Lost Souls
Lost Souls
An absolutely gripping crime thriller with nail-biting suspense
Chris Merritt
Books by Chris Merritt
Detectives Zac Boateng and Kat Jones series
Bring Her Back
Last Witness
Life or Death
Detectives Lockhart and Green series
Knock Knock
Who’s Next?
Lost Souls
Available in Audio
Detectives Lockhart and Green series
Knock Knock (available in the UK and the US)
Who’s Next? (available in the UK and the US)
Contents
Chapter 1
Tuesday
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Wednesday
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Thursday
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Friday
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Saturday
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Sunday
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Monday
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Tuesday
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Wednesday
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Thursday
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Friday
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Saturday
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Sunday
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Monday
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Tuesday
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Wednesday
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Thursday
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Sunday
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Hear More from Chris
A Letter from Chris
Books by Chris Merritt
Knock Knock
Who's Next?
Bring Her Back
Last Witness
Life or Death
Acknowledgements
*
To my former colleagues in the NHS, for being there when we needed you.
One
Death was a fresh start for them; that was how he saw it. Others might not agree, but they were wrong. He could understand why some would think of dying as the end, though. In one sense, that was true. It was an ending. But it was also a beginning. A chance to go on to a better place. Somewhere you no longer had to suffer the torments that your earthly body had endured. Somewhere everything would be OK, for evermore.
January was a time for starting over. For New Year’s resolutions, choices and decisions. Taking control and moving forward. And that was exactly what he was doing. Not just for himself, but for all of them, too. There were so many who needed to be saved. Now that he’d begun, he had no choice but to keep going. Taking them away from here, and sending them up there, where they could find some peace.
It wasn’t inevitable that things would end up like this. As hard as his youth had been, he’d sought another path. Time and again, he’d resisted the temptation to repeat the sins that had been visited upon him throughout his childhood, as far back as his earliest memories. He’d genuinely tried, poured his heart and soul into his work. But, ultimately, that hadn’t been enough, and he’d been a fool to think otherwise. There was no redemption. Not in this life, anyway. There was only escape.
He hadn’t enjoyed the act itself, of course. It was simply something that had to be done, a means to an end. The kid had struggled, his skinny limbs flapping and jerking, but that was just a physical reflex. He knew the boy’s spirit wanted to be released. So, he’d pulled him closer, leant in and whispered some words of reassurance. Felt him start to relax. Sensed the relief when it was all over.
He knew many would think that what he was doing was somehow ‘evil’. But he needed to make those people see that this was the only solution to the problem. They had to understand that you couldn’t go after the predators; there were simply too many of them. Instead, the way to make a difference was to remove their prey, to send those little ones somewhere they’d be safe and happy.
It was up to him to continue that important task.
He even had a special name for it.
Making angels.
Tuesday
5th January
Two
Detective Inspector Dan Lockhart raised his binoculars again and studied the corrugated iron structure a hundred metres off. After a whole night here, he was performing the action almost mechanically. He could see without the lenses that bugger all was going on in the warehouse. The navy-blue Audi Q5 that belonged to his brother-in-law, Nick Taylor, was still parked on its forecourt. And, since nothing had happened for the past six hours since Lockhart had followed him here at dark o’clock and got eyes on the building, it was a safe bet Nick was still inside.
How had it come to this? Lockhart wondered. Giving up his bed and his sleep. Pissing in a plastic bottle so he didn’t need to get out of the car. Freezing his nuts off because he had to keep the windows open; the first thing he’d learned about surveillance from his time in the military was that nothing obscures your vision or gives you away faster than a steamed-up vehicle. ‘Borrowing’ an unmarked police car from the pool so that he didn’t need to drive his own recognisable Land Rover Defender here. And all to watch his brother-in-law put in a night shift at the depot of his haulage company. Lockhart knew the answer, of course. A single word that’d barely left his mind for more than a decade.
Jess.
His wife, and Nick’s sister. She’d gone missing from their home in London eleven years ago, while Lockhart had been on a tour of duty in Afghanistan. His mum, Iris, had found the door to their flat open, but no sign of Jess inside. With time, the missing person’s investigation had gone cold, and police had shelved the case, but Lockhart hadn’t stopped looking. He’d left the army, joi
ned The Met. Relentlessly, he’d chased down every single lead on her whereabouts, no matter how small, long after her own family had given up on her. They’d even started legal proceedings to have her declared officially dead. But Lockhart couldn’t accept that. Especially not after the discovery he’d made last year.
Following a report from a member of the public that someone matching her appearance had been seen in Whitstable, Lockhart had spent months wandering the streets of the fishing port in Kent on his days off – not that there were many of those. Eventually, a trawlerman had recognised her photograph, saying he’d seen her in the harbour two years earlier. With a man matching Nick’s description.
Lockhart had confronted his brother-in-law who, of course, had denied all knowledge of the incident. The old fella must’ve been havin’ a laugh, mate, he’d suggested by way of explanation, grinning with the same broad smile that Jess used to give him, on her ‘good’ days. Most probably got his wires crossed. That wasn’t good enough for Lockhart, though. It’d taken every ounce of his willpower not to punch the smug bastard. But he knew that wouldn’t achieve much. If Nick was hiding something, it’d be uncovered with patience and graft.
He’d taken the sighting to his colleagues in The Met, of course. But, with rueful shakes of their heads and regretful expressions, they’d told him that a single unconfirmed sighting wasn’t enough to re-open a missing person’s file. Technically, it never closed, but what they meant was that they couldn’t allocate any hours to it. Which was why Lockhart had to keep going. No missing person deserved to be forgotten. Least of all Jess.
So, he’d spent most of his spare time over the past nine months investigating his brother-in-law. Nick’s small haulage firm maintained a couple of premises, including this warehouse in Darent Industrial Park. It was sandwiched between scrapyards and vehicle repair shops, bordering the River Thames at the south-east edge of London – and on the way to Whitstable. Lockhart hadn’t come across anything suspicious so far, but he was confident that if he put in the time, he’d find whatever was there to be found.
The only problem was that he didn’t have a lot of time. The court hearing for the declaration of Jess’s presumed death – words that sounded so wrong to him – was one month from now. Delayed by the onset of the Covid-19 pandemic last year, the deadline was approaching for Lockhart to submit his evidence that Jess was likely to be alive.
If he failed, then not only would the system start to forget her, but he stood to lose their place in Hammersmith. The tiny home they’d bought and made together that was the only thing left of their relationship. Lockhart had preserved it like a time capsule since Jess went missing. Nick had made no secret of his desire to get his hands on a share of it, to force its sale and cash out. That, too, was unacceptable to Lockhart. Glancing down at his lap, he realised that his fists were balled, the knuckles white.
Then some movement caught his eye.
Raising the binoculars again, he watched as the shutter lifted on the smaller entrance to the warehouse. Nick emerged, carrying a holdall which he hadn’t taken inside. He locked up and walked towards his car. Lockhart checked his lights were off and started the engine.
Then his phone rang.
DSI Burrows. The only person he couldn’t ignore. He tapped the screen.
‘Ma’am.’
‘DI Lockhart.’ Her tone was all business. ‘I know you’re not due in for a few more hours this morning, but I need an SIO in Mortlake.’
He saw Nick getting into his vehicle, then the puff of white smoke from its exhaust in the freezing air moments later.
‘SIO,’ he repeated. Senior Investigating Officer. ‘Murder?’
‘Very likely,’ replied Burrows. ‘It’s… unusual.’
His brother-in-law’s 4 x 4 was making a sharp three-point turn on the forecourt.
‘How so?’ asked Lockhart, easing his car back into a gap between two shipping containers, out of sight.
‘You’ll see when you get there. Victim’s a boy, found inside St Mary the Virgin church.’
Lockhart clenched his jaw, swallowed. ‘A boy?’
‘I know, it’s terrible.’
Nick’s car pulled out into the road and Lockhart let him drive on before following at a distance.
‘How quickly can you be there?’ asked Burrows.
Mortlake was twenty-five miles away, in south-west London, where his Major Investigation Team was based.
‘Hour or so, if I’m quick.’
Ahead of him, at the junction, Nick’s car turned left, the opposite direction to the way he’d come. Away from London. Where was he going?
‘Fine,’ replied Burrows. ‘HAT will brief you when you get there.’ The Homicide Assessment Team would’ve been first on the scene for a victim discovered out-of-hours. ‘Give me an update soon as.’
‘Ma’am.’
She rang off, and Lockhart watched briefly as his brother-in-law’s vehicle disappeared towards the dull grey dawn in the east.
Then he put his car in gear and set off west.
Three
Dr Lexi Green was aware of the presence next to her as soon as she woke. The tiniest stab of anxiety snaked its way through her belly even as her mind realised there was no danger. She and Tim had been together four months now, and she was only just getting used to sharing a bed with him on the few nights a week they spent together. He was still fast asleep, one arm thrown up by his head of tousled brown hair.
In the middle of last year, she’d finally given in to the nagging of her super-enthusiastic housemate Sarah and started dating. She wasn’t sure what had tipped her over the edge. It might’ve been the boredom of lockdown. Or the fact that she’d turned thirty in the summer and begun interrogating the shit out of her life and where it was going. Whatever the trigger was, she had to acknowledge that there was another, underlying factor in her decision.
Dan.
The guy who, two summers ago, had walked through the door of her consulting room at the trauma clinic in Tooting. Though it’d been her job as a clinical psychologist to help him with his mental health difficulties, it was Dan who’d given her a feeling of safety from the moment they’d met. The combination of his military habits and calm demeanour had reminded Lexi of her dad, who’d been posted here with the US Air Force when he’d met Lexi’s British mom. It was as if she could trust Dan with her life, which was exactly what she’d needed to do later that year.
He’d asked her to help profile a killer known as the Throat Ripper, who was attacking women around London. She’d thrown herself into that investigation, deeper than she’d realised until it was almost too late. But Dan had saved her, and she’d somehow managed to return the favour a few months after that, during another case she’d agreed to help on. It’d created a bond between them whose strength Lexi had never experienced before.
It happened sometimes that therapist and client were attracted to one another. And that was a boundary that shouldn’t be crossed. But once she’d stopped being Dan’s psychologist and effectively become his colleague, it felt as though something more could develop… Except for the issue that’d brought him to her in the first place. His missing wife. Dan was actively searching for Jess, and when a new lead last year renewed his hope, Lexi had needed a while to deal with it. She was over him, she assured herself.
And now she had Tim.
Tim was a sweet guy, thoughtful and kind. He knew about art and music, he actually read books, and she could have the kind of conversation with him that would just leave Dan staring blankly. It didn’t hurt at all that Tim was really cute, too, in a slightly nerdy, bespectacled, British way. She watched him stir, grimacing a couple times in his sleep before his breathing settled down again. She wondered what had caused that look of pain and hoped he wasn’t having another nightmare. He’d mentioned those to her before. Lexi decided to leave him be. The school where Tim taught wasn’t starting back from Christmas recess until tomorrow, so he could lie in today. But she had to get moving.
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Downstairs, she found Sarah sitting at the kitchen table eating cereal, and suppressed a laugh at the sight. In all the years she and Lexi had lived together, Sarah had never gotten herself up in time to eat breakfast. There was a clear reason for her change of habit, though. And he was sitting across the table from Sarah with a plate of toast and a cup of tea. The newest addition to their household: Mo. Or, to give him his full title, Detective Constable Mohammed Khan. One of Dan’s team. After a bust-up with his parents over an arranged marriage, he’d left the family home for the first time in his life at age twenty-seven, looking for a place to live.