The Lost

by Mari Hannah

  Alex had nothing to say to Stone.

  It must’ve been a heart-stopping, gut-wrenching betrayal,’ he said. ‘And Kat paid the price, didn’t she? Booking a villa that she and Tim had used before was the mistake that ultimately led to her death. She mustn’t have known that he’d written in that book or she would never have taken you there.’

  The suspect’s eyes were like ice.

  ‘You made Daniel disappear to punish your husband, didn’t you? It was quite a risk, suggesting that someone had hacked Tim’s Twitter account. Pretending that you were supporting him threw us for a while, but then you knew that Daniel was coming home the next day, didn’t you? You had us fooled.’ Stone sat back in his chair, taking a moment or two before continuing. ‘I can understand how angry you were with Kat but did you really have to kill her? You had everything to live for: a wonderful house, a successful business, a great kid. What were you thinking? Divorce wouldn’t have cost you your liberty or your son. And why Justine? Did you have one shred of evidence that she was seeing Tim on the sly, beyond Kat’s say-so?’ He could’ve added that it was there to find if she’d taken the trouble to look, but it would have been cruel to taunt her with it.

  Alex had no such compassion. ‘Haven’t you ever wanted to kill, Detective?’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘You’re a liar! I saw it in your eyes the first time we met.’

  In the observation room, Frankie watched David carefully. He was staring at Alex but not seeing her. Having witnessed the effect the woman had on him throughout the case, Frankie felt physically sick. She knew what was coming and was in no position to take over. She wanted to stop the interview. More than that, she wanted to get in there and turn off the tape. Instead, she turned her head. Mitchell’s eyes were like saucers, focused on the DI, wondering what was going on across the interview table next door.

  Stone hadn’t uttered a word.

  Feeling the heat of Frankie’s gaze, Mitch glanced at her. ‘What’s he doing?’

  ‘He’s thinking . . .’ Frankie flicked her eyes to the door. ‘Go and see if there’s any update in the incident room.’

  ‘Sarge?’ His expression was a mixture of incredulity and disappointment. ‘It’s about to get interesting.’

  ‘Out!’ she barked.

  Alex smiled at Stone. ‘What’s the saying, DI Stone . . . takes one to know one?’

  Stone felt his stomach heave. Not long ago, he’d stood in the witness box at the Old Bailey giving evidence in a murder trial. In the dock was the scumbag who killed his professional partner. At the time, he’d wanting to leap over the railings and squeeze the last breath from his lungs, until his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the floor. The murdering bastard had shown no mercy at the time of the killing, no remorse in interview afterwards, much less in court. Legal process had left David numb. A life sentence didn’t mean life. The man would be out of prison before he turned fifty.

  Alex Parker was right.

  Stone ached for retribution – except taking a life would never bring his partner back.

  ‘You’re in denial, Mr Stone. Don’t fight it, do it! We both know you have it in you. What did the arsehole do, take someone from you, someone you loved, perhaps? I think we understand each other, don’t you?’ She was laughing at him and yet the eyes he’d spent the case avoiding were cold.

  Her next sentence felled him completely. ‘I remind you of her, don’t I?’

  Frankie’s eyes were on Stone as he took a breather. If she was reading him right, he was finally beginning to see Alex Parker for the evil bitch she was, not her doppelgänger. Alex was defiant, no longer a beautiful-looking woman but an ugly, calculating murderer who took pleasure in hurting people who got in her way. By mocking him, she’d shown what she was capable of. She hadn’t admitted her guilt – not in so many words – but it didn’t matter now; he had all the proof he needed to put her away.

  Stone cleared his throat, calling on all his reserves. Years of training had equipped him to deal with offenders like Alex Parker. He wasn’t going to be put off, much less allow her to intimidate him or freeze him out. ‘You had the means and the opportunity,’ he said. ‘The only thing we struggled with was motive, until we found that in Majorca.’ He was pointing at the visitors’ book in front of her. ‘Was it really justification enough for murder, Alex? Have the courage of your convictions and own up. You’ll feel better for it. As I pointed out when I cautioned you, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on—’

  ‘The balance of my mind was disturbed.’

  ‘A cunning answer, but it’ll never hold up in a court of law. No judge in the land will accept a plea of diminished responsibility. You have no mental impairment and there’s been too much planning involved. You found out that your marriage was a sham, that you’d been deceived by the people you trusted most, and you acted upon it with devastating consequences.’ There was no doubt in Stone’s mind about that. In the time it had taken her to read that tiny paragraph of text in the visitors’ book on a Mediterranean island a thousand miles away, a killer was born.

  The woman was lost.

  Beyond redemption.

  ‘Do you have anything more to say?’ he asked.

  ‘Tim killed my baby.’

  ‘And you wanted him to suffer.’

  ‘I wanted to destroy him.’ Her smile oozed ill intent.

  ‘The only one you destroyed was yourself. You lost a son. He gained a daughter.’

  ‘Revenge helps. You should try it sometime.’

  Stone closed his file. It was Daniel he felt most sorry for. His only blood relative, Rob Scott, was unfit to look after him. Like Ben, the child was essentially an orphan. There wasn’t a hope in hell that Alex would allow him to live with Tim.

  She’d rather die than let that happen.

  Emotionally, she was dead already.

  Stone looked her in the eye, seeing her true nature reflected in those icy pools, separating the past from the present, the first time he’d managed that in her company. He took no pleasure in charging her. ‘Alexandra Parker, you will be charged with the murders of Justine Segal and Kathryn Tailford Irwin, the attempted murder of Detective Sergeant Frances Oliver and the burglary at East Cottage, Scots Gap.’ Even Saul Meyr would have difficulty defending her against such damning evidence.

  75

  When DCI Gordon Sharpe returned to Northern Command HQ the murder investigation was wrapped up, written up, on its way to the Crown Prosecutor – a done deal. During his leave period, Sharpe had decided to call it a day, put his ticket in at short notice and return to the South of France where he owned a second home. Detective Chief Superintendent Philip Bright – the man in charge of Northumbria CID – accepted his resignation and summoned Stone to headquarters in Newcastle.

  As the man of the moment, he was offered and accepted a promotion to his former rank of DCI. The appointment was received with approval by his peers, a party hastily organised to mark the occasion. The police club was full to bursting, detectives from the MIT and general CID shaking David’s hand, all of them keen to offer felicitations. A homemade banner hung across one wall . . .

  Northern Rocks the Toon!!

  Congratulations DCI David Stone!

  Frankie stood at the bar looking lost. Her eyes widened as the door opened and her parents trooped in, followed by her grandparents, Andrea, Rae and Ben, all carrying plates of food: sarnies, pies, a vat of curry to feed a hungry crowd of well-wishers. It was their way of showing their appreciation to David on his big day.

  Frankie’s father winked at her.

  She smiled. There was no way he’d miss the opportunity to offer congratulations and celebrate the ending of a case that had almost taken her away from him. As the food was laid out, Andrea approached, a pint in each hand. She narrowed her eye
s, taking in Frankie’s new hairstyle: short and spiky. There was still a bald patch around the staples in her head. Andrea kissed her, whispering in her ear as she pulled away.

  ‘You look . . . different.’

  ‘Thought I’d join you on the dark side.’

  ‘Hmm . . .’

  ‘I was joking!’ Frankie’s attention strayed. Her old man was shaking hands with David. She’d never seen her boss this up since the day he walked into her life.

  Andrea followed her gaze. ‘He’s staying then?’

  ‘Yup. Looks that way.’

  They moved away from a group of guffawing detectives. One thing Frankie loved about being a member of the police family was the way officers came together at times like this – be it a wedding, promotion or retirement do – each one with a new story to tell. Funerals especially were hilarious. It wasn’t all doom and gloom. The ‘Job’ had its fair share of good times. No other job would do for any of them.

  ‘It’s good to see him so happy,’ Andrea said. ‘I tell you one thing, he was inconsolable when he thought you’d died in that fire. Me?’ She waggled her hand from side to side. ‘I always thought you’d burn in hell.’

  Frankie laughed out loud.

  A flash of guilt crossed her sister-in-law’s face. It put Frankie on the back foot. There were things Andrea knew that she didn’t.

  ‘Has he told you?’ Frankie missed nothing.

  ‘Told me what?’

  ‘What had happened to him in London—’

  ‘Frank, this is not the time.’

  ‘Has he?’

  ‘He told me something. Don’t ask me to break a confidence. Let him tell you himself and be happy that he’s sticking around. You might not be working together, but you can hang out, right?’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right.’ The fact that he’d confided in Andrea – and not her – made Frankie’s heart sink. And while it stung to be the last to find out, she had to concede that it was easier to share secrets with a stranger than a friend. Alex’s taunts had filled in some of the gaps, but there was so much more to tell. David would tell her when he was ready. She lifted her glass. ‘To the Northern Rock,’ she said.

  They clinked glasses.

  ‘You done good too,’ Andrea said. ‘You ready?’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Your old man’s going to make a speech.’

  ‘What? Oh God!’

  ‘He insisted. Your granddad’s been working on his all afternoon.’ Andrea chuckled. ‘Look on the bright side: it means Windy doesn’t have to. If I know Frank Senior, he’ll have us both up on his soapbox in a matter of minutes.’

  ‘Great.’ Frankie ran her eyes over Andrea. ‘Look at you, you look gorgeous. I look like a lavvy brush.’

  ‘There’s a pair of trainers in my bag if you want to make a run for it.’

  ‘You’d better not.’ Rae had overheard. She sidled up to them, slipping an arm around Andrea’s waist. ‘Granddad will fetch you both if you don’t play ball, and you know what that means.’

  Frankie looked at her. ‘I feel about five years old.’

  Andrea wasn’t laughing.

  Frankie couldn’t help but notice the sudden change in mood. ‘What’s up with you?’

  Rae twigged why her partner was so uncomfortable. ‘You haven’t told her?’

  ‘Told me what?’ Frankie said.

  Rae took a deep breath. ‘Word is, David can take a DS with him when he moves to the MIT. Don’t get excited. Windy has given him two options: Dick Abbott is one. I’ve not met the other. It’s someone recently promoted off the back of the armed robbery case.’

  ‘Mike Lemon?’

  ‘Yeah, Dad said he’s a prat. Do you know him?’

  ‘I wish I didn’t. Put it this way, his name fits his personality – and the colour of his balls.’ Despite her jocularity, Frankie’s head was down. With Windy in the driving seat, there was no way she was going anywhere, despite her positive input in their murder case.

  ‘Life sucks sometimes,’ Rae said.

  Across the room, David caught Frankie’s eye. She made a huge effort not to show her disgruntlement. He lifted his pint to toast her, his big daft Geordie grin lighting up the room. The smile slid off her face. Her dad was on the move. Whoever was working the music must have been watching. As her father jumped up on a chair and called for order, The Sweeney theme tune blasted out, the volume turned up so loud he couldn’t be heard above the din.

  ‘Get off!’ detectives were shouting. ‘The curry’s getting cold.’

  Heartfelt speeches were amusing and well-received. Stone and Frankie stood together while granddad Frank waxed lyrical about his time on the force . . . his son’s time on the force . . . Frankie’s time on the force . . . over fifty years of continuous service, finally getting to the point, offering congratulations to David to the applause of those assembled. The old man ended by presenting Stone with a small boxed gift ‘to open later’.

  ‘I’m thrilled to accept this promotion,’ David said. ‘I’ve been told by the Chief Super that I can take a DS with me. Superintendent Gail has put forward some suggestions. For me, there can only be one choice, a tenacious, hard-working detective who I know will do a good job—’

  ‘That’s you off the list, Mike.’ Mitch made a meal of looking over his shoulder.

  ‘Lemon isn’t here,’ Dick said.

  A shout went up. ‘He’s peeling poorly.’

  It was an old joke but laughter filled the room.

  ‘And the winner IS!’ someone yelled.

  David found his choice in the crowded room. ‘Frank, you want to say a few words?’

  She wanted to weep as everyone cheered: her family, her colleagues and especially Ben, who was now living with his uncle temporarily. Having been warned that she was not on Windy’s list, Frankie knew that her appointment had been approved at the highest level – the Head of CID – and his endorsement meant the world to her.

  As she drove Stone home, he opened the gift her granddad had given him. Inside the small box, wrapped in tissue paper, was his old police whistle. The gift card had a simple message:

  We couldn’t have lost another – Frank.

  David didn’t understand the message – the drink didn’t help – but, deep down, he knew then that something catastrophic had happened to the Oliver family. With Ben in the car, he didn’t say anything, just closed the card and slipped it in his pocket.

  Frankie glanced at the gift on his knee, breaking into a big smile.

  ‘I can’t accept it,’ he said. ‘It’s too much.’

  ‘No, it’s not!’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘You deserve it—’

  ‘It should be yours, Frankie.’

  ‘What would I want that old thing for?’ She winked at him. ‘Rule 9: Keep me sweet.’

  ‘Done.’

  David knew it was her grandfather’s most prized possession, given to him when he joined Northumbria Police in 1966. It was her legacy. One day, when the time was right, he’d find a way to give it back. As they drove on, he fell into a deep and peaceful sleep. The force’s newly promoted SIO was about to begin a new chapter in his life. With Frankie along for the ride, he couldn’t wait.

  Acknowledgements

  The Lost is the first title in a new series for Orion Books featuring DI David Stone and DS Frankie Oliver. Many people at Orion have collaborated on this novel: my wonderful editor Francesca Pathak, assistant editor Bethan Jones, not forgetting Trapeze editor Sam Eades who kindly read an early draft, and my amazing copy-editor Anne O’Brien without whose insight, experience and wisdom I would also be lost.

  A big wave to all at A.M. Heath Literary Agency; especially to my friend, mentor and agent, Oli Munson – as constant as a northern star – available whenever I need him. A special mention here
for Dave (Robbo) Robson, an ex-pat Geordie who I’ve never met, but whose homesick emails from Australia make me laugh and cry. He is the unwitting inspiration behind the character, DI David Stone.

  To readers, bloggers, booksellers and librarians who spread the word, I salute you. Most importantly of all, much love goes to my family: my soulmate Mo; Paul and Kate, Chris and Jodie, Max, Frances, Daisy and a very special imminent new arrival – currently a bump – whose name has yet to be decided. Without their patience and sacrifice, I’d never have made it this far.

  Keep reading for an extract from the thrilling second novel in the acclaimed Stone and Oliver series by award-winning author, Mari Hannah.

  The Insider

  After the success of their last investigation, newly promoted DCI David Stone has been moved to the Murder Investigation Team, taking DS Frankie Oliver with him. But there’s a catch: the case they are given is the latest in a series of undetected murders. It’s a baptism of fire for MIT’s newest recruits.

  In the incident room, the murder wall makes for grim reading: three women have been killed within the past year and nothing links the crimes: no day of the week, geographical area, similarity between victims and, most importantly, no forensic evidence.

  Joanna Cosgrove is the latest victim, her body discovered fully clothed close to a railway line on the south side of the river in the Tyne Valley. The MO is the same as the other three, but the words ‘serial killer’ are not welcome in Northumbria force.