The Lost Read online

  Christ!

  Tim was hyperventilating, unable to get his ragged breathing under control. His wife was a formidable woman but, after all she’d gone through recently, could she, would she, cope with this? How could he look her in the eye and tell her he’d lost Dan and didn’t have a clue where to start looking?

  Pressing the home button on his iPhone got rid of the text. The background image on the screen made him weep. The cute, embarrassed smile of a shy ten-year-old who hated having his picture taken. It was one of very few photographs in existence, taken by his mother before Dan could turn away. Tim thought about phoning Alex but he couldn’t do that. She’d know instantly that something was up. He imagined her reaction when she finally heard the news, worst-case scenarios worming their way into her head.

  His eyes found the door.

  Was that the reason for the delay? Were detectives waiting until his wife arrived so they could tell her what an irresponsible arsehole he was, that he should never have been allowed to fly solo and wasn’t up to the job? Or maybe that she ought not to have abandoned her child to someone who clearly had no parenting skills.

  Self-hatred consumed him.

  He took out his mobile, his forefinger hovering over the speed-dial options. He had to be the one to tell Alex. No, he couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t. He didn’t want to be the one to break the news. He slipped the phone back in his breast pocket. For the first time in his life, he cowered in the face of adversity. He was good at communication, even when there were unpalatable truths to convey. This was different . . .

  This was personal.

  Rigid with fear, he sat down and waited, the last few hours rewinding again and again like a nightmare loop inside his head. Panic was a strange thing. The realisation that there was something terribly wrong, something sinister, began like a punch to the gut, making him retch. His ability to think straight seemed to stutter and slow, like a toy running out of battery. Alex had left Dan in his care. He was her child. The only one she’d ever have. It would kill her to learn that he was missing.

  2

  Detective Inspector David Stone had been in the job less than a month, having transferred from the Metropolitan Police and returned to his roots in Northumberland. The last thing he needed right now was a bolshie detective sergeant on his case. In London kids went missing every second of every day. Unless they were very young or there were extenuating circumstances, finding them was a uniform task, not one for the CID. And yet his new Northumbria sidekick, Detective Sergeant Frances (call me Frankie) Oliver, was like a coiled spring, itching to involve them in a misper case.

  For ten minutes, they had been quietly arguing the toss; even so, she had yet to explain herself properly. David liked her a lot. She’d shown no resentment when he blew in from the south as a replacement DI. His predecessor – an old soldier who’d retired with a bad back and good pension – was a hard act to follow. Everyone said so and David was on orders from HQ to prove his worth. That he could confidently do to his superiors. Not so to the live wire he was presently facing across the corridor.

  ‘It’s a feeling I have,’ she said.

  ‘I need more than that, Frankie.’

  ‘I have no more, beyond the fact that he’s a child and it’s getting on for midnight.’ Her eyes were pleading with him to change his mind. ‘Boss, I’m asking you to forget protocol and take the lead.’ She’d not called him boss for days. David had asked her to drop the formality of rank. And she wasn’t finished yet. ‘Look, I know what’s in the manual,’ she said. ‘I’m asking you to show some common sense.’

  ‘Then give me the rationale.’

  ‘I can’t.’ Frankie spread her hands in a gesture of frustration. ‘Write it up as gut feeling. Intuition. Sixth sense. Anybloodything you like. Just do something.’ She thumbed towards the occupancy indicators above the doors of the interview suite. Only one was lit. ‘Exactly what is your problem, David? We’re hardly run off our feet, are we?’

  ‘That’s beside the point. We’re not talking about a four-year-old. If we were, you could have air support and every other kind of resource. The lad is ten. He’s probably pushing the boundaries, dicking his parents around, in a strop because his mother didn’t take him on holiday. You know what kids are like—’

  ‘Yes. Do you?’

  It was a direct challenge to his authority. She knew fine well he had no children. Puzzled by her tenacity, David frowned. Frankie held his gaze defiantly. A flicker of distress in her eyes made him hesitate before knocking back her request a second time. He wondered what was driving her point of view.

  Time to clear the air.

  ‘Is there something you’re not telling me?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’ Clearly there was.

  ‘You’d never win at poker.’

  His comment didn’t raise a smile. It had angered her more than it should and she didn’t give a damn that he knew it. David hadn’t yet sussed her out. Her file said she was single, no children, a third-generation copper with a great track record and personality to match. Having been deployed in many departments, she’d found her niche as a DS in the CID where she’d worked for the past two years. She was diligent, confident in her abilities, but underneath the surface he detected a hidden vulnerability.

  This woman had a story to tell.

  ‘Suck it up or persuade me, Frankie. My office. You have five minutes.’

  Frankie flung herself down in the chair, trying not to show her frustration. Stone had a valid point, but she had the bit between her teeth and wasn’t letting go. New into the department, she could understand his position; on the other hand, Daniel Scott was out there in the dark. She wouldn’t rest until he was found. She couldn’t explain herself. Why should she?

  For a moment there was a deadlock.

  Frankie allowed the silence to stretch out between them. Stone was nothing like her former boss and mentor, DI Drake. If only he was. She could twist him around her little finger. They had known each other since she was a little girl. He’d joined the force in the same intake as her father and was under instruction not to argue with DCI Frank Oliver’s pride and joy. Drake had been ready for retirement for a couple of years. The man facing her now was different. He was ambitious and couldn’t afford to put a foot wrong in the first few weeks of his tenure.

  So here they sat, staring each other down.

  From the second they had been introduced they had hit it off. There was an instant spark, something intangible that drew her to him. And she wasn’t the only one intrigued. The station grapevine was on fire. There was some suggestion that he’d left London in a hurry. With no details available, speculation was rife. Whatever it was, it must have been catastrophic if he’d taken a demotion to run from it.

  It can’t have been a kid, or he’d be eating out of her hand.

  Stone relaxed into his swivel chair, deep penetrating eyes glued to hers. He didn’t need telling that it was their duty to safeguard the child, but things were not that simple. Frankie had to make a case for treating Daniel’s disappearance as a serious crime and she couldn’t. Not yet, anyway. There were very clear guidelines in situations like these. On a hiding to nothing, she climbed down, prepared to beg if necessary.

  ‘David, trust me on this.’

  ‘Believe me, I’m trying.’

  ‘I’ve spoken to the stepfather, Timothy Parker. He claims Daniel isn’t a kid who’d run away. He’s not a street kid. He’s cared for 24/7, mollycoddled in a way that makes him inherently vulnerable. He even has a nanny. What he doesn’t have is the means to communicate. Parker doesn’t approve of kids having mobile phones. The guy is past himself. I think we should treat this as high profile, log it on HOLMES and run it as a major incident.’

  ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘I’ve given you grounds.’

  ‘With respect, you’ve given me sod-all.’


  Much as she might like to, Frankie couldn’t argue with his logic. Stone was right, but she wasn’t listening. ‘I’ve done some checking on Parker. The man is minted, something he failed to mention when questioned. For all we know, Daniel could’ve been abducted—’

  ‘There’s been no demand—’

  ‘Yet.’ She held up a hand by way of apology. ‘David, this isn’t the Met! We care about our bairns up here. They’re not all little bastards who need a good hiding. Wherever he is, and for whatever reason he went AWOL, Daniel is exposed to harm. If that’s not good enough reason to look for him, I don’t know what is. Please reconsider. He needs our help.’

  Stone’s eyes were warm. ‘Run it by me one more time.’

  Frankie bit the inside of her cheek, considering the angles, working out what to say, feeling under tremendous pressure to perform. This was far from a done deal. The fact that Daniel’s future came down to her ability to convince her boss that he was in imminent danger scared her.

  She took a deep breath. ‘Parker claims the boy’s nanny, Justine Segal, should’ve picked him up from footy training because he was tied up – an important business meeting.’

  ‘And was he?’

  Frankie nodded. ‘When the meeting was over he allegedly checked his phone. There was a voice message from Justine berating him for having picked Daniel up without letting her know. He hadn’t, or so he says. Confused, he drove straight home. By the time he got there, Justine had calmed down. She apologised, said she’d missed his message that he’d collect the child himself, then freaked out when she realised the boy wasn’t with him.’

  Stone was beginning to give a little.

  Not enough.

  A pause in the conversation didn’t last. Frankie had to keep up the momentum. ‘Parker claims he sent no message. At first, he thought it was a wind-up, that Daniel was hiding somewhere in the house, that he and Justine were playing a practical joke. That wasn’t the case. So, if neither of them collected Daniel, who did?’

  The question hung in the air unanswered.

  Stone stroked the stubble on his chin, eyes fixed on Frankie. ‘What kind of message was it? Email, text . . . ?’

  ‘DM.’

  ‘Who communicates through Twitter?’

  ‘Dunno. Personally, I’d rather eat worms.’

  ‘Did you check his mobile?’

  Frankie gave a nod. ‘The DM wasn’t there. The discrepancy bothered me, so I got Justine to send a screenshot of her phone. Twitter streams don’t lie. It’s there all right, in black and white. David, trust me, there’s something suspicious going on here.’

  ‘We’ll revisit this. When is the mother due in?’

  Frankie checked her watch. ‘Now.’

  ‘Did you speak to the call-taker?’

  ‘There wasn’t one. The informant is Parker. We didn’t go to him. He came to us.’

  ‘Who was the last person to see Daniel?’

  ‘His football coach, Roger McCall. He witnessed the boy wave at a car and walk towards it after training, a vehicle he wasn’t sure he’d seen before.’

  ‘Any form?’

  ‘No. But how could he not question that? Dan was under his supervision. It was his responsibility to hand him back in one piece, not let him wander off alone. Listen, if I’m wrong about this you can slap my hands later. I’ll take full responsibility. You can transfer me. Send me blue forms. Do what the hell you like, but we need to act now. The longer we leave it, the more difficult it will be to pick up the scent.’ Frankie waited, Stone’s hesitation irritating her all over again. The formality was back. ‘Boss, clearly one of them is lying—’

  ‘Who did you say Daniel’s mother went on holiday with?’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘Yes, I know! I just didn’t say. She went with her sister, Kathryn something or other. Posh double-barrelled name. She lives down south somewhere. What does it matter? The important thing is, the boy needs our protection and he needs it now.’

  ‘Back off, I’m thinking.’

  Frankie eyeballed him across the room. ‘Are you going to do something, or sit there until we have a corpse on our hands?’ It was the sucker punch she felt guilty using, but one she hoped would force a reaction from her new boss. No copper wanted the death of a child on their conscience.

  Stone picked up the internal phone, hit a couple of keys and waited for an answer. ‘Brian, we have an interest in the missing boy. Run everything you have past Frankie until I say otherwise. And while you’re at it, raise an action to search the kid’s home. Yes . . . now!’

  Stone hung up and got to his feet, gesturing for Frankie to do likewise. She couldn’t speak as he opened the door to let her out of his office. Her smile was the nearest he’d get to a thank you. She’d never be able to tell him why it meant so much.

  3

  Alex Parker eyed the female passport controller expectantly, urging her to get a move on. It seemed she’d picked the wrong security queue yet again. Despite having been out of her seat the moment the aircraft’s forward door was open, one of the first to set foot on UK soil, she was going nowhere fast. The parallel line of weary travellers was moving much quicker, a young male controller letting people through with hardly a glance. Hers wasn’t dawdling exactly but the woman checking ID was under supervision – new to the job, Alex assumed – examining every traveller, the man standing behind her watching her every move.

  Alex shuffled closer to the happy family in front of her. Their wide-eyed kids were in a state of high excitement, desperate to get into the baggage hall where their parents would collect luggage, lift them on to a trolley and wheel them through customs into the arms of doting grandparents waiting in the international arrivals hall.

  Alex was almost as impatient and, it had to be said, a little annoyed that Tim had ignored the text she’d sent as she ascended the steps and crossed the tarmac into the warmth of the terminal building. He was probably running late, panicking as time ticked towards her ETA. Alex smiled, pictured him screeching to a halt in the short-term car park, jogging into the concourse with a plausible excuse for being late – as always.

  From his position behind the controller, Stone looked on as passengers from the Palma flight passed through passport control. Leaving the line of passengers, one woman moved to the point of entry desk, holding her passport up for perusal. Instead of a nod and friendly welcome home, the controller took the document, carefully scrutinised it before passing it over her scanner, showing no emotion as she did so. Stone seized on the monitor, checking identity: this was Alex Parker. Of all the women in the queue, he was hoping that she wasn’t the one he’d come to see.

  Taking the passport from the controller, he studied it, then stepped from the booth, clearing his throat as he spoke to her. ‘Ms Parker?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Could you come with me please?’

  ‘May I ask why?’ The woman flushed, conscious of heads turned in her direction.

  Stone witnessed the sniggers, finger-pointing and hushed whispers from fellow travellers, everyone wondering why she’d been stopped, making up a reason to suit the retelling later: You’ll never guess what happened as we arrived at the airport . . .

  ‘Am I under arrest?’ Alex asked. ‘Because, if I am—’

  ‘You’re not.’ Stone’s voice was measured, his attitude polite.

  ‘Well, that’s a relief.’

  The silence seemed to last for ever. Her brain would be processing a list of scenarios, none of them palatable. Like most people, she’d probably been frisked on outward journeys but never prevented from re-entering the country of her birth. It was embarrassing for anyone to assume the position, though sadly, it was commonplace nowadays in the counterterrorism fight.

  Alex Parker didn’t move.

  It was clear
that she had no intention of going anywhere without an explanation for the gross embarrassment his intervention was causing. This close to her, Stone was finding it hard to concentrate. He needed to calm down.

  ‘Has something happened?’ Her words came out like a terrified whisper.

  ‘We need to go somewhere more private, ma’am.’ He swept a hand out, inviting her to follow him along the corridor.

  She was rooted to the spot. ‘Look, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be awkward. I have a right to know why I’m being waylaid. My husband and son are waiting for me landside. I’m tired. I’ve been in transit for hours. At least identify yourself.’

  ‘I’m Detective Inspector David Stone.’

  ‘Now you’re really worrying me.’

  So, she now knew he was a copper, not airport security. He was there for a specific reason and she was it. He’d checked in with the station before he left the car. There had been no sign of her son.

  ‘What are you?’ she asked. ‘Special Branch?’

  It was a stupid question. Stone would hardly tell her if he was. He didn’t answer, merely repeated his request politely, suggesting that she step aside to allow others through.

  She did as he asked. ‘Inspector, you’re making a big mistake—’

  ‘They all say that,’ some smart arse said.

  The lad standing beside him laughed.

  Alex shot the two morons a look.

  ‘Keep moving,’ Stone told them.

  Onlookers were being marched through security even quicker now, rubbernecking as they reached the front of the queue. Alex Parker was desperate to follow.

  Frankie had given Stone a head start. The Traffic car had followed fifteen minutes later, taking no more than ten minutes to get her and Daniel’s stepfather to the airport. She was out of the vehicle before its wheels had properly come to a stop. She walked round the car, holding the rear door open for Tim Parker, ushering him into the terminal with a sense of urgency and up the escalator to the first floor. By now, Stone would have broken the news, informed Alex Parker of her son’s disappearance. They had agreed to rendezvous in an area where they wouldn’t be disturbed.