The Lost

by Mari Hannah

  ‘Tell me.’ Stone could see that there was more.

  ‘For all we know, Tim may have selected Justine while trawling e-voke. We only have his word that he found her as he said he did, via the employment agency. I never gave any credence to what he said about Alex and Justine sleeping together, until now. If the au pair doubled as a unicorn, it would explain her DNA in their bed and why Alex didn’t care that Tim had been unfaithful.’

  Stone’s eyebrows moved closer. ‘She told you that?’

  ‘An unreserved admission. Ever thought that you might be missing out, boss?’

  David almost blushed.

  Frankie stopped teasing him. ‘Any news from Kyra on Curtis’s alibi?’

  ‘The man he was meeting in the capital spent the weekend in the Cotswolds with friends. Kyra is on her way there now. Take a seat and tell me how you got on with Alex Parker.’ They both sat down. ‘I assume you shared the content of Kat’s call with her?’

  ‘In its entirety.’ Covering all the bases, Frankie had achieved more than she had ever thought possible in an off-the-cuff interview. ‘Alex was quick to defend Parker, reiterating the fact that he was with her in the house before she left to pick up Daniel on the day Justine died, though it hadn’t passed her by that he was in London on Friday when Kat was murdered. She stonewalled the idea that he might be responsible for either death. Said she was married to the man; if anyone would know whether he was capable of extreme violence, she would.’

  ‘Maybe she’s right. With Curtis in London, we could be looking at the wrong suspect—’

  ‘Or maybe not. Tim came home while I was there. It took them all of twenty seconds to launch into a ferocious slanging match. Alex is no slouch either. She challenged him on everything we discussed. I let it run in the hope that words spoken in the heat of the moment might benefit us.’

  ‘And did they?’

  ‘Absolutely. We could do with her on our interview team.’ Frankie grinned. ‘I don’t know where Parker had been, but he looked like he’d slept in his clothes. He was wasted.’

  ‘Did he give you any trouble?’

  ‘Nah, he was in no condition to fight his way out of a paper bag, let alone take on two of us. After a few rounds with Alex, he came to his senses. There was no point denying the affair with his sister-in-law. Just as we’d caught him out with Justine, Met Police were bound to find his DNA in Kat’s flat – though he claimed not to have seen her recently. He was adamant that their relationship was over a long time ago and denied killing her. Quote: “Why would I? She’s the mother of my only child,” unquote.’

  ‘I bet that went down well with Alex. I’m surprised you weren’t forced to call for back-up.’

  ‘Naturally, his wife was wounded by what he’d told her. It was awkward being there. She swore she’d never forgive him but then, get this, offered to take Ali in now her mother is dead. She must be desperate for another child.’

  ‘Enough to kill for one?’

  ‘Now there’s a theory. I nearly fell on the floor when she said it. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything so selfless.’

  ‘Ali is named after her.’

  ‘Even so. Her sister lied to her for three years and her marriage is on the rocks. Her altruism is misguided in my opinion, David. I know he’s come clean, but he’ll shit on her all over again. I think Kat was right: there’s little between him and Rob Scott. They’re takers with not an ounce of decency between them.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Isn’t that enough?’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘While I was there, it got me thinking. Kat planted the seed that Tim might have been having an affair with Justine while the two women were in Majorca, right? That gave Alex motive for murder number one, but she told me that if it did happen it was all her fault. She pushed him away. It occurred to me that she was giving herself an out there. I leaned on her a bit, asked her why she thought Kat hadn’t told her about Ali. She knew what I was getting at but wouldn’t be drawn. As I said before, she can hold her own in an argument. She’s a clever woman. Far too clever to put herself in the frame for murder number two.’

  ‘That’s pure conjecture, Frank.’

  ‘I know . . . just making you aware. Oh, and one other thing: during our conversation, Alex also told me she woke early the other morning to hear Tim threatening someone on the phone. She seemed to think it was Curtis but it got me wondering: what if it wasn’t? I’ll phone Kyra . . .’ Frankie took her phone from her pocket. ‘If it was Kat he was threatening, then we need to look again at Tim Parker.’

  ‘Whoa! Slow down.’

  ‘I reckon he was still seeing her, David. Maybe they had a row. It got nasty. He walloped her and—’

  ‘I’m sorry to piss on your chips, Frank. The semen found in Kat Irwin’s body didn’t belong to him.’

  ‘Boss?’ Mitchell was holding the internal phone, his free hand covering the speaker. ‘Met Police say there’s no sign of Timothy Parker yet. James Curtis wasn’t so lucky. CCTV captured him a few blocks away from Kat Irwin’s flat, around an hour before the estimated time of her death.’

  Frankie’s eyes were like saucers.

  Stone was staring at her. ‘What?’

  ‘Curtis knew that Parker was going to be in London. Alex told me.’

  The pendulum had swung again.

  63

  The interview with Curtis was a waste of time. It began at three o’clock in the presence of his solicitor. He didn’t deny membership of e-voke or that he’d rekindled his relationship ‘for old time’s sake’ with Kat Irwin through the dating site. It’s how they met; how Parker had found Justine; how they had both engaged with countless other women.

  Curtis was open and supremely confident. Kat’s flat was in an area he knew well, though he didn’t visit on Friday the first. Yes, he was in the general vicinity, a business meeting with a man offering him a job, a new start in the south. Curtis was happy to give DNA samples on the spot, in fact he insisted upon it. In Stone’s opinion, this was a man who wanted a different life, a new challenge professionally, but was he also a man with something to hide, an arrogant shit who was forensically aware and thought he could get away with murder? They processed and bailed him to await the outcome of further enquiries.

  Frankie walked away from the interview room feeling the case slipping through her fingers. Curtis was a clever bastard. The interview hadn’t gone the way she’d anticipated. He was openly admitting he was close to the London crime scene when she’d expected an outright denial. Grabbing her car keys from her desk, she left the building without telling anyone where she was going. Stone was in a strop, updating his policy document, re-evaluating where he should go next. There were clues on Curtis’s phone, restaurant reservations, weekends away when he was on false business trips, none of that important now that he’d coughed to an affair with Kat Irwin, his ex-wife. Evidence was only useful to prove or disprove a lie and he’d come clean, pulling the rug from under them.

  Frankie didn’t disturb David. Something was niggling deep inside her brain as she left the station . . .

  It took a while to surface . . .

  Justine’s car.

  The vehicle wasn’t anywhere near the crime scene when she died and had been left in situ to be processed by crime scene investigators. Frankie had overseen them at work and something wasn’t quite right when she’d seen the car again while talking to Alex earlier in the day.

  Traffic was light and Frankie was back in Scots Gap in twenty minutes. The ornate gated entrance to the Parkers’ property was closed to traffic. She parked on the road outside and entered through an unlocked pedestrian gate. There was no answer at the door, so she walked round the side of the house to the driveway where Justine’s vehicle was parked. Lifting her hand to shade her eyes, Frankie peered in through the window. The keys were dangling from the ignition. She tried the door. It opened.
She leaned in, then pulled out her phone and called the incident room at Northern Command HQ.

  ‘DC Mitchell.’

  ‘Mitch, it’s Frank.’

  ‘Can you hold, Sarge? The boss is looking for you—’

  ‘Tell him I’m busy.’

  ‘He said it was urgent.’

  ‘Yeah, well it’ll have to wait. I need a favour. Take a look at the exhibits log and see if the mileage was taken when Justine’s car was examined. Quick as you can.’ Frankie heard typing at the other end as Mitchell’s fingers hit the keyboard, the hum of conversations in the background, phones ringing off the hook – the story of her life for as long as she could remember.

  ‘It wasn’t,’ Mitch said when he came on the line.

  ‘OK, get the photographs up on screen.’

  ‘Hang on.’ More tapping sounds.

  Frankie heard feet on gravel.

  Everything went black.

  64

  ‘Sarge, I have the photographs up on screen. Is it only the mileage you’re after?’ No response. ‘Sarge?’ Mitchell strained to listen to what was going on at the other end. It sounded the same as when his brother bum-dialled him by mistake, his phone in his back pocket. The line was open but no one was listening, the phone transmitting random noises. Maybe Frankie was having second thoughts and had climbed into her car to return to base without ending the call properly. Stone’s interest in her whereabouts must’ve changed her mind.

  Talk of the Devil.

  ‘Something wrong?’ Stone said.

  Mitch shrugged. ‘It’s Frankie.’

  ‘Well, that explains the nonplussed look on your face. What’s she done now?’

  ‘Dunno. She was there a minute ago. Maybe she lost the signal.’

  ‘She’s driving?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Did you tell her I was looking for her?’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She said it would have to wait. Her words, not mine. She was busy—’

  ‘With what?’ Stone took Mitch’s mobile from him.

  *

  Frankie heard David’s voice calling her name. It sounded strange and faraway, as if he was speaking through a soggy sponge. Then she remembered the sound of someone approaching from behind. She couldn’t see but she could hear and feel an arm holding her up. She tried to break free but the pain in her head was so severe, she couldn’t lift her arms to fend off her attacker. The front seat of the two-door vehicle shot forward and she was bundled into the rear of the car, head first, her phone still in her hand. With enormous effort, she tightened her grip on it as she was manhandled into the space. Semi-conscious, she heard the engine start up and the car began to move.

  Stone’s heart was in his mouth as he turned to face Mitchell. ‘She’s not answering. I heard a scuffle, a car door slamming, an engine running. Where the hell is she?’

  ‘She never said.’

  ‘Well, think, man!’ Stone’s eyes were drawn to images of Justine’s Renault on DC Mitchell’s computer. ‘What are you doing with those?’

  ‘She asked about the mileage on the vehicle. We haven’t got it logged, so she told me to check the photographs. I did that. She wasn’t there when I went back to her. Boss? Should I be—’

  Stone held up a hand cutting him off, lifting the phone to his ear. ‘Frankie? Frankie, say something if you’re there.’ He heard road noise and swung round to face Mitchell. ‘She’s on the move. Justine’s car is at the Parkers’ home. Hang on to this and keep talking to her.’ He handed Mitch the phone. ‘Tell her we’re on our way . . . Well? Say something, for fuck’s sake!’

  Mitchell was too shaken to formulate speech.

  The DI’s eyes found Abbott’s.

  ‘Dick, get over here!’ David repeated his instructions. Like the professional he was, Abbott took the phone from Mitchell and began to talk to Frankie, his tone calm and reassuring, like it was no big deal. The last thing he wanted was to panic her.

  Stone took out his own phone and called her number to make sure that it was her mobile she was using. The engaged tone hit his ear. He grabbed Mitch’s phone from Abbott. ‘Frankie?’ He swore under his breath, Abbott’s eyes bearing down on him. Mitchell’s face was ghostly white. The DI updated them. ‘The line is definitely open but I don’t think she’s in her own car. She’s got a Bluetooth device. She’d hear us. And, if she can hear us and can’t answer, she’s in trouble.’

  Major incident rooms were never silent. This one was. The whole of the Murder Investigation Team had downed tools, detectives’ concerned eyes trained on Stone. They were watching and listening to the drama unfold in real time. No matter the age of officer, they all knew a detective called Frank Oliver. If this third-generation model was in danger, there was nothing they wouldn’t do to get her out of it.

  Painfully aware of his responsibility for her safety, Stone got on to the control room. ‘I want all units near Scots Gap to keep observations for DS Oliver’s private vehicle and a dark green Renault Clio, registration number . . .’ He checked Mitchell’s screen. ‘N-November . . . 8 . . .7 . . . 6 . . . P-Papa . . . C-Charlie . . . N-November. We believe Mike 2151 may require urgent assistance. Any sightings of either vehicle to be reported to the incident room and stop and check.’ Stone gave the coordinates of the Parkers’ mansion and grabbed a radio off the desk. ‘I want India 99 in the air and at that location, NOW!’ If anyone could find her quickly the police helicopter could. ‘I want a fix on her mobile. Call the Parkers’ landline. Let me know who picks up. If that’s a negative, call their mobiles. I want to know where they both are and if they’ve seen her.’ He was already running to his car. He reversed at speed, then tore out of the station, burning rubber. ‘Frankie, if you’re hearing this, I’m on my way.’

  65

  It seemed like a very long journey . . . but how would Frankie know? Everything had slowed down. Her ability to make decisions or even stay conscious was seriously impaired. The car turned off the road, bumped across uneven ground and stopped. Frankie’s head was splitting. She felt drowsy, unable to see. Her eyelids felt like they were sewn together. The driver got out. The seat shot forward again. Frankie anticipated being yanked from the rear of the vehicle by her feet and dumped on the roadside, but it wasn’t happening. An impasse. Had the driver abandoned her?

  Andrea’s voice came over the radio: ‘Mike 7003 to Mike 7125. Motor patrols deployed north on the A696 and B6343 and south on the B6309. I’m also travelling north on the 696 at Shinningpool Bank.’ There was a slight tremor in her voice. When she heard the call go out with Frankie’s collar number – Mike 2151 – it would have hit her like a brick.

  Stone couldn’t imagine what was going through her mind. He hadn’t wasted time warning her before going live to all units, asking them to keep observations for the two vehicles. He couldn’t afford emotions to get in the way and neither could Andrea, who would be in no doubt that this was about as serious as it got.

  David was ten minutes away, making excellent progress, about to turn on to the unclassified road towards Bolam Lake. With his foot to the floor, his advanced driving skills were being fully utilised, his blues and twos easing the way. There was no silent but deadly approach when an officer was down – instinctively, he knew that Frankie was. He wasn’t interested in catching anyone, just saving her life. Sirens frightened offenders. If they heard him coming, they might leave her be.

  He tried again. ‘Frank. I need your help. Come on! You can do this. Give me a clue, anything.’

  ‘Justine’s car.’ Frankie was breathless, her voice hardly audible.

  But she was alive.

  ‘Good girl.’ Relief flooded through every part of him. ‘Frankie, hold on. I’m coming to get you. All units, target vehicle is the Clio. Dark green in colour. N-November . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . 6 . . . P-Papa .
. . C-Charlie . . . N-November . . .’

  Liquid splashed across Frankie’s body, soaking her jeans, splashing across her upper torso. A dribble ran down the side of her face, seeping into her mouth. There was no mistaking the taste or smell of the vapours filling the rear compartment of the car. Terror ripped through her as she realised what was happening . . .

  Petrol.

  Oh God!

  She prayed that David wasn’t far away. The fumes made her even more woozy and nauseous. Mortified by her predicament and powerless to extricate herself from danger, she hid the phone beneath her body so it wouldn’t be seen by her attacker. It was her lifeline, her only means of summoning assistance. Her father and grandfather were suddenly in her head.

  C’mon, think!

  She begged for her life.

  Whoever was outside the car wasn’t listening. The splashing stopped, the petrol can thrown to the ground. The sound of the cavalry in the distance gave her hope. There was nothing like the scream of sirens when an officer was in trouble. It spurred Frankie on, gave her inner strength that somehow – if she was lucky – she might survive. A sob left her throat. Her life flashed before her eyes. She heard a match strike.

  David was almost at the Belsay junction, five minutes away. There was time . . . He flew around the corner, accelerating out of it. Dense hedgerows flashed by on either side. He kept talking to Frankie, telling her he was closing on her location, urging her to hang fire.

  ‘David, hurry!’

  ‘Almost there . . . I’m invoking Rule 6, Frank.’ He quoted the Frank Oliver Handbook: ‘“Low morale is strictly forbidden,” you hear me? We’ve got your back. You let us do the worrying. Andrea’s on her way too. ETA two minutes.’ There was a whoosh and the phone went dead.