The Lost

Chapter 17

Dusk was settling by the time he reached Slaughter Quay. He pulled onto the same patch of weed-choked tarmac as before, at the last minute giving in to some superstitious urge and parking in a different spot to last time.

His was the only car there. He looked over to where Gavin’s Audi had been, then climbed out. A cold wind was coming off the water, bringing a dank smell of oil and mud. Balanced on his crutches, Jonah shivered and wondered what he was doing there. After leaving Chrissie’s, he’d felt at a loss. He didn’t want to go back to his flat, so he’d set off driving without any clear destination. But, as though the idea had only been waiting to present itself, before he’d got to the end of the road he’d already made up his mind.

Even now he couldn’t say why, except the compulsion had been growing since he’d left the hospital. He wasn’t fooling himself that coming back would bring any sort of revelation or help him understand what had happened here.

He just needed to see it again.

In which case, he thought, maybe he should have gone earlier. The light was fading fast as he set off along the path towards the quay. He followed the same route as before, crossing the narrow side street by the old tannery building, where cobblestones showed beneath the broken tarmac like scabbed wounds. The only sound was the metronome click of his crutches, but as he neared the quayside he could hear the slosh of the river against the pilings. The moored barges announced themselves with the protesting squeal of rubber fenders. The large one still bobbed a little away from the rest, like an unwelcome guest at a party. The paintwork on its bows spelling out The Oracle was flaked and faded, and Jonah noticed a sun-bleached For Sale sign propped in a window.

No sign of the cat this time.

It was colder as he neared the end of the quayside. The wind cut in directly from the water, bringing a front of piercing cold and damp that made his knee ache. Up ahead he could see the last warehouse. The damaged fencing had been replaced but otherwise it looked as he remembered. A derelict shell with boarded-up doors and broken windows.

He’d wondered how he’d feel being there again, but the truth was he felt nothing. There was no emotional shock, no catharsis. No answers. He looked at it for a while, then turned away and started back for his car.

But it was a long walk, and as the light fell the lonely quayside seemed to take on a more sinister aspect. The deepening shadows brought an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu. He did his best to ignore it, until he heard a metallic chink, like swinging chains. All at once he was back in the loading bay, with the smell of blood and Gavin’s body on the plastic sheet. He faltered, his heart seeming to stutter.

Then it had passed, leaving him clammy and shaken. There were no chains, only a section of wire fencing rocking in the wind. Jesus... Letting out an unsteady breath, Jonah set off along the quayside again. All he wanted now was to be back in the warmth of his car. Cutting away from the waterside, he went back down the narrow lane by the old tannery. It was even darker down there, and he had to watch his footing on the cobbles.

He wasn’t sure when he realised he wasn’t alone. The awareness came gradually, a subliminal unease that became impossible to ignore. Without knowing why, Jonah felt the hairs prickle upright on the back of his neck.

Looking up, he saw someone at the far end of the lane.

It was a woman. In the gathering dark it was hard to make her out, her face a pale oval above the long dark coat. But Jonah knew she was watching him. His mouth had dried. No. Not possible... He took a faltering step and stumbled as one of his crutches caught on a cobblestone.

When he looked up she’d gone.

The lane was empty, as though she’d never been there. And maybe she hadn’t. Jonah was already beginning to doubt what he thought he’d seen. He hurried down the lane as quickly as he dared, looking all around as he emerged from it. Night had almost fully fallen, the distant lights on the far bank of the river twinkling in the growing dark. But it wasn’t so dark that Jonah wasn’t able to see there was no one there.

The Saab was an indistinct shadow, standing alone on the waste ground. He unlocked it and climbed in, sitting in darkness while his heartbeat returned to normal. He realised he was trembling. Going back to the quayside had shaken him more than he’d realised. He’d tried to convince himself that what happened at the warehouse hadn’t affected him, that apart from his knee, there were no lingering effects.

Yeah, right.

He held up a hand. It was still trembling, but not so much. He felt OK to drive, and the sooner he left that place the better. Going there had been a stupid idea, especially when it was getting dark. It was just that and an overactive imagination, he told himself, starting the Saab. It couldn’t be anything else.

Because the figure in the lane had looked like the young woman who’d died at the warehouse.

A rat scurried out from behind an overflowing bin. It paused to consider the intruder, bead-like eyes glinting in the streetlight as it scented the air. Then, unafraid, it continued on its business.

Jonah gave the bins a wide berth as he went down the alleyway at the side of the ornate Victorian building. This part of Hammersmith was mainly commercial: shops and small businesses with a few flats above them. It was bustling during the day, but now everything was closed or in the process of shutting. When he’d left the quayside, he’d automatically started heading to his flat, but he’d felt too restless and on edge to go back there yet. His entire body was a knot of tension. He’d felt pummelled and off-balance ever since Fletcher and Bennet’s news that Stokes was behind the break-in at Marie’s. Then there’d been the humiliation of having to tell the detectives about Chrissie and Gavin, followed by visiting Chrissie herself. Although he was pleased for her, seeing his ex-wife with her new family had been emotionally hard. For him to cap the day off with a trip to Slaughter Quay had been inviting trouble. No wonder he was having flashbacks and jumping at shadows.

But, despite his rationalisations, the memory of what — who — he’d thought he’d seen in the lane remained an unsettling thorn at the back of his mind. Not so long ago he’d have called Khan or someone else from his team. Arranged to meet up for a beer and either talked it through or, more likely, banished the dark mood with company and a few drinks.

He didn’t feel able to do that now, though. Not with Fletcher prowling around, and not for this. It was too personal, too tied up with his past. It was then that Jonah had remembered the text he’d received from Miles that morning.

If there was anyone he could talk to about this, it was him.

Today was a Thursday, which meant there should be a support group meeting later. With a sense of relief, Jonah had pulled over and called Miles to check. It had gone to voicemail, so he’d left a message saying he’d be coming to the meeting and hoped that was OK, then rang off.

He’d felt better after that, as though the thought alone was enough to settle his nerves. There had been some time to kill, so he’d stopped off at a café for a sandwich. The meeting house shared premises with a snooker and pool club, which occupied the bulk of the building. Jonah went around the back. Tucked away by the air vents was a small doorway. A small sign above it said, Friendship House. All Welcome.

He tried the door. It was unlocked, so it seemed he’d been right about there being a meeting. Opening it, he went into a large, echoing room that smelled of cold plaster and stewed tea. The floor was unvarnished boards, splintered but worn smooth by wear. Plastic chairs and folded trestle tables were stacked against the walls, and a faded poster was pinned to a cork noticeboard. Printed on it in bold red letters was a forlorn looking promise: You’re not alone.

Jonah closed the door behind him. There was no one about, but someone must be there for the door to be unlocked and the lights left on. He drew a breath to call when the lights went out.

Darkness engulfed him. Panicking, he spun round, stumbling backwards as he half raised a crutch to fend off an attack. Something struck the backs of his legs, and there was a metallic clatter as he toppled over an unseen stack of chairs. He fell to the floor, hurting his knee and flailing around as they crashed down around him.

The lights came back on.

Jonah blinked, dazzled by the sudden brightness. A man wearing an unbuttoned overcoat was standing in the doorway at the far end of the hall, one hand still on the light switch. He was tall and slightly stooped, his thinning grey hair neatly brushed. The wire-rimmed glasses magnified his eyes, which right now were widened in an almost comical expression of surprise.

‘Jonah?’ He looked even more horrified when he noticed the crutches. ‘Good God, are you all right?’

‘Fine. I just, uh...’ There was really nowhere to go with that, so Jonah abandoned the sentence. ‘Hi, Miles.’

The older man hurried forward. ‘Here, let me help.’

‘It’s all right, I’m fine. Really.’

The panic had subsided, leaving embarrassment in its wake. Favouring his bad leg, Jonah found one of his crutches and began clambering to his feet. That made yet more noise among the fallen chairs. Miles moved them aside to give him more room.

‘If I’d known you were coming, I’d have left the lights on. I was just shutting up shop.’

‘Didn’t you get my message?’ Jonah asked, stooping to retrieve the other crutch.

Miles paused in the act of righting a chair. He looked mortified. ‘No, I’m sorry. I’m afraid I haven’t been paying much attention to my phone.’

‘It’s OK, don’t worry about it.’ Setting the last chair back on its feet, Jonah took in the empty hall. ‘Isn’t there a meeting tonight?’

Miles adjusted his glasses, his discomfort evident. ‘Look, why don’t you take a seat while I pop the kettle on? We can chat over a cup of tea.’

Jonah watched him go into the kitchen with concern. Something wasn’t right, but Miles would tell him in his own time. Pulling up a chair, he sat at a trestle table, listening to the sounds coming from the kitchen. As ever, being there filled him with conflicting emotions. It took him back to a painful time, the worst of his life. Yet there was also a reassuring sense of calm, a comforting familiarity that tempered the emotional impact. Just like it always had.

He’d first heard about the support group when a flier dropped through his letterbox. There’d been no accompanying note and he didn’t recognise the handwriting on the envelope. Inside was only a small, cheaply printed sheet of A5, and the block capitals at the top had hit Jonah like a punch: HAVE YOU LOST SOMEONE? Underneath, in smaller text, were a few more lines:

There had been a Hammersmith address and a mobile number. Jonah never did find out who’d sent it. He’d guessed it came from someone on his team, who’d wanted to help but was too embarrassed to do it openly. Jonah hadn’t been interested anyway. Screwing the flier into a ball, he’d thrown it in the bin.

But he’d gone back later and fished it out again. Smoothed it out and stuck it in a drawer. It was another few weeks before he finally gave in and went to Hammersmith for the first time. The hidden-away entrance behind the snooker club had been hard to find, and its location hadn’t inspired confidence. There was nothing for him there, he’d thought.

He’d been wrong.

For two years, the twice-weekly meetings had been a lifeline, helping him get through each awful, empty week. The small hall became a sanctuary. Often there were only a few people there, sometimes only himself, Miles and Penny. On those occasions, talk would generally be about something else entirely rather than the defining tragedies that had brought them together.

Gradually, Jonah’s attendance had dropped off. But even when he no longer went to the meeting himself, he’d kept in touch with Miles. Or had, until recently. Now, looking around the empty hall, Jonah felt his conscience prick at how he’d allowed contact to lapse.

Miles came out of the kitchen bearing a tray. He’d taken off the overcoat, revealing his usual uniform of an open cardigan over a worn but crisply ironed white shirt. Some things, at least, never changed.

‘Here you go,’ he said, setting down the tray. On it were two mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits. Custard creams, Jonah saw. They’d always been Miles’s favourite. ‘Say if you’d like more milk.’

‘This is fine, thanks.’

Jonah never took milk or sugar anywhere else. Here, though, it somehow seemed natural. Miles sat down, moving a little stiffly, Jonah noticed. With another pang, he saw how his scalp showed through the thinning grey hair, and how the large but finely boned hands were mottled with liver spots he couldn’t remember seeing before.

But the smile was the same, and so was the warmth in the brown eyes. ‘It’s good to see you again, Jonah.’

‘I’ve been meaning to get in touch before now, but...’

‘Good grief, there’s no need to apologise. I’m just glad you’re all right. After I saw that newspaper article yesterday and realised you’d been at that awful place...’ He shook his head. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m OK.’ Jonah shrugged. ‘I won’t be doing ballet any time soon.’

‘A great loss to the world of dance, I’m sure.’ The soft brown eyes were searching. ‘But that isn’t what I meant. How are you?’

Jonah looked down at his mug. He’d gone there to talk, but that didn’t make it any easier.

‘I went to see my ex-wife earlier. She’s remarried, with twins. They’re nice kids.’

‘Ah.’ Miles nodded, considering his own mug. ‘I’m glad for her, of course. But that can’t have been easy. And I read that the police officer who died along with those other poor souls was a friend of yours. A close friend?’

From anyone else it might have felt like prying. ‘He used to be.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m sure he was a good man.’

A good man. Jonah had no idea if that described Gavin or not. ‘I don’t know. But he was a friend for a long time. I don’t like thinking of him as a bad one.’

‘A little of both, then. Like the rest of us.’ Miles sighed. ‘I’m not going to ask what went on in that place, but from the fact that you’re here I suspect you’re finding it hard to deal with. Which is perfectly understandable.’

Jonah started to speak, but his throat threatened to close up. He cleared it before trying again.

‘Let’s say it’s brought the past back in a way I wasn’t expecting.’ Much as he might want to, he couldn’t tell Miles about Owen Stokes. Chrissie had a right to know, but Jonah had taken enough of a chance telling her. ‘There’s a lot of things I don’t understand. I need to find answers, but I don’t know how.’

‘But you’re intending to find out?’

The simple clarity of the question cut through the fog that had surrounded Jonah. ‘Yes.’

Miles considered him for a while before speaking.

‘I remember the first time you came here. You sat at the back of the room, looking like you wanted to lash out at the world. I knew how you felt. I think most people who pass through that door would. Angry, confused, looking for someone to blame. And above all hurting. You were like a clenched fist.’

He held up his own to demonstrate.

‘I can’t tell you how heart-warming it was to see you gradually open up. For Pen as well as me. That’s why I was concerned when I realised you were involved in this dreadful business. Of course, I hoped you weren’t too badly hurt physically, but I was more worried about the emotional impact it might have. New trauma has a habit of unearthing old, and you’ve already experienced something most people never have to endure. I’d hate to see you clench into a fist again, Jonah.’

‘I won’t,’ Jonah said.

‘I do hope not. And I know you aren’t stupid enough to take the law into your own hands.’

It was said pointedly, but then Miles’s eyes crinkled in a smile. He reached for the plate and held it out.

‘Have a biscuit.’

Jonah took one, deciding it was time to move the conversation away from himself. ‘How’s Penny?’

‘Oh, she’s... well, not too good, actually. That’s why I haven’t been coming here so often. I only called in tonight to make sure everything was OK and collect the post.’ Miles was suddenly preoccupied with his tea. ‘Pen has cancer.’

‘Christ, Miles...’ The news jolted Jonah out of his own problems, making him feel selfish for putting them first. ‘Where?’

‘Pretty much everywhere, really. At least, by the time they caught it. She’s not having any treatment. She felt... well, we’d rather make the most of the time that’s left. I won’t say we’re reconciled, but we’ve both accepted it. Some days are better than others, but by and large she’s in good spirits.’

‘I’m so sorry...’

‘I know.’ The smile was back. ‘She’d love to see you. You must come round again. Soon.’

‘I will,’ Jonah promised.

It was after nine by the time Jonah got back to the flats. His knee was aching, so he parked on the road outside rather than contend with the long trudge back from the garage. The black sky was smudged with smoke-like clouds, only the brightest stars visible through the city lights as he made his way across the concrete concourse to the entrance. Hearing about Penny had left him sobered and saddened, yet in an odd way had also cleared his head. His own problems were no more comprehensible, but now at least he could view them with more perspective.

A group of youths was standing under a covered walkway off to one side. Jonah looked them over with the ingrained habit of a police officer, though not enough for it to be read as a challenge. They watched in silence as he went into the foyer and pressed the call button for a lift. One of the overhead lights was out, and it struck him yet again how dismal the place was. The wall tiles were cracked and filthy, while the glass panels in the entrance were misted where decades of graffiti had been scoured off.

Not for the first time, he wondered why he was still there. It wasn’t as though he had any reason to stay, and there was nothing keeping him from moving.

But as usual the thought didn’t gain any traction. Willing the lift to hurry up, he stooped to rub his aching knee, flexing the sore joint. A wave of cold air swept over him as two youths came in from outside. When the lift doors opened they followed Jonah in. Both had their hoods up, one of them wearing his over a black baseball cap. The other had a savage case of acne. They looked seventeen or eighteen, and there was a wired quality about them both. A sweetish chemical odour clung to their clothes. They weren’t looking at Jonah directly, but he caught one of them darting a glance towards the other as the doors slid shut.

Neither of them pressed a button to select a floor.

Oh, great. Jonah didn’t recognise them, but he guessed they were there to either buy or sell, and had decided a lone invalid was an easy target. Keeping his eyes on the illuminated floor numbers above the doors, he shifted his stance to distribute his weight on his crutches and bad leg.

‘I’m police.’

They stirred, looking from him to each other and back again.

‘You what?’

It was the smaller of the two, greasy blond hair peeping out from under the hood. Jonah kept his gaze on the floor indicator.

‘You heard.’

The indicator flickered as the lift passed another floor. Jonah continued to gaze above their heads, his face stone. He could feel the tension building, knew it could go either way. Crutches or not, after the day he’d had, he didn’t care.

The lift stopped. The doors chimed open.

Jonah could feel them watching him as he got out and unhurriedly went down the corridor. He listened for any sound that they were coming after him, but there was only a squeaking glide as the lift doors shut again. When he heard it start to descend, Jonah stopped and turned. A strip light flickered and buzzed on the corridor behind him, but otherwise it was empty.

Not sure if he was relieved or disappointed, he continued to his flat and let himself in. Taking off his jacket, he went to the fridge and took out a beer. He drank straight from the can, then took out his phone and ordered a pizza. Normally, he tried to limit his junk food, but it was late and he was too tired to cook anything.

Again, that sort of a day.

He’d finished the can and was contemplating having another when the doorbell rang. Just using one crutch, he limped into the hallway and looked through the spyhole. He half expected to see the dickheads from the lift, but it wasn’t them. The person standing outside was even less welcome.

Jonah leaned his head against the door. Perfect. That’s just perfect. The doorbell buzzed again, followed this time by a brisk knock. Straightening, he opened the door.

Corinne Daly gave a bright smile as she held out a pizza delivery box. ‘I hope you didn’t order anchovy.’