The Lost Read online

  Dedication

  For Mo

  THE

  LOST

  Mari Hannah

  Contents

  Dedication

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Acknowledgements

  The Insider

  Chapter 1

  About the Author

  Also by Mari Hannah

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Without Tim, Alex would be dead. Every time that thought entered her head she loved him a little bit more. Right now, the urge to see him was greater than it had ever been. Apart from business trips, this was the first time they had been separated since they married. Seven days felt like a year. She should never have agreed to the holiday without him. Seeing Kat had been worth the sacrifice, but now Alex wanted her life back.

  She looked up, a tinkling sound grabbing her attention. Long faces with straggly beards stared at her. There was nothing sinister about them and yet she felt tense. Fortunately, goats slept at night. Their cowbells hadn’t kept her awake. Shame the same couldn’t be said for her sister. Kat had whined continually, complaining that the villa’s owner should have warned them that they would get no peace. She cared less than Alex that farming was important to the economy and culture of Majorca and its people.

  She cared less than Alex, full stop.

  Looking left along the driveway to the dusty road, Alex focused on their redundant hire car, eyes straying beyond the garden gate to the southern face of the Serra de Tramuntana dominating the near distance. In the foothills beneath, white villas baked in the searing heat. Alex longed to look inside. Not that she had the means to purchase one just now. Her money was tied up in Tim’s business and her own expanding public relations company.

  More than once this week Kat had pointed out that being married to an ambitious entrepreneur had its downside. She viewed Tim as a reckless risk-taker. As far as Alex was concerned, her opinions were immaterial, although it pained her to think that two of the three people she loved most in the world had never really hit it off. Last night, as she floated the possibility of owning a holiday home within striking distance of the UK, Kat reminded her that there was no cash for second homes when the first was re-mortgaged to the hilt. Alex got that. She did. All the same, she bridled at the dig. Apart from Daniel, her ten-year-old, Tim was her world. He had plans her sister was unaware of – ones that Alex was OK with if it made him happy.

  She owed him.

  Lifting her wine glass, she savoured an aged Rioja, a blend of grapes local to the area, rich, earthy and well rounded. Alex eyed the vines all around her, long branches and thick leaves flourishing in the warm climate. Tim would appreciate the simple lifestyle here, the relaxed pace, the opportunity to read and swim and feel hot earth beneath bare feet. But, as it had for Alex, the novelty of living the island dream would soon wear off.

  They’d be bored in a few days.

  ‘Welcome to Casa Pegueña.’ Kat was reading the visitors’ book over Alex’s shoulder. ‘You’re not going to write War and Peace, are you, Ali? Check-in closes in four hours. There’s time for one last dip and a shower before we head off. C’mon, get your kit off.’

  ‘No, you go ahead. I’m done.’

  Sulking, Kat sat down, stripping the shirt from a deeply tanned body. Alex felt pale by comparison. While she’d enjoyed her break, much of the week the heat had been oppressive. Most days she’d taken refuge in the shade of the terrace. She’d not ventured up the Puig de Maria to the monastery to take in its amazing views, walked the kilometre to the Roman town of Polença or driven to the port. Other than trips to the supermarket, she’d not gone out – not even to the beach. And whilst the idea of a place here held a certain appeal, she’d be glad to get home to Northumberland where it was green and cool, she thought, but didn’t say.

  A breeze picked up. It swept across the parched land, rustling surrounding vegetation, kissing her face. Though the rippling pool water was enticing, she didn’t move, except to remove her sunglasses, the better to see her sister.

  There was mischief in Kat’s eyes.

  ‘What?’ Alex said.

  ‘I was just wondering what state your place will be in when you get home.’ Kat’s point was that, unlike Alex, she had a tidy bijou flat to return to in upmarket Marylebone. No kids. Never wanted any. No clutter. Probably no soul. Alex hadn’t yet seen the property. She would, as soon as she got the opportunity. Her life had been crazy of late.

  ‘It’ll be spotless,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, I forgot you had a maid.’

  ‘Justine’s not a maid.’

  ‘You sacked the last one, as I recall.’

  ‘That’s not strictly true.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Kat teased. ‘You let her go. Either way, Maria ended up on the dole.’

  Alex went quiet. When Daniel was born, she’d returned to work within weeks of giving birth. With a husband and two businesses to support there was no other choice. Maria was her saviour. During Alex’s second pregnancy things were different, financially and in every other way. She was happy, hopelessly in love with the new man in her life – in a totally different place. After ten years of loyal service, she’d dispensed with Maria with no inkling that she’d live to regret it. The plan was to take a year off to spend time with her newborn – a decision her husband supported wholeheartedly. Little did they know that there would be no baby to stay home for . . .

  Tim had been heartbroken when told that it w
as too dangerous to try again. Her biological clock had beaten them, a diagnosis he accepted without apportioning blame or making a fuss. Unable to live with the guilt of losing their child, his first, Alex had returned to work at the earliest opportunity. By then Maria had found another family to care for and Alex accepted Justine in her place.

  As dark memories faded, Alex ached to be home. Although she’d hidden it from Kat, she had been planning her return journey from the moment she left the UK. Not a second had gone by without thinking of her family. She’d been parted from Tim for too long. They had undoubtedly lost their way as a couple but things were set to improve when she got home. This break had given them time to get their shit together. Thinking of him stirred her physically.

  Soon . . . she’d be home within hours.

  Poised to write in the visitors’ book, she picked up her pen and put it down again, unable to describe her top tips of exciting places to visit, favourite restaurants or points of interest – and there were many on this beautiful Balearic island. She was losing the will to make any comment on their stay.

  ‘Coming in?’ Kat was poolside now.

  Alex made a lame excuse that she didn’t want wet washing in her suitcase. Begging her to change her mind, Kat stepped in at the shallow end one final time, bare legs shimmering as she splashed them with water. When Alex wouldn’t be persuaded to join her, she disappeared beneath the surface, emerging at the other end a few seconds later, hauling her body out in one athletic motion.

  Alex turned more pages, looking for inspiration, not wanting to sound dull for having done so little during her stay. People from far afield had paid homage to the villa, naming nearby towns and coastal locations worth a look, amazing drives and lunch venues:

  Perfect for two; ticked all our boxes; you can’t leave without exploring the beach at Formentor – divine! Reading last week’s message about ants makes me smile. They returned!

  Alex’s heart almost stopped beating as words crawled across the page like an army on the move. She tried to still them but they kept coming, growing larger by the second. A feeling of dread crept over her, soaking through her skin until it filled her. Kat was lying on a sunbed, eyes closed, unaware of the unfolding drama. Tim was over a thousand miles away. Alex palmed her brow, unable to think, utterly helpless. As panic attacks go, this one was sizeable and sudden. She would never recover from it.

  1

  Tim Parker waited for action. It didn’t come. For the umpteenth time since he’d arrived at the police station he checked his watch: 11.30 p.m. It had been hours and still there was no news. The door to the interview room stood ajar. Two detectives loitered outside talking in dull tones: a confident male, mid-thirties, short-cropped hair; a female about the same age: a little on the petite side for a copper, brunette, sharp eyes, a grave expression on her face. They appeared to be having words.

  The station was noisy – on the outside as well as in – the scream of sirens a constant reminder of the danger out there. There was no let-up of foot traffic toing and froing past the open door, a succession of uniforms and civilian personnel. The squawk of radios was getting on his nerves. There was laughter but also agitation. Tim didn’t need to see it. He could feel it through the walls. The stress was unbearable. How could people work in a place that never slept?

  A scrawny lad with earphones hanging around his neck was being escorted along the corridor by the arm, moaning about the length of time it had taken for police to deal with his complaint. Tim knew the feeling. He’d been there since nine thirty, just after dark. He was beginning to think that he should have driven to meet Alex at the airport before reporting Dan’s disappearance to the police. With a mind full of possibilities too painful to contemplate, he’d bottled it, unable to face her.

  Where the hell was Dan?

  Guilt tormented Tim. The fact that he couldn’t get out of a meeting to pick his stepson up himself was not an excuse his wife would accept. Dan was her precious boy. No matter how successful she was in business, her son always came first. He was the thing she was most proud of. Tim could hear her now: It’s a question of priority. You promised to keep him safe.

  And she was right . . .

  A lump formed in his throat. Alex never wanted to go to Majorca. He’d encouraged her to. After the sad loss of their child she needed a break and so did he. He couldn’t get away from work. If he were brutally honest, he’d not tried that hard. And when her sister had twisted her arm to accompany her to the Balearics, it solved a problem, even if potentially it might cause another.

  The trip was an impulse buy. Paid for with a hefty divorce settlement. If Tim knew anything about Kat, anything about money – and he did on both counts – that pot of gold would be gone within the year. Still, he couldn’t fault his sister-in-law on a point of generosity. She and Alex hadn’t taken a vacation together since they were students at universities three hundred miles apart, Alex in Edinburgh, Kat at Cambridge. And they had gone through some rough times since.

  Tim’s hopes rose as the female detective in the corridor grabbed the door handle. Instead of pushing the door open, she pulled it to. Whispers diminished and footsteps moved away. Tim’s head went down. Traumatised by nightmare thoughts, he shut his eyes, trying to calm himself. This was no bad dream.

  It was all too real.

  More chatter outside involving the red-faced sergeant he’d seen at the front desk. He was ambling past with a colleague, his casual attitude spurring Tim into action. Impatient for information, he shot out of his seat, hell-bent on speaking to police, whether they were ready to listen or not. As he raced into the corridor, the man with three stripes on his epaulettes turned to face him.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’ His colleague walked on without him.

  ‘I wish you would,’ Tim said. ‘You know why I’m here and it’s been hours. Please, what’s happening?’

  ‘Take a seat in the interview room and try not to worry. I realise this is difficult for you but, as I suggested earlier, Daniel probably took a detour on his way home. He’ll turn up soon enough, suitably repentant with his tail between his legs.’

  ‘You don’t know that—’

  ‘It happens every week, sir. Believe me, it’s common with lads his age.’

  ‘And we just wait? Is that the best you can do?’

  The sergeant bristled.

  Tim tried not to sound pissed off. ‘With respect, officer, I’d love that to be true, but as I explained when I reported Dan missing, he’s not the type. His mother and I drilled it into him: never talk to strangers, never accept a lift. He’s a sensible, sensitive kid. There’s no way he’d have gone off without telling anyone. Besides, “probably” isn’t good enough.’

  ‘You need to be patient—’

  ‘No! You need to start listening.’

  ‘I am and I have. I’ve—’

  ‘Please, Sergeant, I’m not challenging you or trying to put your back up, but you have to listen to me. Daniel is genuinely missing. I need to speak to someone in authority now. Unless you’d like me to ring the Chief Constable. I have his mobile number.’ It was a veiled threat but Tim was getting desperate.

  A face off in the corridor.

  ‘Is there a problem here?’ A female voice.

  Tim swung round to find a woman in plain clothes. She was checking him out, taking in his gold cufflinks and the silk handkerchief flopping out of his breast pocket. She was also the one bending the ear of the detective outside a moment ago and had obviously overheard the escalating row.

  ‘I’m DS Oliver, sir. Is everything OK?’

  ‘Tim . . . Parker. Please, I need your help.’

  As soon as he gave his name, she seemed to know who he was.

  She eyeballed her colleague. ‘I’ll take it from here, John.’

  The man in uniform moved away.

  DS Oliver had been attentive and much mo
re sympathetic than her colleague. After a brief conversation, in which she’d pointed out that she’d read the missing persons report, she’d asked Tim to wait while she spoke to her boss. She hadn’t been gone long and had promised to update him. Tim sat down, relieved that someone was finally taking positive action. The interview room was muggy. Wiping a film of sweat from his brow, the reality of his situation hit him hard. The newspapers were full of appalling crimes against children, including murder. Child abuse was rife, a large proportion of it carried out by adults they knew: carers, parents, priests and counsellors were in the firing line, if not high on the list of suspects.

  Right now, Tim could see their point.

  Looking up at CCTV in the corner of the room, he wondered if he were under surveillance, if DS Oliver was watching him . . . judging him. Those you looked to for protection could turn on you in an instant. He was feeling the heat and it had nothing to do with temperature.

  How much longer?

  Another check on the time: eleven forty-five.

  Tim imagined a plane touching down at Newcastle airport. So vivid was the image, he could almost hear the screech of brakes, the scream of the engines as the aircraft raced along the tarmac before leaving the runway and pulling up on its stand. It would signal instant and profound relief for one passenger. He should’ve been collecting Alex about now. Worse than that: he should’ve been doing it with Dan. It wasn’t a school night and his mother had decided he could stay up late and meet her at the terminal.

  A text alert pierced the silence of the interview room. Fumbling his mobile from his pocket, expecting, praying for his au pair to put a contrite Dan on the phone, his hopes died as Alex’s name appeared on screen:

  I’m down . . . See you when I clear baggage control.

  A x

  Tim lost it. Alex was home and he wasn’t there to pick her up. She travelled all over with her job but hated flying. He pictured the stress leaving her face as she walked toward passport control, phone in hand, dying to get through security, grab her luggage and head out to be reunited with her son. His absence would trigger a panic attack.