of renting to someone on crutches.
He tried again. ‘If it’s about the money, I’ll pay whatever you want.’