The Lost

Chapter 31

Wilkes looked even worse than usual. He wore a stained pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt that hung over his sagging gut. They were a similar grey, giving him the look of a bad-tempered toddler in a dirty romper suit. One with what looked like a fading love bite on his neck. Squinting in the daylight, the deep-set eyes glared at Jonah as though struggling to recognise him.

‘Fuck do you want?’ he demanded, his voice a thick croak.

Jonah had tried phoning him before driving over. He could have been out, but he’d gambled the big man might just be sleeping off another bender.

‘Something’s happened. Can I come in?’

Wilkes regarded him sourly, still barring the door. ‘What happened to your face?’

Jonah’s eye had blackened overnight and his jaw was swollen from where he’d been kicked.

‘Nothing. Look, we need to talk. It’s important.’

‘I’m busy.’

‘I’ll pay you,’ Jonah said before he could close the door. ‘It’s to do with Gavin.’

Wilkes stared out at him, eyes narrow and calculating. He absently scratched his crotch.

‘What about Gavin?’

‘Not out here. I’ll tell you inside.’

The pouched eyes were no more friendly, but Jonah could almost see the cogs whirring behind them.

‘I need a piss.’

Turning away, he went back into the house, leaving Jonah to follow. Wilkes disappeared into a door by the stairs.

‘Do something useful and stick the kettle on.’

‘We don’t have—’

But the toilet door had already shut. As the sound of splashing came from inside, Jonah reluctantly went into the kitchen. The sight of unwashed dishes and an overflowing bin greeted him. Digging out two mugs that were reasonably clean, he hunted through cupboards for tea or coffee as he waited for the kettle to boil. He’d made two coffees and was pouring curdled-looking milk he’d found in the fridge into one when the flush sounded from the hallway. There was the sound of a tap running and Wilkes hacking something up, then he came into the kitchen, hitching up his sweatpants.

‘I feel like my fucking head’s been poached,’ he announced, rubbing a hand over his face with a rasp of stubble. It was beaded from the water he’d splashed on it, and although his eyes were still red and puffy he didn’t look as bad as before. ‘I was up all night playing online poker. Waste of fucking time that was.’

‘I tried calling earlier—’

‘There any sugar in this?’

Wilkes picked up the white coffee, sampled it and grimaced. Jonah clenched his jaw as the big man added three heaped spoonfuls of sugar, then topped the mug up with more milk before taking it to the kitchen table. The wooden dining chair creaked under his weight as he sat down, knees splayed. He’d yet to look at Jonah.

‘So what’s this about Gavin?’ he asked, taking a drink of coffee.

‘I know who killed him. The same man kidnapped my ex-wife’s twins this morning.’

At another time it might have been comical. Wilkes choked on the coffee, eyes widening. Coughing, he fumbled the mug onto the table, spilling more from it as he stared at Jonah.

‘You what?’

Jonah lowered himself onto the only other chair at the table. ‘His name’s Owen Stokes. He killed Gavin and the other warehouse victims, as well as a journalist who was writing a story about the case. I think he was either responsible, or knows about what happened to my son as well.’

Wilkes’s mouth hung open in shock. ‘Are you taking the piss?’

‘He wants us to have half a million pounds ready by midnight for me to deliver to him. If we involve the police, he says he’ll kill them. They’re six years old.’

‘Jesus fucking Christ.’ Wilkes seemed dazed. ‘Is there an alert out?’

‘No, the parents have decided to do what Stokes says.’ Jonah shook his head, still hating this. ‘I warned them against it, but they’re terrified. I don’t blame them.’

‘They’re going to pay it?’

‘They don’t feel they have any choice.’

‘And he wants half a million? Jesus.’ Wilkes blew out his cheeks. ‘Can your ex raise that sort of money?’

‘I don’t think so, not so soon. They’re going to get as much as they can and hope it’s enough.’

‘It better be. They’re gambling with their kids’ lives.’ Wilkes finally seemed to be focusing. ‘So you’re taking the ransom yourself?’

‘I don’t have a choice either. That’s why I’m here.’

It was as though a shutter came down in Wilkes’s eyes. ‘Meaning what?’

Jonah had considered asking the big man to go with him. He was in no shape to tackle Stokes on his own, even less so after the beating he’d taken the night before. But it would be asking a lot, and there was another way of evening the odds. He took a breath and said the words.

‘I need a gun.’

‘Are you fucking mad?’ Wilkes yelped.

No, just desperate. Jonah knew it would be crossing a line from which there’d be no going back. But he couldn’t see how he had a choice. Not when the alternative was going up against Stokes unarmed and on crutches. And not when it was Chrissie’s children’s lives at stake.

‘Just hear me out,’ he began.

‘No! No fucking way! You’re the firearms dickhead, get your own fucking gun!’

‘That’s what I’m trying to do. But I don’t have those sorts of contacts, and there’s not much time.’

‘So go and ask one of your mates to sort you out! Jesus!’

‘You know I can’t do that.’

Not that he hadn’t considered it. But police firearms were kept locked away under tight security, their whereabouts strictly logged and traced. Even if they weren’t, Jonah wasn’t stupid or desperate enough to approach any of his old team. He knew how that would go. If he had more time, he might have been able to come up with a better way of finding something.

But he hadn’t.

Wilkes gave a strangled laugh. ‘But it’s OK to ask me? Fuck’s sake, you think I just happen to have a fucking gun lying around?’

‘No, but I thought you might know where I could get hold of one.’

‘Oh, is that all? Jesus, what sort of fucking copper do you think I was?’

Jonah didn’t answer that. ‘You were a detective for twenty-five years. Are you telling me in all that time you didn’t know who was selling what? Or know somebody who did?’

‘That’s beside the point! You know what you’re asking, don’t you? Jesus Christ, if you use it, I’m looking at accessory to murder!’

‘I hope I don’t have to use it.’ A gun would be a far stronger deterrent than Jonah turning up on his own and unarmed. The threat alone might be enough to convince Stokes to give up the twins. ‘And I wouldn’t say where I got it anyway.’

‘Oh, yeah, I’ve heard that before! Fuck off!’

‘I’m not asking you to do it for me. There’re two six-year-olds—’

‘Don’t you fucking dare!’ Wilkes stabbed a thick finger at Jonah. ‘This isn’t my fault. I didn’t take them kids, so don’t come all high and fucking mighty, wanting me to stick my neck out! This has fuck all to do with me.’

‘I only want a name. If you don’t have one, then say so because I don’t have much time.’

‘Fine, I’m fucking saying! Door’s over there.’

Face burning, Jonah got to his feet. He couldn’t blame Wilkes for being outraged. It had always been a long shot, yet he’d still hoped the man might come up with something.

‘Wait. Just... wait.’

Jonah stopped at the kitchen door and looked back. Wilkes was gnawing at his lip, one foot bouncing agitatedly up and down as he sat in the chair.

‘What will you do?’ he asked.

‘Don’t worry about it. Like you say, it’s nothing to do with you.’

‘No, I know, but...’ Wilkes passed a hand over his face. ‘He might not hurt the kids. If you give him what he wants, he might let them go.’

‘You mean like he did with the other victims? Sorry, I don’t think hoping for the best is much of a strategy.’

‘Jesus.’ Wilkes blew out his cheeks. ‘If you go to the wrong person asking for a gun, you’re fucked. You know that, don’t you?’

‘If I don’t have a gun, I’m fucked anyway.’ Doubt and fatigue suddenly washed over Jonah. ‘I don’t know, maybe I’ll talk to my ex-wife again. Try to persuade her to bring the police in.’

‘It’s too late for that,’ Wilkes said. ‘The parents are right. If you’ve only got till midnight, there’s no way they’ll be able to find them in time.’

‘Then what do you suggest? Because I’m running out of ideas.’

Wilkes didn’t answer. The florid features were pensive as he stared at the floor, gnawing at his lower lip. Jonah had enough sense to stay quiet, letting him battle it out on his own. Suddenly, he smacked a fist down onto the table.

‘Fuck! Fuck!’ Abruptly, he got to his feet. ‘Stay here.’

Brushing past Jonah, he went out into the hallway, almost slamming the door behind him. Jonah heard his footsteps recede towards the living room. He hesitated, then went to the closed kitchen door to listen. He could just make out the murmur of Wilkes’s voice on the phone, but the one-sided conversation was too low and indistinct to make out. At one point Wilkes’s voice became raised, then there was a long silence as he listened to whoever was on the other end. When he spoke again his tone was brisker, as though winding up the call.

Jonah moved away from the door. A few seconds later it opened and Wilkes came back into the kitchen.

‘OK, I might be able to help you.’

‘You can get a gun?’ Jonah wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not.

‘That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’ Wilkes’s cockiness had returned now he’d made the decision. ‘But if you’ve changed your mind...’

‘No.’ Jonah closed down his doubts. ‘Can they get a Glock 17?’

That was the handgun model he was most used to. Wilkes gave a sour laugh.

‘Do you want to pick the colour as well? How about a nice red one?’

‘Fine, I’ll take whatever they can get.’ Jonah couldn’t believe he was really doing this. ‘How many rounds?’

Wilkes gave a shrug. ‘I don’t know, whatever it comes with.’

Jonah didn’t argue. He felt nauseous enough as it was. ‘How much?’

The ex-detective’s eyes darted away. Jonah could almost see him calculating his mark-up on top of the price.

‘Call it a grand.’

That was more than Jonah had anticipated, but it didn’t matter. He’d have to pay, regardless of how much it cost.

‘Where do I need to go for it?’

Wilkes didn’t answer. He was scowling down at the floor, as though still undecided about something.

‘Where are you supposed to take the money?’ he asked at last. He sounded angry, almost aggrieved.

‘The warehouse at Slaughter Quay. Why?’

The big ex-detective shook his head, as though he couldn’t believe it himself.

‘Because I’m coming with you.’