The Lost

by Mari Hannah

  Mitch was back: ‘I swear, every time I see that woman “I Will Survive” is like an earworm in my head. As it happens, it was worth it today. She brought good news, Sarge. I now have in my possession a very late forensics report.’

  ‘Well, get cracking and tell me what’s inside.’ She heard Mitchell shuffling papers. There was a long pause while he scanned the document. ‘Looks like we’re on! Five sets of prints in the IP’s annex and a couple of partials. We’ve got a match with Daniel Scott and Timothy Parker in her digs and in her car.’

  ‘Yes!’ Frankie punched the air.

  Life was good sometimes.

  ‘Hang on, Mitch.’ Frankie lifted the papers on her desk, searching for a plan of Justine’s living quarters. ‘C’mon!’ she whispered under her breath. ‘Mitch, where in the flat were the prints found?’

  ‘On both sides of the architrave of the door adjoining Parker’s home. The prints are high up. It’s as if he’s stood in the doorway, arms at head height, hanging on to both sides. And there’s more in her bedroom.’

  Frankie glanced at Stone as he re-entered the incident room and went on with her call. ‘Where in the bedroom?’

  ‘On a mobile phone charger and on a small bedside cabinet.’

  Frankie found the plan she was looking for and opened it out on her desk. It showed the annex. Her eyes located the bedroom. ‘Which cabinet? There are two.’

  ‘On the east side of the room.’

  ‘Furthest from the door, then?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘Any DNA?’ Frankie held her breath.

  ‘Give us a sec.’ Mitchell turned the page.

  Her half of the conversation prompted Stone to wander over and join her. She wasn’t ready to talk to him and pretended that she was listening to her caller. Picking up a pen, she drew a cross on both sides of the door and a little box representing the phone charger on the relevant bedside cabinet, scribbling the word PRINTS next to them as Mitchell’s voice arrived in her ear.

  ‘There are multiple – unidentified – samples in the vehicle, including semen. There’s a DNA match to Parker in her bed, not in her car.’

  ‘Semen?’

  ‘No.’

  Frankie pencilled a big cross in the centre of the bed and wrote Parker’s DNA – no semen for Stone’s benefit. It wasn’t enough to get him or her excited. ‘The boss is here now. Is there anything else we need to know?’

  ‘There’s a handwritten note attached: the SIO has ordered an urgent forensic report on the unwashed sheets taken from the laundry in the main house.’

  ‘About time,’ Frankie said.

  ‘We should have a result on that soon.’

  ‘Scan and email the results you have.’

  ‘Doing it now.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Frankie hung up.

  Stone looked at her. ‘We’ve got him?’

  ‘We’ve got him for lying about being in the annex, boss.’

  ‘What’s with the formality, Frankie?’ A wry expression crossed his face. ‘Anyone would think you were angry with me.’

  ‘I think you’re a prize twat, but that’s beside the point.’ Frankie didn’t stop for breath. She was cross. Not only with him. ‘Sharpe has fast-tracked the remaining samples we retrieved from the Parkers’ laundry. I don’t think we should interview the suspect without all the facts to hand. If it were my call, I’d wait for the results. There’s not one shred of evidence linking him to the murder.’

  That suited Stone. He had a funeral to attend.

  43

  It was freezing in the crematorium as David Stone climbed into the pulpit under the scrutiny of a sizeable congregation, gathering his resolve. Ben was as smart as a button in the front pew – as he’d asked him to be – if in a mess emotionally, ill-equipped and far too young to come to terms with the death of his remaining parent. Knowing what it felt like to lose both of his – in David’s case at the same time – an unspoken message of empathy passed between them. Regretting their row earlier, David had resolved to draw a line under their difference of opinion and help him. Frankie hadn’t said anything about his loss of control at the office, probably deciding that it was unwise to intervene where family were concerned. He appreciated that.

  He needed an ally, not an enemy.

  His eulogy was heartfelt and amusing in places, delivered with pride and love for a brother taken long before his time. ‘He was a great guy,’ David said. ‘The best brother anyone could wish for. When our parents died, our nan took us in. For years, we shared a bed in her tiny cottage. As kids, we were inseparable, aspiring to become policemen when we grew up. They were happy days . . . Playing detective in nearby woods . . . Inventing bodies to find . . . Using our nan’s magnifying glass to examine imaginary crime scenes.’

  Stone faltered momentarily.

  He couldn’t go on . . .

  He must.

  ‘Later in life, Luke’s future took a different turn when he met Ruth and became a proud father to Ben. Ruth was the love of his life and he was devastated to lose her. We remember her today . . .’

  A sob took his attention.

  His eyes flew in the general direction.

  Luke’s sister-in-law, Ben’s aunt, had travelled from Australia to pay her respects. The arms of those flanking her gave comfort. There were tears and stoical faces among the congregation. Some had already spoken about Luke’s popularity. He was outgoing and gregarious, not a loner like David, someone said.

  David moved on to mention his migration south: ‘It was the best and worst time of my life, a period when I got sidetracked, locked inside my own little bubble, paying less attention to my family than I should . . .’ His voice broke, a big lump forming in his throat. ‘Luke was always there for me. He never put pressure on me to come home, though I knew he wanted it . . . I only needed to hear his Geordie accent and I’d be booking the next train home, if only for a few days . . .’ Some mourners chuckled. Mostly local, they knew exactly what he meant by it. The pull of Northumberland was strong. ‘And when I finally did, it meant everything to me. The past few months will live with me forever . . .’

  A single tear dribbled down David’s cheek.

  When he mentioned Luke’s joy that he was back on Geordie Mean Time, David saw Frankie wiping her eyes, remembering how mercilessly she’d ribbed him about what he’d missed: the county, the music, the people. Apart from Luke, she alone knew what it meant for him to be back where he belonged.

  Their eyes met briefly.

  She was standing with Andrea. It was probably his momentary loss of control that had upset her. Having done his brother proud, David was on the move. There was not a dry eye in the crematorium, including his own. It was only when people filed from the chapel that he really caught the sadness in Frankie’s eyes. She gave him a hug and walked out into brilliant sunshine.

  Finally, the family were free to exit the chapel, released from the excruciating agony of extended commiserations, a tradition Frankie had never fully understood. The occasion was hard enough to bear without adding to it. Andrea left immediately, a duty call. Frankie hung around on the fringes of a dissipating crowd: heading to work, heading home, some walking off through the archway of the central clock tower and into the Garden of Remembrance, taking a moment to remember Luke, Ruth and others who’d gone before.

  There would be no tea and sandwiches. No sherry or cake. David wanted the service over and done with as quickly and as painlessly as possible so they could all move on. Frankie didn’t disagree. She was about to approach him when she noticed Ben heading in his direction. Sensing his urgency, she stepped away, sheltering from the sun under the shadow of a tree.

  As the two males came face to face, David embraced Ben warmly, a gesture of reconciliation, then stepped away. They didn’t see her but Frankie was close enough to earwig the
ir conversation. She was so proud of David for reaching out to him inside the chapel. Then it all went tits up . . .

  Ben’s tears had been replaced by bravado. ‘Do I measure up then?’

  David didn’t rise to the provocation. It was obvious to Frankie that he didn’t want to engage in round two. Not here surrounded by bereaved relatives. Ben lit a cigarette. He took a few drags, blowing smoke high into the air. Frankie could smell weed. The dynamics between man and boy changed instantly.

  Jesus! The stupid sod had just blown any chance of harmony. What the hell was he thinking? Frankie was about to find out.

  David’s friendly eyes turned cold. ‘Must you?’

  ‘Yeah, I must.’

  ‘Put it out!’

  ‘Or what?’

  David glared at him.

  Fine!’ Ben threw the cigarette on the ground, stubbing it out with his foot, hell-bent on being a dick.

  ‘Pick it up,’ Stone said.

  Ben thought better than to argue, slipping the roach end into his pocket. ‘So, what happens now?’

  David had no time to respond.

  A straggler arrived, hunched over, walking with the aid of a stick. A brief respite. More sympathies. The woman was old. Frankie would be surprised if she hadn’t already received her telegram from the Queen. David bent almost double, embracing her warmly, a benevolent hug, a sympathetic smile.

  It was a poignant scene to witness.

  A young man drove up and got out of his vehicle, apologising for the time it had taken him to get out of the car park. He shook hands with David, took the lady’s arm and led her towards his waiting vehicle. The DI watched them drive off before turning his attention to his nephew.

  ‘I still need a bed,’ Ben said.

  ‘Not my problem. I told you, it’ll never work.’

  ‘And I told you I can’t bunk in with mates.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I dropped out.’

  ‘Well, you’d better drop back in and sharpish!’ David’s attitude was confrontational now, his tone scathing. ‘Were you born clueless or are you trying really hard? When your compensation case goes to court – because it will – you’ll be expected to prove your commitment to your university course or you’ll get bugger all in terms of a settlement from the arsehole who was driving that lorry.’

  ‘I’m finished with uni—’

  David was livid. ‘Pat yourself on the back, son. Your dad would be real proud. You finally got what you wanted.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means you’re on your own.’

  David walked toward his nephew and leaned in. ‘Listen to me, you piece of shit! Of the many bad moves you’ve made in your relatively short and aimless life, this one takes the biscuit. Have you any idea how much your mother wanted you to get a proper education? How much your father sacrificed to put you through university?’

  Ben didn’t answer.

  ‘No, I didn’t think so. What exactly is it you want from me?’

  ‘You said you’d sort out probate.’

  ‘Give me one good reason why I should.’

  ‘You’re family—’

  ‘Not any more.’

  If Ben thought David was finished, he was sadly mistaken. The DI was building up to something, Frankie could tell. As if he sensed a presence, he glanced in her direction and seemed surprised to see her standing there. Clearly, he’d forgotten that she’d driven him to the crem. Without breaking his rhythm or changing stance, he turned to face his nephew. ‘Your dad’s place is worth a few quid. It should make you a tidy profit and you’ll be sorted. Is that the plan?’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re a property tycoon now, right? Wrong.’

  Ben’s cocky stance fell away. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means you should check in with your solicitor before you book that cruise.’ David was readying himself to leave.

  ‘I’m his next of kin. He can’t do that!’

  ‘He can and he did. It’s his last gift to you, Ben. All legal and above board, signed in the presence of his brief, i’s dotted and t’s crossed. Any provision he made for you comes via me from now on, when or if you play ball. So, I suggest you get your arse in gear and buckle down. If you do that, you’ll get the exact same allowance your father was paying you. Except, unlike your dad, I’ll be checking on your attendance every week . . . No show, no dough.’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  ‘That I can do.’

  David walked away. Frankie followed at a safe distance. She wasn’t looking forward to the journey back.

  44

  Stone took a moment to view the wreaths that had arrived with his brother’s body and those sent to the crematorium by family and friends unable to attend. Then he and Frankie moved towards the exit in silence. The car park was full, the next cremation already taking place. They tried very hard here but, as far as Frankie was concerned, it was no more than a dumping ground. A human waste disposal unit. A conveyor belt of grief that brought her little comfort. The place held nightmarish memories from childhood. They had faded over time, but even now she hated being here.

  They had reached her car.

  The lights flashed as she pressed her key fob, a blast of heat escaping from the interior as she opened the driver’s door. Stone hesitated, glancing towards the path that ran between the west chapel and the crematorium’s waiting room where he’d been arguing with his nephew. Frankie followed his line of sight. Ben hadn’t moved. He was smoking another illegal cigarette now his uncle had moved away. His head was bowed and he was talking to someone on the phone. Wondering if he was calling a taxi, Frankie tried to catch Stone’s eye. It was fixed on his nephew.

  ‘David, go back and offer him a lift,’ she said.

  ‘Let him walk.’ Stone opened the passenger door and got in.

  Frankie climbed in beside him. ‘I heard everything you said to him.’

  ‘And I suppose you have a point of view—’

  ‘You know me, boss. My mouth won’t stay shut if I have something that needs saying. If you want my honest opinion—’

  ‘I don’t.’

  She ignored him. ‘It was unforgivable, treating him like that. Ben is eighteen! He needs help. If his dad put you in charge of the purse strings, all well and good, but the lad’s going to need psychological support as well as a helping hand with finances. You must see that. You can’t turn him away. It wouldn’t be right.’

  ‘Right?’ Stone looked ready to explode. ‘I’m not his legal guardian. Now, are you going to drive me or do I call a cab?’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Frankie had never seen him so morose. He’d had his dark days recently, but this was something else. She put her key in the ignition, turned the engine over and pulled away.

  ‘Turn right,’ he said.

  She drove through the gates on to the West Road. ‘Where are we going?’ It was the opposite direction from her preferred route to the office. ‘David?’

  ‘Home! My home – I need to pack my stuff.’

  She glanced at him. ‘To go where?’

  ‘I’ve had enough. With Luke gone, so is my reason to stick around.’

  After all he’d said inside the chapel, the impression he’d given that being ‘home’ was important to him, she was horrified. An image of his cottage arrived in her head, photos of his nan, the wonky fireplace, the old bookcase, threadbare furniture and rocking chair – all of it wrapped in a history of love, its thick walls riddled with nostalgia. The thought that he was prepared to kiss it all goodbye made her want to weep.

  Pulling hard on the steering wheel, she turned left at the Denton roundabout, then immediately right on to the forecourt of the Jet service station. Yanking on the handbrake, she turned to face him. ‘That’s it?’ she said. ‘You’re telling Ben he shouldn’t q
uit and you’re going do exactly that?’

  ‘Maybe I don’t have it in me to live up to your high expectations, let alone match up to my predecessor—’

  ‘Don’t you ever think you’re not as good as he is. You are. Every bit as good, but I don’t intend to stroke your ego, so get a grip and stop being such a drama queen. What about Justine? Whoever killed her is still out there. Doesn’t she count? Andrea promised her parents we’d find whoever’s responsible for her death. You can’t up and leave like this.’

  ‘Watch me.’

  ‘Aren’t you tired of running, David? It cost you a rank last time. If you keep going like this you’ll end up as a uniformed PC on traffic detail. Is that what you want? I never figured you for a loser.’ She got out of the car, slamming the door.

  The middle of a murder investigation was not a good time to go AWOL. Luckily for Stone and Oliver, there was no reason to return to the office that evening. Aware that Luke’s funeral was taking place, the SIO had released them for the rest of the day and agreed to wait for the second forensic report before tackling Timothy Parker again. Mitchell would ring the minute it was in, but he’d been told not to expect it until morning.

  In one way, the impasse was opportune. In another, it was disastrous. Stone was shitfaced by eight o’clock and being obstreperous all over again. There had only been two good developments: he hadn’t yet packed a bag and he’d agreed to see the case out. Having eaten very little, Frankie was half-cut on one glass of wine. She’d decided, against her better judgement, to kip on his sofa rather than drag Andrea out to drive her home, insurance against her boss doing a runner in the middle of the night.

  Let him try.

  Frankie smiled inwardly. She’d hidden his car keys in a place he’d never find them and taxis were non-existent in the sticks. If he tried to leave, she’d knock the stupid bastard out if she had to. Taking her life in her hands, she entered the kitchen. As she’d suspected, Stone’s fridge held only alcohol. She looked up at the unsafe plasterboard and gaping hole in the ceiling, then down at the pathetic white plastic bag dangling from her right hand.