The Lost

Chapter 12

‘I know, all right? I’m not a complete—’ Daly broke off, raising her eyes skyward as the voice from her phone droned on. ‘Of course I realise how much time I’m spending on it, Giles, but... No, I didn’t get much from the memorial service, but I’m meeting a contact later who... I understand that, but — yes. Yes, fine, if that’s what you want.’

She stabbed at her phone to end the call before tossing it onto her desk.

‘Fucking prick!’

She glowered through the darkened window, unable to see past the ghost of her own reflection. Then she picked up the phone to check the call wasn’t still connected.

‘Prick,’ she muttered, putting it down again.

She slumped back in her chair and stared at the words on the glowing laptop screen in front of her:

The cursor blinked at the end of the hanging sentence. Daly glared at it, then held her finger down on the backspace key to delete what she’d written. The words vanished in reverse order, until the page on the screen was blank. Leaning back, she pushed her hands through her hair and glared up at the ceiling.

‘Fuck...’

She wrinkled her nose as she caught a whiff of sweat from her armpits. She was still wearing the black dress from the memorial, but now it was rumpled and creased. Worse, it was marked from where it had been spattered by a loose lid from a takeaway latte. It was her best one, her little black number she reserved for special occasions. She’d intended to change out of it after the service, but she’d left the house in a rush that morning and hadn’t realised she’d forgotten her everyday clothes until it was too late to go back. She didn’t even wear it for funerals as a rule, but she’d guessed Colley would be there. And, let’s face it, her legs looked pretty good in the short black number. Much better than her normal frumpy funeral dress. She’d caught Colley checking them out — you’re welcome — before the hard-faced police bitch had turned up to spoil things. Now the bloody dress would need dry cleaning. Which was another cost she could do without, because there was no way bloody Giles would approve that on expenses.

‘Fuck,’ she said again. Just because.

It was infuriating. She knew there was more to the warehouse murders. Four people murdered, one of them a detective sergeant, yet no one wanted to talk about it. No media blitz, no on- or off-the-record briefings. And no suspect or suspects, at least that anyone was admitting.

Something was seriously off.

Even the memorial service that afternoon had been weirdly underwhelming. There had been none of the fuss she’d have expected for a murdered officer. OK, so maybe they were cagey about saying too much when his body still hadn’t been found. But that in itself should have sparked a massive response.

So where was the public appeal for information? It was like they didn’t want to keep the story in the news.

Like they were embarrassed.

She still hadn’t been able to get any official comment on what Colley and McKinney had been doing at the warehouse. At the time everyone had assumed it was some kind of op, which would explain all the secrecy. But why would a firearms officer be involved in something like that? Colley seemed like a straight arrow, but she’d begun to hear rumours about McKinney. Rumours that he hadn’t been exactly squeaky clean, that he’d been under some sort of cloud when he’d been killed.

And then there were the victims.

Daly was sure they held the key. To a large extent they’d been overlooked, reduced to faceless ciphers, unidentified and apparently unmissed. Daly knew she’d been guilty of that herself, too busy focusing on McKinney and Colley at first. And when she’d tried to follow it up, Giles, her editor, had lectured her about how ‘more dead migrants’ didn’t sell newspapers or attract advertisers, and told her not to waste any more time on it. As far as he was concerned, Slaughter Quay was old news.

But Daly didn’t see it like that. It had been the look on Colley’s face in the hospital when he’d talked about trying to save the young woman called ‘Nadine’ that had brought it home to her. OK, he’d thrown Daly out soon afterwards, but even so. There was a real human tragedy here that was being overlooked. And if it turned out that any of the three anonymous victims weren’t more of Giles’s ‘dead migrants’, then it would blow the whole trafficking theory out of the water.

Bloody Giles would have to let her run with the story, then.

So Daly had started digging. There hadn’t been much to go on, but she’d started sifting through missing persons websites, looking for anyone reported missing around the same time who matched the victims’ admittedly vague descriptions.

She’d surprised herself when she’d found someone.

The police refused to confirm it when she’d approached them, but they hadn’t denied it either. She took that to mean they wanted to verify the ID with DNA, or whatever, before making it public. Which gave her a narrow window of opportunity to beat them to the punch and get the name out there first.

But to do that, she needed something more concrete than she had at the moment. That was why she’d gone to McKinney’s memorial service. She hadn’t exactly misled Colley when she’d told him one of the victims wasn’t an illegal migrant. If she was right, she’d only be pre-empting the official announcement, and she’d wanted to see how he’d react. His surprise had seemed genuine, and for a second or two Daly had thought he was finally going to open up.

Then that bitch of a policewoman had interrupted.

Sighing, Daly checked her watch. She’d spent all afternoon trying to track down acquaintances of the missing person who might — might — be one of the three warehouse victims. But they’d all refused to talk to a journalist. There was only one left to try, and they’d finally agreed to meet her that evening. So screw you, Giles. The downside was it would mean another late night, and another phone call she really didn’t want to have to make.

One she’d been making all too often recently.

As the ringtone sounded, she kneaded her eyes with a thumb and forefinger. She stopped when it was answered, giving a smile that was as forced as it was unconscious.

‘Hi, Mum, it’s me.’ Her shoulder slumped along with the smile. ‘I know I did, but I’ve been held up at work. No, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be. Has she been OK? Yes, I’m sure you have, but... Well, is she there? I know it’s late, that’s why I’m—’

She closed her eyes at the accusing voice, as unrelenting as a dental drill.

‘I do realise that, yes. And I’m really grateful to you and Dad. No, I know you didn’t but it was different then. For a start, Dad wasn’t a... Look, can we not do this now? Just put Maddie on. She isn’t in bed yet, I can hear her... She’s my daughter and I want to speak to her. No, I wasn’t snapping, but it’s been a long day, so... Yes. Thank you.’

She bowed her head, closing her eyes again as she waited. Then a new voice came on, younger and higher-pitched. Daly’s face split in a smile that was as heartfelt as the other had been strained.

‘Hey, sweetheart, how are you? Have you had a nice day? No, Mummy isn’t coming home just yet, so you get to spend another night at Nanna and Grandpops’.’ Her smile broadened as she listened. ‘Wow, that’s fantastic! A zebra! I tell you what, you keep it safe, and then we can find a nice place for it to go tomorrow. How does that sound?’

The fatigue had dropped from Daly’s face, but then the first voice chimed in again in the background. Daly’s smile began to fade.

‘Yes, I can hear her. OK, put Nanna on again. Yes, I love you too, sweetie. Goodnight. Yes, you be a good...’ The smile vanished altogether as the first voice returned. ‘I was still... No... yes, but... OK, I’ll call you in the morning.’

Ending the call, Daly seemed to deflate. She stared at nothing in particular, then put away her phone and picked up her jacket from where it hung over her chair. Time to go. She wasn’t the only one working late in the open-plan office but she was one of the last. Jamal was still there, slumped in front of his monitor and oblivious as ever as he tapped away at his keyboard, while Lauren was hunched over hers. The red-haired woman gave Daly a snake-eyed glance as she went past but, as usual these days, they ignored each other. Bitch.

She took the lift down to the sub-basement car park. Normally, she took the stairs, but her bloody shoes were killing her. They did wonders for her legs but, God, they made her feet and lower back pay for it. Her mind went to Jonah Colley again as the doors slid shut and the old lift began to drop. There was something about him she’d warmed to. He was fit, she’d seen that even beneath the baggy T-shirt and jogging bottoms in hospital. Not bad-looking, either. God knows, she’d dated worse. A lot worse.

But there was something else. A wounded quality that made her want to — well, maybe that needed to wait until after she’d got the story, she thought, smiling.

Daly hoisted her bag further onto her shoulder as the lift reached the car park. The subterranean smell of damp, rubber and exhaust fumes greeted her as the doors slid open. Her heels clicked on the concrete floor as she made her way to the bay where she’d left her car. It was at the far end, the low ceiling and dim lighting making it seem even further away. There were still a few other cars there as well, though not so many. Other firms rented floors in the building, insurance or financial companies whose staff were pulling even later shifts than she was. There seemed something forlorn about the lonely vehicles left there, an air of semi-permanence that probably had more to do with Daly’s tired state at that time of night.

She was halfway across the concourse when she heard the cough.

It was muffled, as though someone had tried to stifle it. The empty space amplified it, bouncing it off the hard walls so it was impossible to pinpoint. Even then Daly would have thought nothing of it... except that it seemed to have come from ahead of her. Where there were more spaces than cars.

Except for hers.

The prickling began at the nape of her neck, stirring the fine hairs like a breeze. But the air in the man-made cavern was stale and still. Daly slowed, a faint perturbation breaking through her thoughts. The car park was badly lit at the best of times, but normally she barely noticed. Now, though, she became aware of the deeply shadowed recesses and corners where the light didn’t reach. One of them was by her car.

‘Hello?’

Her own voice startled her, ringing out before quickly dying. Oh, this is stupid. But someone was obviously down here. So where were they? Daly had visited sink estates, wandered alone through riots and interviewed gang members. None of them had fazed her, yet now her usual assurance wavered.

‘If there’s somebody there, say something.’

She let her voice echo to silence before reaching into her bag. Grabbing up the phone with one hand, with the other she gripped the small bottle of spray perfume she always carried. From a distance it could pass as a pepper spray, and it would do a similar job if she sprayed it in the fucker’s face.

‘I’m warning you, I’ve got mace,’ she said, fumbling to start the video recorder on her phone. ‘And I’m live-streaming this. If you try anything, you’re going to be all over social media! Your call.’

She brandished her phone at the darkness. The only response was the slow drip of water from some drain. OK, fine. Holding the phone out in front of her, Daly went to her car. She was starting to feel self-conscious, aware of how she must look. But she’d stood behind police tape at too many crime scenes, reported on too many murders and assaults to think it could never happen to her. She’d take stupid over dead any day.

As she neared her car, she relinquished the perfume and grabbed her car keys. The VW beeped, lights flashing as she unlocked it from yards away. The silent car park mocked her with its shadows and dark corners. No one jumped out. And then she was opening the door, sliding inside and pulling it shut behind her. The locks engaged with a reassuring thunk.

‘Shit...’

She let out a long breath, feeling limp as the tension left her. Her hand was cramped from holding the phone so tightly, but only now did she lower it. On a sudden impulse she turned to check the back seat, then relaxed again when she saw it was empty. God, you really are jumpy, aren’t you? Daly gave a rueful smile at the thought of how she must have looked, striding towards her car with her phone outstretched. Like a priest in a horror film warding off vampires with a crucifix. Jesus, I hope no one checks the CCTV. The thought set her off giggling as she started the engine and pulled away. The fear that had gripped her moments before was forgotten, the idea that someone had been watching from the darkness now seeming ludicrous. As she presented her fob at the barrier, her thoughts had already moved to the meeting she was about to go to, and how she should play it.

The sound of the car’s engine faded, leaving the car park quiet once more. One of the light fittings in the ceiling flickered and buzzed. Water dripped again, a solitary fluid note in the darkness. As the haze from the car’s exhaust settled, a figure stepped out from the blackness of a doorway.

Keeping to the shadows away from the CCTV cameras, it slipped past the barrier and was gone.