The Lost

Chapter 27

‘You’ve got a fucking nerve!’

Stan stood in the middle of his workshop, sleeves rolled up on his oil-stained overalls to display corded forearms and knotted fists. A radio played classical music in the background, while somewhere out of sight someone was whistling a completely different tune. A car was hoisted up at head-height on a ramp, and several others were nearby in various states of disassembly.

‘I’m sorry—’ Jonah began.

‘Fuck sorry! I keep my nose clean, I run a good business. I don’t want nothing more to do with you!’

‘Come on, Stan. If I’d known what was in there, do you think I’d have let you see?’

‘You think I liked being dragged off to some police station? Interrogated like I’d done something wrong!’

‘Just hear me out. Please!’ Jonah didn’t think Stan would take a swing at him, but he’d never seen the old man this upset. ‘You want your garage back, fine, I’ll clear my things out as soon as I can. But I really need to hire a car. An automatic, I don’t care what type.’

Jonah’s own car had been seized by the police. He’d get it back eventually, but only after it had been forensically examined for any signs that Corinne Daly had been in it.

Stan’s face was implacable. ‘I don’t care either, the answer’s still no.’

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

‘So what? Get a taxi!’

That would have been simpler. But Jonah had no idea what he was getting into. If he needed to get away from Slaughter Quay in a hurry he didn’t want to have to call for a cab. And none of the car hire firms he’d tried would entertain the idea of renting to someone on crutches.

He tried again. ‘If it’s about the money, I’ll pay whatever you want.’

‘I don’t want your money, I want you gone! Now!’

Jonah tried to think of something else he could say to persuade him, but came up blank. It was no use wasting any more time.

‘OK,’ he said heavily. ‘I’m sorry you got dragged into this.’

He turned to make his way back through the obstacle course of oil cans and engine parts. Behind him, he heard the old man swear under his breath.

‘What do you want it for?’

Jonah looked back. Stan was still glowering, but it had died to a smoulder.

‘I’ve got to meet someone tonight. They might know who killed the woman in my garage.’

That was an understatement if the text came from who Jonah thought. But to find out he needed transport. He waited while Stan deliberated, shaking his head at some internal argument.

‘You get me into any more trouble, you’ll regret it,’ the old man grumbled. ‘It’s round the back.’

The car was a beast. It was a huge Volvo estate, foul with stale cigarettes and boasting what smelled like an ancient dog blanket in the back. It looked as heavy as a tank, with manual locks and a faulty catch on the cavernous boot that made it prone to springing open. But on the plus side, there was more leg room than in the Saab.

Stan insisted on him filling out the proper paperwork, though that didn’t prevent him from charging double the going rate.

‘You bring it back in one piece or you’re buying it, you hear?’ he warned.

The Volvo’s bulk gave a comforting sense of security as Jonah pulled into the rush-hour traffic. He headed straight for the quayside. He was early but he wanted time to scout the place out.

He’d need every advantage he could get.

There was no doubt in Jonah’s mind that the text was from Owen Stokes. He’d no idea how the bastard had got hold of his phone number, but with the right know-how or contacts it wouldn’t have posed too much of a problem. After he’d read the text Jonah had paced restlessly in the flat on his crutches, trying to decide what to do. Several times he’d been on the verge of phoning Fletcher. He’d missed one chance of catching Stokes at the bedsit: he couldn’t let that happen again.

But Stokes wasn’t stupid. He’d be watching for any sign that Jonah wasn’t alone, and at the first hint of a police presence he’d be gone.

And with him, Jonah’s chance of getting answers.

That was what ultimately decided him. He knew there was a good chance he’d be walking into a situation he wouldn’t survive. In all likelihood, Stokes was intending to finish what he’d started at the warehouse. First he’d want to find out if Jonah had kept any of the money from the bedsit, then he’d kill him.

Yet if Jonah didn’t go, he might never know what Stokes could tell him. Not only about the warehouse, but what had actually happened in the park ten years ago. If there was even the slightest chance Jonah could wring the truth from him, to find out if Theo really had drowned by accident or if Stokes had somehow played a part, then he had to take it.

Regardless of the risk.

It was after six when he pulled onto the waste ground. There was no other car there. Switching off the headlights, he climbed out of the Volvo and looked around. He gave a shiver. The air was cold and damp, but that wasn’t the reason.

He was back at Slaughter Quay again.

The cloudy sky had cleared, and a full moon cast a monochrome light onto the Dickensian squalor. The moonlight was bright enough that he didn’t need the Maglite to see, but that was only one reason he’d taken it anyway. The big torch also made a passable club. How much use it would be would depend on what Stokes had with him, but Jonah felt reassured by its metal heft.

Stokes hadn’t said where to meet, but the warehouse was the obvious place. If he wasn’t there, then Jonah would come back and wait in the car. The tang of bilges and rotting seaweed grew stronger as he cut down the cobbled lane by the old tannery. On the water, the moored barges undulated like floating caravans. Or coffins. The thought said a lot for Jonah’s state of mind. The largest boat was still tethered slightly apart from its smaller cousins. The handwritten For sale sign still showed in one of its grimy windows, and as Jonah walked past a low growl came from the deck. The moonlight showed the feral cat was back in the boat’s hatchway. It hissed and spat at him, hunching protectively over a chewed food wrapper until he’d gone past.

The quayside was an eerie place, lonely and bleak, and his unease grew as he approached the warehouse. Stopping by the gate, he shone the light through the wire-mesh fence. A new sign had been added since the last time he was there, a large board fixed to the chained gates that declared: DANGER! UNSAFE STRUCTURE. DO NOT ENTER.

Jonah stood listening for a moment, but the only sounds were the wind and the soft lap of the water. Switching on the torch, he fanned its beam across the building. There were only boarded-up windows and crumbling walls. If Stokes was there already, he was hiding.

He checked his watch. The glowing fingers showed half past six. There was no point in standing out there in the cold. His knee was aching and he might as well wait in the car until Stokes showed.

And then they’d finish this.

The walk seemed to take longer as he retraced his steps along the quayside. He felt more exposed, but told himself that was probably only his imagination. Even so, he was alert for any noises behind the click and scrape of his crutches, and as he walked he scanned the shadows outside the torch beam for any movement.

There was nothing, but his disquiet grew. By the time he reached the moored barges his nerves felt taut and frayed, ready to snap. When an angry hiss came off the water he spun around, gripping the Maglite, before he saw a pair of small eyes glinting on the boat and remembered the cat. Jonah sagged as the tension left him.

Jesus...

Cutting away from the water, he headed for the lane. He was keen to get back to the Volvo. Without meaning to, he started walking faster.

On the boat, the cat gave another low growl.

Jonah felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. He didn’t slow or look around, but now he heard the faint scuff of a footstep behind him, slightly out of sync with his own. He swore silently. He’d been assuming Stokes would drive there, but with everything that had happened he’d overlooked something obvious. Something he should have remembered from that night at the warehouse.

Stokes had a boat.

The footsteps were more audible now, but he didn’t think they’d got any closer. The bastard was taunting him, trying to psych him out. He felt confident enough to play games, and the thought almost provoked Jonah into facing him there and then.

But galling as it was to admit, he knew he couldn’t win a straight-out fight on crutches. He had to be cleverer than that. The boarded-up tannery was just ahead, an angular shadow on the corner of the lane. Once Jonah had turned down there he’d be out of sight for a few seconds. There was a doorway part way along, and if he could get to it before Stokes reached the corner then he could jump him as he went past. Approaching the entrance to the lane, he risked a quick glance back.

Backlit by the low moon, a bulky silhouette crossed through the shadows.

There was a bitter, coppery taste in Jonah’s mouth as he turned away. Jesus, Stokes looked even bigger than he remembered. Suddenly, he felt terribly vulnerable on the crutches. What the hell had he been thinking, coming out here on his own? Too late now. Just do it. He started taking deep breaths, preparing to lunge for the doorway as soon as he was out of sight. Get ready... The footsteps behind him were louder, speeding up as Jonah turned the corner.

The lane in front of him was blocked by a dark SUV.

Jonah faltered as one of its doors cracked open, cutting off his path. It felt as though he were moving in slow motion as he started to turn around, desperate to get out of the trap. As he did a tall figure appeared at the entrance to the lane. Oh, fuck! He shone the Maglite into the hulking figure’s face, hoping to dazzle him long enough to swing the heavy torch. An arm was raised to ward off the light, but not before the beam had shown the immense size of the man and bland, childlike features in a boulder-like head.

It wasn’t Owen Stokes.

Jonah heard someone climbing out of the car behind. Turning back to this new threat, he saw it was a woman. Then a massive hand clamped onto his forearm. The giant had moved silently and with shocking speed. Jonah tried to wrench free, hoping to jerk the man closer and ram a knee into his groin, but it was like trying to move a rock. The man squeezed harder, twisting Jonah’s arm until he dropped the Maglite. Its beam stayed on after it hit the ground, sending shadows jumping as it rolled from side to side.

‘It’s all right, Stefan.’

The voice was low and slightly accented. The woman stepped closer, and Jonah stared as the light from the fallen torch lit her face.

Standing in front of him was the dead woman from the warehouse.

‘Can we talk?’ she said.