The Lost

by Mari Hannah

  Frankie couldn’t fail to notice how appalled Daniel’s mother was by her reply. As a rule, she wouldn’t disclose a single thing about a colleague’s personal circumstances; but it seemed appropriate to let her know that he hadn’t simply dropped the investigation in favour of something deemed more pressing. ‘Sudden death,’ she explained. Then, realising how that might sound to a woman whose son was missing, clarified her statement in case Alex read into it something that wasn’t there. ‘Close family member. Rest assured, the work goes on. Daniel is the only thing on our minds. I will, of course, be taking my lead from my boss.’

  ‘Thank you, I appreciate it. Please pass on my condolences.’

  ‘I will.’ Frankie picked up the teapot and began to pour.

  Alex didn’t hang back. ‘I overheard you threatening my husband this morning.’

  Frankie stopped what she was doing and looked up.

  Alex raised a placatory hand. ‘I’m sorry, I’m not accusing you of improper conduct, Detective. Let me put it another way. You were suggesting that he was being less than truthful. I wasn’t listening at the keyhole, I promise you. I happened to be walking by when you raised your voice. Look, whatever you know, or even suspect, however bad it is, I want you to share it with me. Daniel is my son, not Tim’s.’

  ‘I understand,’ Frankie said. ‘And I’ll be straight with you. Had it not been for my DI, I might have – would have – locked your husband up. The truth is, he was being deliberately evasive. He failed to give clear answers to straightforward points we raised with him, not least of which was the DM he denies sending to your au pair telling her he’d pick Daniel up.’

  Alex’s mobile rang as she was on the brink of disclosure. She checked the screen and ignored the call. ‘My sister, Kat. She’s been calling constantly. I’ll call her later.’ She seemed irritated by the interruption.

  Frankie knew the feeling. ‘Alex, if you have information I should know about, no matter how insignificant you think it might be, you must tell me. We can’t operate with our hands tied.’

  ‘That’s easy for you to say.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘I love my husband.’

  ‘I’m sure you do . . . but if you know something. . .’ She let it hang there.

  Alex was wary of sharing whatever was on her mind. ‘With respect, you’re not the one who’ll be accused of betrayal if I tell you what is bothering me.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ Frankie locked eyes with her. ‘If you want honesty you have to be prepared to give it in return. I can see how this might hand you a dilemma – it’s never easy being a whistle-blower, especially when the person you’re informing happens to be your partner.’

  Alex wasn’t about to be rushed.

  ‘Trust me,’ Frankie said. ‘Anything you say—’

  ‘Will be used in evidence,’ Alex interrupted quietly.

  ‘If it comes to that, yes.’ Frankie held her gaze. ‘I won’t lie to you. You’ve asked for openness and that’s exactly what you’ll get from me. What I was going to say was, anything you say will be investigated in the strictest confidence. I will only act on it if it has a bearing on the case or will hamper my efforts to find your son. If I’m to make any progress, we’re going to have to trust each other.’

  Alex wavered for a moment, then leaned in, dropping her voice. ‘When Justine arrived from the police station she was very upset with Tim. Completely understandable, given Daniel’s disappearance and her responsibility for him – the two are very close. She told me about the DM and I then threatened my husband that I would contact your DI unless he came clean.’

  Frankie was on tenterhooks. Of all the things Alex might’ve said next, what she came out with left the DS dumbstruck.

  ‘Tim deleted the DM before reporting Daniel missing,’ she said.

  Before Frankie had time to respond, a waitress appeared at the next table with a birthday cake, a Victoria sponge, a single lit candle at its centre. The women sitting there began singing Happy Birthday. Other customers, including four skinny octogenarian cyclists dressed in fluorescent Lycra, followed suit. It was a bizarre intrusion both women could’ve done without.

  Frankie asked, ‘What explanation did he give for deleting the message?’

  ‘He didn’t. Well, that’s not strictly true. Aware of my imminent arrival from Majorca, he claims he was overwhelmed, in a panic, having lost Daniel. Don’t be fooled by the signals he gives out. He likes to think he’s good under pressure. He’s not. Never has been. He’s been under a tremendous amount of stress since we lost our baby.’

  ‘That must’ve been tough for both of you.’

  ‘Worse for Tim. He wants to be a father, more than anything.’ Alex sighed. ‘He’s really not thinking straight. He begged me not to tell you about deleting the message. I tried explaining that it was ridiculous not to, that you’d find out soon enough, but he wouldn’t listen. That’s why I asked to meet you here.’

  ‘You did right to tell me.’

  ‘I know, or I wouldn’t have come. You might wonder why I seem to be pointing my finger at him. I’m not. The idea that he could have harmed Daniel is ridiculous. He adores him.’

  ‘Maybe he sent the message, then forgot he was supposed to pick Daniel up. If that was the case, Justine’s subsequent voicemail would act as a stark reminder. I imagine it would throw most people into a spin. But why lie to cover it up?’ Frankie didn’t add that if it had been her, she might have contacted McCall to ask him to hold on to the lad. Tim Parker hadn’t done that. She’d already checked.

  ‘No, you misunderstand.’ Alex was showing signs of frustration. ‘When I said “he didn’t” before, I wasn’t referring to the fact that he didn’t lie. I meant he didn’t send it.’

  Frankie raised her right eyebrow. ‘Are you telling me he deleted a DM he didn’t send?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m telling you.’

  ‘Well, if he didn’t send it—’

  ‘Someone else did,’ Alex cut in. ‘It’s the only plausible explanation. Unless you still think he’s an inveterate liar, I’d say his account has been hacked.’

  Stone had come to the same conclusion.

  Nevertheless, Tim Parker had a lot to answer for.

  ‘If your husband had been upfront with us this morning, we might have known more by now. He’s done Daniel no favours by keeping quiet, Alex. Wasting police time is an offence. For your sake, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt until I make further enquiries. In the meantime, thank you for confiding in me.’ Their conversation was over.

  22

  Exhausted though she was, physically and mentally, Frankie drove to Parker’s place of work with the intention of catching his business partner before he knocked off. James Curtis was in conference with a junior associate, according to his PA. The detective sergeant sat down to wait for the meeting to end, that half-eaten tuna sandwich worming its way into her head. With the sun streaming through her car windows, it would be like toast by the time she got back to it.

  Bored with inactivity, her thoughts turned to her DI. His brother’s death would have triggered emotional and psychological trauma for sure. Thinking about that brought her own experience flooding back: feeling disconnected, out of sync with her surroundings, unable to eat or sleep, wanting to hide from others and yet resenting their tendency to withdraw from her because they couldn’t handle the situation. She was in a fog for weeks, unable to think straight, wanting the world to slow down while she caught up. Years later, those waves of grief still hit her unexpectedly.

  Poor David.

  With a heavy heart, expecting an outright rejection from her boss, she pressed his number on her mobile, lifting the device to her ear. It rang out for quite a while before he picked up.

  ‘Stone.’

  ‘Boss, it’s me, how are you doing?’

  ‘I had a b
rother this morning and now I don’t.’

  By the sound of him, he’d probably been drinking since she’d left him. In general, he didn’t indulge. Now was as good a time as any to increase his intake she supposed. If he wanted to dull his pain with alcohol, who was she to argue? When she lost a sibling, had she been old enough to partake of the hard stuff, she’d have grabbed at the opportunity.

  ‘Don’t tell me you ran into trouble already,’ he said.

  ‘No, I thought you might like some company. I could swing by the chippy if you like, or grab a lamb bhuna and bring it round.’ She nearly added: ‘Before you drink yourself into oblivion,’ but it would be harsh under the circumstances. His silence was as overt a knockback as she’d ever get. ‘Can’t promise you wall-to-wall scintillating conversation,’ she added. ‘We could watch TV and hang out. You know how I love a movie night.’

  ‘Most of my stuff is in London, Frankie.’

  ‘My granddad’s got the Likely Lads, Auf Wiedersehen, Pet and the entire collection of When the Boat Comes In—’

  ‘Seen ’em all.’

  ‘Scratch that then, but don’t give me the brush-off, David. You’re not the only one who needs company. Billy No Mates was named after me. Ask anyone.’ The lie arrived fully formed. ‘Actually, I wasn’t being entirely honest with you before. I could do with your advice on something.’ Asking for help was the only way he’d agree to see her.

  Thank fuck for leverage.

  ‘Make mine veggie rice and you’re in.’ He gave her the postcode. ‘Don’t expect tidy.’

  ‘I’ll keep my sunnies on and promise not to peek.’ His village was only fifteen miles inland from her own home, a thirty-minute drive. ‘If things change and I can’t get away, I’ll ring you.’

  ‘Yeah, whatever.’ The dialling tone hit her ear.

  There was nothing worse than indifference. While David didn’t seem arsed whether she called on him or not, he probably wouldn’t eat if she didn’t go and feed him. She hung up too, feeling glum.

  The male PA sitting at the swish reception desk grinned. ‘You should work on your delivery,’ he said.

  ‘And you should wind your neck in unless you’re asked for an opinion.’ She gave the cheeky git the thousand-yard stare.

  Affronted, he backed off, dropping his head in his work, hiding his shiny blue eyes under a long floppy blond fringe. His internal phone rang. He picked up, listening for a second or two before speaking. ‘Yes, she’s in reception . . . Right away.’ Replacing the handset on its cradle, a pair of wary eyes found Frankie’s. ‘You can go in now.’ He pointed to his left. ‘Second door on the right. Would you like something to drink?’

  ‘Gin . . . make it a double.’

  ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘Coffee is fine,’ she sang the words over her shoulder – her turn to grin.

  ‘What can I do for you, Detective?’ James Curtis stood up as Frankie approached. They shook hands and introduced themselves properly. Communicating via email was never as good as seeing the whites of someone’s eyes. Since her rendezvous with Alex, Frankie had been wondering if Tim Parker was lying to absolve himself of the responsibility for his stepson’s disappearance or not. What she needed was more background information.

  ‘I’ve just come from a meeting with Alex Parker.’

  ‘How’s she coping?’ Curtis pointed out a carafe of water and clean tumblers in the centre of the vast table. ‘You want some water, tea?’

  ‘I’m good, thanks; a) I’d never reach it and b) your receptionist already offered.’ Frankie noticed he hadn’t asked after Tim. ‘Alex is very concerned for Daniel’s safety, naturally, but she’s not a woman given to hysterics. That helps. When people lose it, it makes our job more difficult.’

  ‘It must be very hard for her. Daniel’s a great kid.’

  ‘So I hear. I gather you’ve met him?’

  ‘Many times. Is there any news?’

  ‘None.’

  Curtis was around forty years of age, relaxed, casually dressed, wearing jeans and a navy Thom Browne polo shirt, a complete contrast to his Mr Uptight-but-Impeccable business partner, Timothy Parker. Personality-wise, the two men were very different, an implausible union. As for Curtis, he even smelt better than she did after a long day at work.

  His mobile rang.

  Snatching it up, he apologised to Frankie and spoke harshly to the person on the other end about not wanting to be disturbed, then apologised again and left the boardroom. Frankie glanced at her watch. It was getting on for six.

  Young Daniel had been missing for twenty-three hours.

  Lack of sleep was taking its toll. Frankie got up and stood by the open French door. Outside, there was high-end patio furniture. A transparent windbreaker, so spotless it was hardly visible, with a view over the dramatic, jaw-dropping Northumbrian landscape. Whoever designed the place had done so with the sole intention of impressing visitors. This was the best view money could buy, a world away from her own soul-destroying, energy-sapping working environment; a claustrophobic incident room.

  Alex’s voice arrived in her head: Unless you still think he’s an inveterate liar, I’d say his account has been hacked.

  Frankie couldn’t rule the theory out. By her reckoning, there were limitless possibilities. She counted them off in her head: an unknown source had done it remotely for any number of reasons; someone closer to home might have tampered with the account – Justine, Daniel himself, Laughing Boy in reception – though she doubted he had the bottle; Curtis was a good bet too. As close to the entrepreneur as anyone, he’d have both means and opportunity. It was easily done: a phone left unattended, a computer left logged on with the Twitter app open, a password indiscretion, a criminal fleecing him for all he was worth. But as Stone had already pointed out, there had been no ransom demand. Maybe, whoever it was, they were making him sweat. The computations were endless, but her money remained on Parker himself.

  Curtis was back, a worried expression on his face. What he said next completely felled her. ‘Excuse the interruption, DS Oliver. Did Tim tell you that the company is in trouble? That’s why I’m working late.’

  ‘No, he didn’t. What kind of operation do you run here?’

  ‘Recruitment and HR managed services providing temporary and permanent staff to a wide range of industry sectors. We were on the Fastest 50 list last year, would you believe.’

  ‘Fastest Fifty?’

  ‘Industry leaders in the north-east. One of the fastest-growing companies in the region. It’s a list compiled by St Chad’s College, Durham – part of the university’s business school. We’ve gone from hero to zero in twelve months and spent a lot of Alex Parker’s money.’ He swept a hand across the boardroom. ‘All this? We’re merely keeping up appearances.’

  That was the first Frankie had heard of it. She was certain it would be news to Alex, too.

  23

  Frankie checked in with Mitchell at the office and briefed the dayshift uniform inspector on stuff she wanted the late shift made aware of. There was as yet no word from Twitter, which seemed odd in the age of instant communication. She rang them again, demanding a response at the earliest opportunity before finally heading home, brooding over Daniel, increasingly worried for the boy’s safety. The first twenty-four hours were critical. Beyond that . . .

  She didn’t want to go there.

  The fact that his stepfather was in trouble financially (especially if his wife didn’t know) gave credence to the fact that he was a man under immense pressure and not thinking straight. There were no outward signs of a cash-flow problem at home or at work. The Parkers had the fuck-off house, several high-end motors, the classy business premises most company owners would die for. Frankie wondered how long it would last if Curtis’s revelation was correct. She could think of no reason why he would lie about the state of the business and couldn’t
help wondering just how much of Alex’s inheritance the two men had parted company with.

  It would be nice if one of them would tell her.

  Frankie had to concede that the threat of bankruptcy might have resulted in Parker taking his eye off the ball. He flat-out denied sending Justine a message. And would a man of his standing really be stupid enough to delete such a message when the chances of being found out were high? The worst-case scenario was that he had a dark secret. That he was concealing his true nature beneath the veneer of respectability, exploiting his wife with a view to abusing her son.

  Frankie sighed.

  Sadly, she could cite too many cases where it had happened. While child deaths from homicide were on the decline, abuse was on the rise, the need for protection greater than it had ever been. In those incidents she’d come across, where the perpetrator happened to be a close relative, no distinction had been made between a birth parent, step-parent or adoptive parent; they were lumped together in statistical analysis that would make a sane adult’s eyes bleed.

  One death was one too many.

  Was Parker capable of such a betrayal of trust, she asked herself. If so, had he harmed Daniel? And, in turn, had the child threatened to rat on him to Justine or his mother on her return from Majorca? Maybe Alex’s imminent arrival to the UK had triggered a need to keep the lad quiet. Permanently. Those questions and others floated in and out of her head as she let herself in to her flat.

  David was getting used to the hiss of the ring-pull as he opened his beer. The sun had gone in and it was already getting chilly in the living room. He stared at a pile of yellowing newspapers, a small sack of kindling and full log basket next to the wood-burning stove, as if somehow it would jump into the fire and light itself. Given her need to look after him, the least he could do for Frankie was warm the place up.

  He lit the fire, made sure it was away and sat down to finish his beer. He could feel his grandmother’s presence in the tiny room. She was a Northumberland Fusilier’s widow at twenty-four, her husband having died during World War II, one casualty among many who had lost their lives on 20 May 1940, attempting to delay the German advance at Arras, France.