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...
That was all.
Jonah’s knee was hurting, cramped from so long in the car. Flexing it, he took out the phone Salim had given him. He weighed it in his hand, tempted to call and ask if this was who she’d meant. But she’d made it clear it was for one-time use only, and he didn’t want to waste the call. If she’d wanted to tell him more, she would have.
So why had she given him the name?
Putting Salim’s phone away again, he jumped as his own rang. He snatched it up, expecting it would be Chrissie. Or even Wilkes, contacting him to say there was a problem.
But it was Fletcher’s number on the screen. Shit. Jonah let it ring. If he answered Fletcher would ask him to go in or want to see him at his flat. Jonah couldn’t do either, and he didn’t want a lengthy conversation with an irate detective inspector when he was waiting for Chrissie to call. Still, avoiding the DI made him feel uncomfortably like a fugitive.
When the ringing stopped, even the silence felt accusing.
It was fully dark outside now, the streetlights casting a sickly light into the car. Jonah had been avoiding checking the time again, but he gave in now and saw it was half past seven. Only a few hours to go. The realisation brought an acid burn in his gut. Come on, Chrissie, where are you?
As though in response his phone rang again. This time it showed Chrissie’s name on the screen. Her voice sounded cracked and broken when Jonah answered.
‘We’ve got it,’ she said.
There had been an accident on the dual carriageway. One lane had been closed and traffic was backed up, which meant it was almost nine o’clock when Jonah pulled up outside the white-painted Georgian terrace. Fretting at the delay, he limped up to the gate and pressed the intercom. There was no answer, only a click as the lock was released. The glossy front door opened before he reached it, and Jonah felt a shock when he saw Chrissie.
She seemed to have aged years since that morning. The emotional toll was etched on every feature, prematurely turning her into an older version of herself. Neither of them spoke as he followed her to the open-plan kitchen and dining room. It seemed that every light in the house was on, as though driving out the shadows might usher in an illusion of normal life. Waverly was at the table, smartly dressed as though he’d just got in from work. But the strain was visible on his face as well. His cheeks looked sunken, the flesh of his face even more pallid than it had been that morning. Bank statements and spreadsheets were set out in front of him, and there was a tumbler of what looked like whisky on a slate coaster to one side.
‘Jonah, thanks for coming,’ he said, straightening. It might have been a social visit, but Jonah could see the effort it was taking to keep himself together. ‘Can we get you a drink?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Tea or coffee, then?’
There was a strangled noise from Chrissie. ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’
Her husband looked blankly at her, his mouth working as though gears had slipped.
‘Actually, a coffee would be great,’ Jonah said.
Waverly seized on it. He nodded, as though something momentous had been decided. ‘OK, then. Good.’
But neither he nor his wife moved. The atmosphere in the kitchen was suffocating. ‘You managed to get the money?’ Jonah prompted.
‘Not all of it.’ Waverly faltered. ‘I managed to get a little over a hundred thousand.’
‘Jesus,’ Chrissie said, shaking her head.
‘We’ve been through this. I told you, it’s the best I could do.’
‘The best? We’re talking about your kids’ lives!’
Her husband looked stricken. ‘You think I don’t know that?’
‘Do you have it here?’ Jonah asked, hoping to head off a row.
‘Yes, of course.’ Waverly picked up a leather laptop bag and put it on the table. He unzipped it, showing Jonah the bundles of notes inside as though for his approval. ‘I didn’t know what denominations he... Anyway, I got fifties. They take up less room, so... you know.’
‘That’s fine,’ Jonah told him. Stokes hadn’t specified, and he didn’t think it would matter. If all went well it wouldn’t make any difference anyway.
Waverly pushed the bag across the table towards Jonah. ‘So what happens now?’
Jonah hesitated. He hadn’t told them about the gun, and he still hadn’t decided if that was something they needed to know or not. But Chrissie didn’t give him a chance to answer.
‘I want to tell the police.’
She was hugging herself, her face white. Her husband looked stunned.
‘What? But you said—’
‘I don’t care what I said, this isn’t right.’ Chrissie was shaking her head repeatedly, as though trying to dislodge her thoughts. ‘We need to tell them. Before it’s too late!’
‘Are you serious? It is too late, you can’t change your mind now.’
‘Yes, I can. We can explain! Tell them why we, why we...’
She was starting to shiver, like a broken machine shaking itself apart. Waverly went to her.
‘Chrissie—’
‘I can’t do this! I can’t, not again. Please!’
Her husband put an arm around her, gently steering her to the hallway. ‘I know. Come on.’
She didn’t resist as he led her out. Jonah heard Waverly murmuring softly to her as their footsteps sounded on the stairs. God. Suddenly drained, he eased himself onto one of the bar stools at the island, his bad leg held stiffly out to one side. There was a framed photograph of the twins. One dark-haired and grinning broadly, one blonde with a shy smile, both in private school uniforms. Seeing them, Jonah felt his own doubts threaten to overwhelm him. He thought about calling Bennet. He’d find it easier explaining to her than Fletcher, and for a moment the temptation to hand this over to someone else was almost too much.
But if the police were going to be brought in, it should have been that morning, when the twins were first snatched. Not with — he checked his watch, though he knew to the minute what the time was — under three hours left until he had to meet Owen Stokes. For better or worse, they were committed.
It was another twenty minutes before he heard someone coming back down the stairs. Waverly reappeared in the kitchen doorway, his eyes red.
‘Is she OK?’ Jonah asked.
‘She’s under the shower. I think that’s her fifth today.’ He went to the table, picked up his glass and drank it off. He gave a shudder and turned to Jonah. ‘You sure you don’t want one?’
More temptation, but Jonah shook his head. He needed to stay sharp. ‘No thanks.’
Crossing to a low wooden sideboard, Waverly opened a door and took a bottle of single malt from inside. He poured himself a good measure, hesitated, then poured again before replacing the bottle.
‘I don’t think I’ve thanked you for doing this,’ he said, taking one of the other bar stools.
‘There’s no need.’ Jonah was beginning to wish he’d accepted the offer of a drink. ‘Chrissie’s right. If not for me, none of this would have happened.’
Waverly sighed. ‘She didn’t mean that. You couldn’t have known what this... this sick fucker would do.’
He was slurring slightly, and Jonah wondered how many he’d had. Not that he blamed him. Waverly raised his glass again, then lowered it without taking a drink.
‘Do you think the police got it wrong? You know, ten years ago?’
He didn’t have to say what he meant. Jonah shook his head. He couldn’t afford to let himself get into that, not now.