The Lost

Chapter 18

Jonah didn’t take the box. ‘What do you want?’

‘Well, a drink wouldn’t go amiss, if you’re offering.’ Her grin faded when Jonah didn’t respond. She offered the pizza box again. ‘Can you at least take this? I’m getting greasy fingers.’

He still didn’t move. Daly sighed.

‘I came up in the lift with the delivery guy and said I’d give it to you, OK? I even tipped him. I haven’t poisoned it, honest.’

Jonah took the box and started to shut the door.

‘No, wait!’ Daly leaned into the closing gap. ‘I’m not working now, this is my own time. I came to apologise.’

‘I don’t want to hear it.’

‘Please, just listen! I’ve found out some things you might want to hear.’

Jonah stopped, still holding the door part shut. ‘What things?’

‘Let me come in and I’ll tell you. Look, in case you’re worried...’ She rummaged in her shoulder bag and took out her phone. ‘I’m turning it off. There.’

Daly held it up, showing him the screen as the phone shut down.

‘See? It’s off, it’s not recording. And you’ll want to hear what I’ve got to say.’

Jonah hesitated, but curiosity won out. He opened the door to let her in.

‘I’ll give you five minutes.’

That earned him a smile. ‘Thank you.’

He let her go into the living room first. She put her shoulder bag onto the coffee table and sank onto the sofa with a sigh. She stayed like that, long legs stretched out in front of her, slender throat upturned. Jonah was suddenly aware of how attractive she was. Pushing away the thought, he sat down in the armchair so the coffee table was in between them.

‘So, what is it you want to tell me?’

‘I’ll come to that in a minute. There’s something I want to get off my chest first.’ Daly sat up, suddenly uncertain. ‘I kept thinking about what I did, at the hospital and the memorial service, and... I wanted to apologise for the way I behaved. That’s not me, OK? I don’t like to think of myself as that sort of person. Sometimes I just don’t much like what I have to do, or myself for doing it. And this has been one of those times.’

Jonah wasn’t convinced this wasn’t another attempt to play him. But she looked tired and vulnerable sitting there, not the confident journalist who’d ambushed him in his hospital room or confronted him outside the church. And her apology seemed genuine.

‘So why keep on doing it?’

‘Believe it or not, I still like being a journalist. Somebody’s got to hold people to account, and on a good day that’s how I see what I do. But mainly it’s because I’m a single parent with a mortgage and a six-year-old daughter. I need the money.’ She gave him a rueful smile. ‘I’m not looking for sympathy, I just wanted to... I don’t know. Explain, I suppose. So you don’t think I’m a complete cow.’

‘OK.’ This wasn’t what Jonah had expected, but he wasn’t ready to roll over yet. ‘You said you’d found out some things I should hear.’

She looked down, acknowledging his suspicion. But when she met his eyes again there was no mistaking the gleam in them.

‘I know who one of the victims is.’

That got his interest. ‘Which one?’

Daly smiled. She sat back, knowing she’d set her hook.

‘I think that deserves a slice of pizza.’

‘His name’s Daniel Kimani.’

Daly wiped her fingers on a piece of kitchen roll. The last piece of pizza was congealing in the open box, a half-empty can of beer next to it. That was her second. Jonah was on his third, having had one before she arrived. He’d told himself it would be his last.

Daly had insisted on waiting until they’d eaten before telling him anything else. He’d been impatient at first, but had decided it was better to go with it. So far, she hadn’t given him any cause to regret letting her in. She’d done most of the talking, at least when she wasn’t eating pizza and drinking beer, but she’d avoided the subject of Slaughter Quay. Although part of him remained guarded, Jonah actually found he was enjoying her company.

Now, though, she was ready to get down to business.

‘He was a post-grad student from Kenya,’ she continued, dropping the screwed-up kitchen roll on the coffee table. ‘Twenty-six, came here on a student visa two years ago to take a PhD in politics and sociology. Well thought of, by all accounts, but not much for socialising. Only had a few friends and even then kept himself to himself, but he was a keen human rights campaigner. He was reported missing two days before you found his body at Slaughter Quay. Didn’t show for meetings at the university and wasn’t answering his phone. His flatmate said he hadn’t been home since going out in a rush one morning. But he didn’t tell anyone where he was going or who he was meeting.’

Jonah’s mind had been racing as he listened. If this Kimani was in the country on a student visa, then that put a massive hole in the theory that the three warehouse victims were illegal migrants, or the victims of a trafficking gang.

‘How do you know all this?’ He hadn’t seen any mention of it in the news, so either it had only just been released or Daly had a well-placed police contact.

‘It didn’t come from the enquiry team, if that’s what you’re thinking. They aren’t saying anything, so I did some digging of my own.’ She tried not to look pleased with herself, but her pride leaked through. ‘I checked through all the missing persons announcements around that time matching the description the police put out — and believe me, there were a lot — and whittled them down. Daniel Kimani ticked all the boxes. Some of his friends from the university had put up a small reward for information, so I contacted them and asked to meet. They filled me in with the rest.’

Jonah felt anti-climax set in. ‘So this isn’t an official ID? It’s coming from you?’

‘Yes, but it’s only a matter of time before it’s confirmed,’ she said, colouring. ‘If I can work it out, I’m sure the enquiry already has.’

And perhaps discounted it, Jonah thought. He tried not to let his disappointment show. ‘Like you say, there are probably a lot of missing people matching the same description.’

‘But how many of them also know a young woman called Nadine?’

The name sent a shock through Jonah. Daly grinned, enjoying springing the surprise.

‘Apparently, Kimani had been seeing someone called Nadine for a few weeks beforehand. None of his friends knew her surname or anything about her, but his flatmate saw her briefly when she visited the house. Early twenties, curly black hair, looked Mediterranean or Middle Eastern. Very attractive. Sound familiar?’

It did. An image of Nadine’s terrified face, filthy and scalded with quicklime burns, flashed into his head. He swallowed, trying to push it back into its box.

‘So they were in a relationship?’

It would be even worse if it was her boyfriend’s body she’d been lying on, maybe even seen killed. But Daly shook her head.

‘That was my first thought, but Daniel Kimani was gay. None of his friends could say why he’d been seeing her, but they were pretty sure it wasn’t a sexual relationship.’

‘Have they told the police?’

‘Of course. They were thanked for the information and told they’d be informed of any developments.’

So Fletcher must know already. The enquiry would surely have DNA and fingerprint confirmation by now if the body really did belong to Kimani. Which meant either it wasn’t his...

Or they’d decided not to release his identity.

Jonah felt buoyed by the news, but also annoyed. Daly had done what he should have thought of himself. He’d been sitting back and letting the enquiry do all the work, as though Fletcher was ever going to tell him anything he didn’t have to.

Call yourself a police officer...

‘What were these friends’ names?’ he asked.

Daly gave a wry smile. ‘You don’t really expect me to reveal my sources, do you?’

He didn’t but it was worth a try. ‘What about the other two victims? Have you found out anything about them?’

‘Not yet.’ Daly paused, looking down at her beer. ‘So you hadn’t heard of Daniel Kimani? The name doesn’t mean anything to you?’

But Jonah wasn’t about to give anything away. ‘Why are you telling me any of this?’

It was Daly’s turn to look surprised. ‘I thought you’d want to know. Look, I don’t want to be rude, but are you having that last slice of pizza?’

The change of tack threw him. ‘No, help yourself.’

‘I’m not normally such a pig, but I skipped lunch,’ she said, reaching for it and taking a bite. She gave a groan of pleasure. ‘God, I’m such a hypocrite. I’m always lecturing Maddie about junk food, and now look at me.’

‘Maddie’s your daughter?’ he asked, remembering the conversation they’d had outside the church.

‘Yeah. I love her to bits, but she can be a complete monster when she wants to be. Winds my parents round her little finger. You know how it is.’ She screwed up her face as she realised. ‘Shit. Sorry, I didn’t...’

‘It’s OK.’ Jonah had learned long ago not to react to unintentional barbs. That wasn’t the same as being immune to them. ‘You said you were a single parent?’

Daly was eager to move past her gaffe. ‘It’s no big story. Her father didn’t run off or die or anything, he was just a shit. Let’s just say it’s another episode in my life I’m not especially proud of. And there have been a few, believe me. But it got me Maddie, so I owe him that much.’

‘Does he ever see her?’

‘No. That was never going to happen, I knew that from the start. But it’s his loss. He wasn’t the sort to bring much joy into her life even if he’d stuck around. So, you know, good riddance. I’m sorry for Maddie, but she’s a happy little girl, she’s got a loving family. I just wish...’

‘What?’ Jonah asked when she stopped. Daly shrugged a shoulder, studying her beer.

‘That I could be around more for her. I mean, I’ve got to work, and I try to make the most of the time we spend together. I try to be a good mum, I really do. But it’s hard, sometimes.’ She stopped, shaking her head. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t be moaning to you about my problems. Not after what you’ve been through.’

Jonah shrugged, uncomfortable with the direction this had taken. ‘I’m OK.’

‘Yeah, ’course you are.’ Daly smiled. She tucked her legs under her on the sofa, twisting to face him more directly. ‘I’m sorry about Gavin McKinney. Were you very close?’

Jonah felt a cloud pass over him. ‘We used to be.’

‘I know you don’t want to talk about it, but when I—’ She stopped. ‘Never mind.’

‘What?’

Daly shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

Jonah looked at her, trying to scent a trap. She had her head down, hair falling across her face. ‘Go on.’

‘I was going to say I lost my best friend a few years ago, so I’ve got some idea what you’re going through. Completely different circumstances, she took an accidental overdose. At least everyone said it was accidental, but I always wondered, you know? I kept thinking I should have done more, that I let her down.’

She paused, as though giving Jonah the opportunity to say something. But his feelings for Gavin were too complex to walk into that minefield. When he didn’t respond, Daly bit her lip.

‘I’ve got a question, but I don’t like to ask,’ she said.

Jonah smiled, but he felt some tension creeping back. Here it comes. ‘Then maybe you shouldn’t.’

Her own smile soon flickered out. Somehow she’d moved nearer on the sofa, legs still curled under her but now leaning towards him.

‘I’ve heard rumours about your friend. That he was in trouble. And he shouldn’t even have been at that warehouse because he’d been suspended. Is that true?’

Shit. Jonah set his beer down. ‘Where’d you hear that?’

‘It’s OK, I don’t expect you to confirm anything, but... Well, you can’t deny it, can you?’

Jonah was sobering fast. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he said, marvelling at his own stupidity.

‘OK, I’m sorry, forget I said anything,’ Daly said, as he started to get up. ‘Please don’t—’

But Jonah had already jumped to his feet, momentarily forgetting about his knee. He gave a gasp as his full weight came down on it, sending a burst of pain lancing through the joint. His leg buckled under him, and as he grabbed for the armchair his shin caught the edge of the coffee table. It tipped over, spilling the beer cans and Daly’s handbag onto the floor. Jonah flopped back into the chair, gritting his teeth against the throbbing in his knee as she hurried over.

‘Oh, God, not again! Are you OK?’

‘Yeah, just... stupid.’

And embarrassed. His knee was still throbbing but less so now. Enough for him to be aware of how close Daly was. She had one hand on his shoulder, the other resting on his chest. When he opened his eyes, her face was only inches from his. He could smell her perfume, and the heat from her hands burned through his T-shirt. Neither spoke. Daly leaned closer, or maybe it was the other way around.

Then Jonah’s phone rang.

They both jumped like guilty teenagers. Daly retreated back to the sofa as the phone clamoured again. It had fallen from the coffee table onto the floor, so Jonah had to bend awkwardly to reach it. As he picked it up he saw the name on the illuminated display.

Marie.

‘I need to take this,’ he said.

He didn’t, but it was an excuse to put some distance between them. Still rattled and angry at himself, he took the phone into the hallway. He pulled the door shut behind him, leaving enough of a gap so he could see Daly as he answered.

‘Hi. Are you OK?’ he asked, keeping his voice down and avoiding saying Marie’s name.

‘Oh, Jonah, Jonah...’ The sound of crying came down the phone. ‘I wanted to... You were his best friend, you know he wasn’t... Can you come round?’

She sounded slurred, almost unintelligible. He glanced through the doorway. Daly was still on the sofa, looking for something in her handbag. ‘Why, what’s happened?’

‘... it was just there, right there, all the time...’

‘What was?’ God, how much had she had?

‘... like he’s talking to me from the grave...’

Jonah kneaded his eyes, unable to make any sense out of what she was saying. ‘Listen, I’ll call you in the morning, OK?’

‘I miss him so much... they don’t understand, no one understands...’

‘In the morning,’ he repeated. ‘You go to bed and try to get some sleep.’

There was sniffling, another incoherent comment and then the line went dead. Jesus, Jonah thought. Marie had every reason to be in a state, but she’d sounded far gone even by her standards. And ‘talking to her from the grave’? What was that about?

Pushing the door open, he went back into the living room. Daly still looked flustered, the flush on her cheeks extending down her throat and into the open neck of her shirt.

‘I should be going,’ she said, not meeting his eyes.

He nodded. They went to the front door. Jonah unlocked and opened it. Daly gave an awkward smile.

‘Well... thanks for the pizza.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Something occurred to him. ‘Hang on, I’d better come down with you.’

She paused, a guardedness about her. ‘Why?’

‘There were some teenagers hanging around outside earlier. I’ll walk you to your car.’

She gave a startled laugh. ‘Seriously? Thanks, but I can take care of myself.’

Face burning, Jonah watched her go. Her footsteps clipping a rapid beat that bounced off the corridor’s walls as she headed for the lifts. He closed and locked the door, then rested his head against it.

‘Oh, you fucking idiot!’

Daly heard the door close behind her. She carried on down the empty corridor to the lifts, jabbing the call button repeatedly when the doors didn’t open straight away.

‘Come on...’

The lift pinged and its doors opened. There was no one inside. Daly stepped in and pressed the button for the ground floor. Her shoulders relaxed minimally when the doors slid shut and she felt the weightless drop as the lift began to descend.

‘Shit, shit, shit!’

She’d blown it. She shook her head, grimacing. What the hell had she been thinking, quizzing him like that? But it was late and she was tired, and — surprise, surprise — it turned out Colley was a nice guy. There was definitely something about him, and she’d been unprepared for how readily she responded to it. She’d actually started to forget why she was there. She’d let herself get carried away, and then tried to make up for it by blurting out that question about McKinney. OK, so the beers hadn’t helped, but she couldn’t just blame it on that. If his phone hadn’t rung when it did...

But it had. Nothing happened. So get over it.

She rummaged inside her shoulder bag. Her phone was in there, still switched off. Ignoring it, she took out the digital voice recorder. The small red light was on to show it was running. She rewound it for a few seconds, then pressed play. Colley’s voice came from the tiny speaker, reedy and thin but recognisable.

‘... because he’d been suspended. Is that true?’

‘Where’d you hear that?’

‘... You can’t deny it, can you?’

Daly stopped the playback. At least the recording was clear enough. Even though she’d been careful to leave her bag open, she’d been worried that the microphone wouldn’t have picked up their voices from inside. But it had, at least until it had fallen onto the floor when the coffee table had been knocked over. Not that there had been much to hear after that anyway.

More’s the pity.

Still, maybe she’d got enough at that. Colley had obviously never heard of Daniel Kimani, but the way he’d clammed up when she’d asked him about McKinney told her what she needed to know. She’d only been fishing, making out the rumours she’d heard were more solid than they actually were. But he hadn’t been shocked or surprised. Or refuted it, which was as good as a confirmation as far as she was concerned. And he’d been reticent about McKinney even before then. She frowned, remembering Colley’s answer when she’d asked if they’d been close. He’d said they used to be.

As in, they weren’t any longer.

Daly felt a slow spread of excitement. God, what if there was some sort of history between McKinney and Colley? What if they hadn’t been at the warehouse on some sort of undercover operation? That could cast a whole new light on whatever had happened. Shit, it might even mean Colley was a suspect...

Her excitement died as she remembered when they’d talked about her daughter. He’d tried to hide it, but she’d seen the sadness on his face. And offering to walk her back to her car might have been patronising, but there’d been something... well, sweet about it. He’d been concerned for her, and when was the last time she could say that about anyone?

And in return she’d stitched him up.

Daly put the recorder back into her bag. Her reflection was framed in the glass panel set in the lift doors. It was scuffed and smeared, throwing back a distorted image of a no longer young woman with a sharp face. It didn’t look like her. Get used to it. It’s going to look less like you every year.

Her reflection gazed back, cynical and knowing.

The lift bumped as it reached the ground floor. The doors squealed open, revealing the fluorescent-lit foyer. It smelled of piss, stale alcohol and the sickly sweet smell of resin and hopelessness. She hurried out through the grubby glass entrance. It was cold outside, the concrete bridges and overhead walkways deserted. At least the gang Colley had warned her about had gone. There’d been some teenagers hanging around outside when she’d arrived, so perhaps that was who he’d meant. She’d made a show of ignoring their stares and sniggers. If anything, she’d walked more slowly. That was one thing she’d learned from her job: no matter how scared you were, never let it show. Daly had interviewed rapists and murderers, thrust her recorder in the faces of rioters and brazened her way through situations she’d have been terrified of any other time. It was all about attitude. And what had started out as an act had soon become ingrained, as though her laminated press card granted actual invulnerability.

She reminded herself of that now, as her footsteps rang out in the darkness. It seemed like every other streetlight was broken, creating pools of darkness she had to cross before the next patch of light. The only parking space she’d found was a couple of hundred yards away, and as she walked away from the flats, she hoped her car was still there and in one piece. Neither was a given, not in a neighbourhood like this.

She shivered as a gust of wind blew a faint spray of rain against the back of her neck. The shame she’d felt in the lift was already forgotten. She was on the trail of something, she could sense it. And even though she hadn’t got as much as she’d have liked from Colley, on top of what she’d learned about Daniel Kimani, there was enough to make Giles sit up and take notice. Daly gave a little grin to herself, beginning to edit her memory of the evening into a more palatable shape.

She was still grinning when someone whistled behind her.

It wasn’t loud. Not a wolf whistle, or a fingers-in-the-mouth shrill. Just two soft notes; one high, one low. Daly tensed but didn’t look back. She continued walking, even though all her senses were focused behind her now. Probably just someone out walking a dog, she told herself. Except she couldn’t hear the scratch of dog claws on the pavement, or any footsteps other than her own. She continued at the same measured, unhurried pace. What had she just been telling herself? Don’t let them see you’re scared. A serious attacker wouldn’t advertise his presence, which meant it was just some tosser wanting to feel big. Get himself off by frightening a lone woman on a dark street. Well, think again, prick.

The whistle came a second time.

It was closer, and now Daly felt a flutter of alarm. She couldn’t pretend anymore that the whistle wasn’t meant for her. And while she didn’t want to give this creep the satisfaction of thinking he’d spooked her, if she didn’t react at all it would give the same message. OK, then. Let’s call this wanker’s bluff.

Pulling out the bottle of spray perfume, she turned around. The empty street mocked her. There were closed shops and waste ground on both sides of the road, tall slabs of dirty brick interspersed with patches of scrub and wire fencing. There was no one in sight but the broken streetlights left swathes of blackness where anyone could be concealed. Daly held the bottle of perfume poised, putting on her best fuck-you glare.

‘This is mace, arsehole! I’ve had a really shitty day, and if you want to try and make it worse, go ahead!’

Nothing. No movement, no sign of life. Daly tried not to acknowledge the fear that wanted to bubble up. She gave a start as the edge of her vision registered a movement at the other side of the road. But it was only a cat. No, an urban fox, she realised, seeing its size. Jesus, here? The dark shape picked its way silently across the road, then abruptly stopped. It stared into what looked like the dark mouth of an alleyway a few yards from where Daly stood, eyes glinting bright in the streetlight’s glow. Then it turned and slunk away.

Daly stared into the shadows where the fox had been staring. Had it seen something there? Suddenly she remembered the incident in the underground car park a few nights before. How she’d been convinced there was someone hiding down there, waiting. Oh, stop it! You’re just scaring yourself! Whatever the fox had or hadn’t seen, no one was showing themselves now. Because there’s no one there. Pull yourself together. With a last glare down the dark street, she turned away — deliberately slowly — and carried on walking.

She’d barely taken half a dozen steps when the whistle came again.

Oh, fuck! Fucking hell! Daly told herself to stay calm, but it took a huge effort of will not to glance behind her or speed up. Don’t let him see he’s scared you. That’s what the pathetic bastard wants. Christ, where had she left the fucking car? Gripping the bottle of perfume like a talisman, she groped in her bag again, this time for her phone. It was only when she pulled it out that she realised it was still turned off. Shit, shit, shit! Her hand shook as she fumbled to switch it on, fingers suddenly clumsy. The bloody thing always took an age to start, but the creep behind her didn’t know that. Putting it to her ear, she began to talk loudly into the dead phone.

‘Police, please. I’d like to report an attempted assault. Yes, right now. It’s on...’ She blanked as she tried to think where she was, then she saw a street sign up ahead. ‘... Ashton Way. I’m being followed, so please send a car. Yes, straight away. Thanks.’

The phone chimed as she finished speaking, its screen lighting up as it came on. About bloody time. She brought up the keypad before realising she couldn’t call the police now without giving herself away. As she hesitated, she saw her car up ahead. Thank God! Relieved, she realised it was a while since she’d last heard the whistle. She turned and looked back down the street. It was still empty, but now it also felt empty. The streetlights here were working, forming a well-lit patch of road through which anyone following her would have to cross. She’d not only see them coming, she’d easily be able to reach her car before they could catch up.

So fuck you, you sad bastard! Exultant, she gave the empty street the finger, just in case, and turned to hurry the last few yards to where she was parked.

Someone stepped out of a dark passageway in front of her.

Daly jumped, startled. Yet logic told her that whoever had been whistling couldn’t have overtaken her. No way, not without her seeing them. This couldn’t be the same person, and the realisation gave fuel to her anger.

‘Why don’t you watch where you’re—’ she began.

But she didn’t finish, or hear the perfume bottle smash when it hit the ground.