The Lost

Chapter 5

Jonah had just finished breakfast when the detective inspector arrived the next morning. It was still early, and when the door opened he expected it to be a nurse or orderly to collect his plate. Instead, a cadaverously thin man in plain clothes came in, and the sight of him momentarily took Jonah aback. Beneath a thick mop of brown hair, the man’s face resembled a plastic mask that had been melted. Burn scars had alternately drawn the skin to an unnatural smoothness, or else puckered it like dripped candle wax.

His trousers flapped around skinny legs as he breezed in, indifferent to Jonah’s stare or so accustomed to the reaction that he ignored it.

‘Glad you’re back with us, Sergeant Colley. I’m DI Jack Fletcher.’ He cursorily flashed a warrant card before pulling over a plastic chair without asking. ‘The doctor says you’re well enough to be interviewed, and I’m sure you can appreciate there are a few questions we’d like answered.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Wonderful. But you’re off the clock, so let’s drop the “sir”, shall we?’ The DI settled himself on the chair, fidgeting to get comfortable on the hard plastic. ‘How much can you remember?’

‘Up to trying to phone for help. Nothing after that.’ Jonah paused, for a second transported back to the warehouse’s cold stone floor. ‘How did you find me?’

‘You were lucky.’ It was so blunt as to sound accusing. ‘You managed to call in before you blacked out. Although it took a while to locate you, because you didn’t make much sense.’

Jonah searched his memory, but there was no recollection of any of that. ‘How’s the girl? Nadine?’

Fletcher leaned forward, suddenly intent. ‘How do you know her name?’

‘She told me when I tried to get her out. Is she OK?’

‘Did she say anything else? A second name?’

‘No, she was too weak.’ Jonah didn’t like this. ‘Haven’t you spoken to her yet?’

Fletcher sat back again. ‘None of the victims survived.’

The news hit Jonah hard. He thought of the young woman he’d struggled to save. Jesus, for her to have gone through all that...

‘Do you know who they are?’ he asked.

Fletcher paused before apparently deciding to answer. ‘Not yet. The other two were males in their twenties or early thirties. One was black, the other probably Eastern European, going on his dental work. But we’re still trying to identify them.’

‘What was—’

Jonah was going to ask him about Gavin, but then the door opened again and a woman in black jeans and a leather jacket came in. She looked a year or two shy of Jonah’s own age, dark- skinned and slim, her black curls cropped close to her head. A leather shoulder bag, like a satchel, was slung over one shoulder and she carried two disposable cups with lids.

‘Coffee with,’ she said, handing one cup to Fletcher.

Peeling off the lid, the DI sniffed at the steam rising from it and took a sip. He grimaced.

‘Christ, where’d you find this?’

‘All there was, sir.’

She seemed unconcerned by his disapproval. Without saying anything to Jonah, she went to stand at the foot of the bed.

‘This is DS Bennet,’ Fletcher said, setting down his cup with an expression of distaste. ‘Sergeant Colley was just telling me he spoke to the female victim. Apparently, he tried to get her out. She told him her first name was Nadine.’

The policewoman gave Jonah a speculative look. ‘You uncovered her from the plastic?’

‘Only her face, then I was hit from behind and knocked out.’ He noticed Fletcher and Bennet exchange a look. ‘Wasn’t she uncovered when you found her?’

Fletcher seemed to debate for a moment whether to answer. ‘No.’

Jonah felt sickened. The man he’d fought must have put the plastic back over the young woman’s face while Jonah was unconscious. Making sure she was dead this time.

‘What about the suspect?’ He was almost afraid to ask. Since waking the day before, Jonah had been trying to come to terms with the possibility that he might have killed someone who’d attacked him. He’d known when he became a firearms officer that he might have to take a life during an operation: that was an accepted part of the job. But this was different. He’d been off duty, blundered into a situation he knew nothing about. Self-defence or not, if the man who’d attacked him had died, there’d have to be an inquest. Maybe even charges.