The Lost

Chapter 15

There was silence when Jonah finished. Fletcher’s face was the usual mask, showing no hint of judgement or sympathy. Bennet’s was equally unreadable. Jonah knew they’d have heard far worse, but that didn’t make it any easier. This was the first time he’d told anyone what had happened, and while the memory had lost most of its power to hurt, it didn’t feel any less sordid.

Fletcher let him sweat for a few moments before he spoke. ‘Why didn’t you tell us before?’

‘It’s ancient history. I didn’t think it was relevant.’

‘Not relevant? You forgot to mention that a murder victim slept with your wife? That’s not just relevant, that’s a motive.’

‘Not much of one, if I waited ten years. My marriage was over by then anyway, it’s not as though that’s why we broke up.’

‘Things like that fester. And ten years is plenty of time to build a grudge.’

‘We’ve already been through this,’ Jonah said wearily. ‘I didn’t kill him, you know that.’

‘Do I? Because right now I’m starting to wonder what else you might be hiding.’

‘I’m not hiding anything. That’s it, that’s my big secret. I fell out with my best friend because he slept with my wife, OK?’

Fletcher gave him a considering look. ‘Were you surprised?’

‘You mean when I found my best friend in bed with my wife? What do you think?’

‘Let me put it another way. Was it out of character?’

That was harder to answer. Jonah had known Gavin was unfaithful to Marie long before he’d found him with Chrissie. He’d liked to ‘play hard’, as Wilkes had put it, but it had always been a casual thing for him. Jonah had called him on it more than once, but Gavin just shrugged it off.

We can’t all be plaster saints, he’d said.

‘I didn’t think he’d do that,’ Jonah admitted.

‘That’s not what I asked.’

‘Look, I trusted him. I don’t know what else I can say.’

‘You could start by explaining why you’d want to help the man who got into your wife’s pants?’

There were times when Jonah asked himself the same thing. ‘He used to be a friend. Like I told you before, he sounded like he was in trouble.’

‘And I suppose you’re such a soft touch you just went along with it. Even after he’d slipped it to your wife behind your back.’

Jonah noticed Bennet glance in disapproval at the DI. He knew the man was trying to provoke him, but the wound was too old for that to work. So he said nothing, and had the small satisfaction of seeing Fletcher’s mouth tighten in irritation.

‘I’m assuming you know that McKinney had been suspended.’

‘I only found out after the service yesterday. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Are you serious?’ The DI’s incredulity wasn’t feigned. ‘You’re an unreliable witness in a murder enquiry, I don’t have to tell you—’

He broke off, a hand going to his throat.

‘Sir?’ Bennet said, stepping towards him.

‘I need a drink of water.’

His voice sounded weak and hoarse, and he seemed to be having trouble swallowing. Jonah started to push himself up from the chair.

‘I’ll get it,’ Bennet told him.

She crossed quickly to the sink, took a clean glass from the drainer and filled it from the tap. Fletcher said nothing as he took it from her. His hand seemed to have developed a tremor as he raised the glass to his mouth. Bennet’s face gave nothing away, but she watched the DI closely as he drank.

‘Do you want a tea or coffee?’ Jonah asked, regretting his earlier stubbornness.

‘No.’ Fletcher’s manner was even more brusque than usual. He put the glass down, as though disowning it. ‘Let’s talk about McKinney’s suspension. Do you know what the allegations against him were?’

Wilkes had edged around that. ‘Not really.’

‘He was on the take. Accepting bribes from the gangs he was supposed to be investigating in return for information. Raids he was involved with had a habit of drawing a blank, suspects would magically skip out just before they were due to be arrested. He denied it, claimed he was being stitched up. But he’d been going off the rails for a while. Skipped shifts, turned up drunk or so hung-over he could barely function. Punched out a colleague who criticised him. Oh, and he failed a drugs test.’ The DI raised his eyebrows at Jonah. ‘Any of that surprise you?’

Even though he’d known it would be bad, it was still a shock to hear what Gavin had been accused of. Jonah didn’t know what to say.

‘He wasn’t like that when I knew him.’

‘No, he just slept with your wife. Maybe you should reflect on that next time you’re deciding where your loyalty lies.’ Fletcher got to his feet. ‘Will she corroborate what you’ve told us?’

‘She won’t be happy. She’s remarried.’

‘Her happiness isn’t high on my list of priorities. Neither’s yours. Do you have her phone number and address?’

‘Nothing recent. We aren’t exactly on each other’s Christmas card lists.’

‘There’s a surprise.’

Fletcher headed to the door, leaving Bennet to gather up the photographs from the table. Jonah had one last glimpse of Stokes’s hunched figure hurrying along the dark street, the spider-web tattoo an inked tracery on the back of his neck. Then she’d put them back in the folder.

‘We’ll be in touch,’ Fletcher told him as they went out.

Jonah’s car was an automatic, which meant he didn’t need to use his left foot to operate a clutch. He’d already checked with the surgeon and his insurers, who’d insisted on an additional premium before clearing him to drive. Even so, he hadn’t planned to drive for a few more weeks, to give his knee more of a chance to heal.

But then he hadn’t planned a lot of things.

The Saab was in a rented lock-up a half-kilometre away, part of a row of garages on a small cul-de-sac. The walk seemed a lot further on crutches. As Jonah drew near, he recognised the BMW that was parked outside. The car was a beauty; a red saloon over twenty years old. It belonged to Stan, the garage owner who he’d originally bought the Saab from. An old-school mechanic, as well as owning an engine and body repair shop, Stan had a sideline renovating and selling old cars. He maintained the Saab for Jonah and still had a proprietary interest, grumbling at each annual service if he felt it hadn’t been treated with the respect it deserved.

‘You’re late,’ he told Jonah. He was barrel-chested with sinewy arms corded with muscle, a battered Harris tweed jacket worn on top of his overalls.

‘Sorry, it took longer to get here than I thought.’

Stan gave his crutches a jaundiced look but made no comment. He held out the Saab and garage keys.

‘I changed the oil and brake fluid when I brought it back, but you’ll need to check the tyre pressures. It won’t have liked standing all this time.’

It wasn’t the only one, Jonah thought, unlocking the heavy-duty padlock. The dark blue Saab almost filled the small garage, and what space was left was taken up by clutter. A selection of old power tools and half-used tins of paint covered the shelves on the back wall, while boxes of papers Jonah hadn’t got around to sorting were stacked in the corners.

‘You want me to bring it out for you?’ Stan asked. He sounded irritable, but Jonah had known him long enough not to take any notice.

‘How much do I owe you?’

‘I’ll put it on your next bill.’ Stan levelled a finger and fixed him with a baleful glare. ‘Check the tyre pressures, OK?’

Getting back behind the wheel of a car was trickier than he’d expected with his bad knee, but at last he managed it. He sat there for a moment, enjoying the feeling. It wasn’t much of an achievement, but it meant a return to something like normality. Jonah hadn’t realised how much he’d missed that.

He just wasn’t looking forward to where he was going.

He’d avoided giving Fletcher a straight answer when he’d asked for Chrissie’s address. They hadn’t been in contact with each other for years, but he knew where she’d last been living. She’d married Neil fucking Waverly six months after their divorce came through, and it hadn’t taken long on social media to check that they were still at the same address. He knew he was risking antagonising the DI even more, but Jonah rationalised that he hadn’t exactly lied. He just wanted a chance to talk to Chrissie before they did.

It was better if she heard about Owen Stokes from him rather than them.

The house was part of an elegant Georgian terrace, tucked away behind a beech hedge and mature lime trees near Primrose Hill. A stainless-steel intercom was set into a stone gatepost next to the ornate wrought-iron gate. Pausing to rub his knee, which was stiff and sore from the drive, Jonah pressed the buzzer and waited.

‘Hello?’

The woman’s voice was distorted by the intercom, making it hard to identify. Jonah leaned closer to the grill.

‘Chrissie?’

There was a pause before the voice came back. ‘No, I’m sorry. Mrs Waverly isn’t at home.’

He could hear what sounded like a Spanish accent. Since when did Chrissie have staff? Thanking her, he started back towards his car on his crutches. He intended to wait, but he hadn’t gone very far when a white Range Rover went past. He caught a glimpse of a blonde woman before it pulled into one of the residents-only parking spaces outside the house he’d just left. The rear doors opened, disgorging two young children in school uniforms. A boy and girl of six or seven, alike enough to be twins, noisily continuing whatever argument they’d been having inside the car.

When the woman climbed out after them, Jonah’s first thought was that it must be a neighbour. The blonde hair had subtle highlights, and she had sunglasses pushed onto the top of her head. She was slimmer than Chrissie had been, and her clothes were the sort of expensively overstated style a woman who lived on this street and drove a new Range Rover would wear. The little boy was tussling with the little girl as they waited by the gate.

‘Mum, tell her!’

‘It’s not me, I haven’t done anything!’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Abigail, be quiet! You too, Harry! I won’t tell the pair of you again.’

As she went to the electric gate, Chrissie gave a cursory glance in his direction, automatically threat-assessing the stranger with the stubbled head and crutches. She turned away, then slowed as she looked again.

‘Hi, Chrissie,’ he said.

He saw her face harden, the middle-class mother replaced by the ex-wife he remembered.

‘Mummy needs to fetch something from the car,’ she told the boy and girl, unlocking the gate with a fob. ‘Tell Rosa you can go on PlayStation.’

They forgot their argument and ran excitedly down the path. He’d known she had kids — he’d seen that much on her social media — but the reality of it hadn’t sunk in until he saw her with them. Chrissie had a new family. One that had nothing to do with Theo.

‘I didn’t recognise you,’ she said. Her voice was neutral. Wary.

‘Same here. You look good.’

He meant it. Now he was closer he could see there were a few more lines around her eyes and mouth, but she looked tanned and fit in a tailored white jacket and skin-tight jeans that showed off her figure. The heavy gold chain around her neck probably cost more than his car. Even her perfume was different, smelling of sandalwood and money.

‘What do you want, Jonah?’

Yep. It’s Chrissie, all right. ‘We need to talk.’

She stood by the open gate, one hand still on it as though ready to either escape inside or bar Jonah entry. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t want to go into it in the street. Can we go inside?’

‘Not until you tell me why you’re here.’

‘It’s about Gavin.’

‘I heard what happened. I’m sorry, but—’

‘I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.’

She looked back towards the house, then gave a sigh. She held open the gate.

‘You’d better come in.’