The Suspect - Hardcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Fiona Barton is the New York Times bestselling author of The Widow and The Child. She has trained and worked with journalists all over the world. Previously, she was a senior writer at the Daily Mail, news editor at the Daily Telegraph, and chief reporter at the Mail on Sunday, where she won Reporter of the Year at the British Press Awards. Born in Cambridge, England, she currently lives in southwest France and England.

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***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected copy proof***

Copyright © 2018 Fiona Barton

The Reporter

SUNDAY, JULY 27, 2014

I reach out a hand to silence it. "Hello," I whisper.

Static whispers back to me. I press the phone harder to my ear. "Who is this?"

I feel Steve roll over to face me, but he doesn't speak. The hissing static fades and I hear a voice.

"Hello. Hello," it says, searching for me.

I pull myself up and switch on the light. Steve groans and rubs his eyes.

"Kate? What's going on?' he says. "Who is this?' I repeat. But I know. "Jake?"

'mum," the voice says, the word distorted by distance'or drink, perhaps, I think uncharitably.

'sorry I missed your birthday," it says. The line fizzes again and he's gone.

I look at Steve.

"Was it him?' he asks.

I nod. "He's sorry he missed my birthday . . ."

It's the first time in seven months that he's phoned. There've been

FIONA BARTON

three e-mails, but our eldest son told us early on that he wouldn't be contactable by phone. Said he was freeing himself of all the stress that constant calls would bring. He'd stay in touch with us.

When he last rang, it was Christmas morning. We'd hoped he would be there with us, pulling crackers and making his lethal mulled wine. We'd suggested and then pleaded by e-mail, sending money by Western Union for a plane ticket when he seemed to weaken. He'd picked up the cash. Of course he had. But Jake had stayed away, man- aging only a ten-minute call on the day. Steve had answered the phone and spoken to him first while I hovered beside him; then he'd asked to speak to his little brother, Freddie, and finally to his mother.

I'd hugged the phone, as if I could feel the heft and warmth of him, and tried to listen, not talk. But he'd remained distant as the seconds counted down in a phone booth somewhere and I'd found myself turning inquisitor.

'so, where are you now, love?' 'Here.' He'd laughed.

'still in Phuket?' 'Yes, yes."

"And are you working?"

"Yeah, sure. Doing this and that.' 'But what about money?"

"I'm managing, Mum. Don't worry about me. I'm fine."

"Well, as long as you are happy," I'd heard myself say. The coward's way out.

"Yes, I am."

After I'd put the phone down, Freddie had put a glass of prosecco in my hand and kissed my cheek.

"Come on, Mum. He's fine. Having a brilliant time lying around in the sun while we're sitting here in the slush and rain."

But I'd known deep down he wasn't fine. His voice had become wary. And that nervy laugh. He didn't sound like my Jake anymore.

4

The Mother

FRIDAY, AUGUST 15, 2014

could feel the tension radiating off him. "Anything?' he asked.

"No."

"I'm ringing the police."

She nodded. They'd never had to ring the police before in all their married life. The police belonged to another world'the world they saw on television or in the papers. Not theirs. She was shaking as Mal- colm picked up the phone. She wanted to tell him to wait. To give it another day. Not to start this. Not to bring this into their home.

'mal," she said, but he looked at her as he dialed, silencing her. She could hear the hum of the fridge and a car passing by outside. Life going on.

"Hello, I'd like to report my daughter missing," she heard him say.

That life was over.

"A week. We haven't heard from her or the friend she's with for almost a week," he said. "Her A Level results came out yesterday, but she still hasn't been in touch.

'she's Alexandra O'Connor.

FIONA BARTON

"Eighteen. Her birthday was in May."

Icing that cake, Lesley thought. Didn't look anything like Ed Sheeran apart from the red hair, but Alex had loved it.

She tuned back in to hear her husband apologizing.

'sorry, I thought I said. She's in Thailand, backpacking with her friend Rosie Shaw. Her last text message said they were still in Bang- kok."

"What? What did they say?' Lesley said, the panic making her voice loud and unlike her usual tone. "Who did you talk to? Tell me!"

Her husband jerked his head up and looked at her as if to reassure himself this was his wife, shrieking in their kitchen.

'they took down all the details, love. You heard me. I spoke to a woman officer. I wrote it on a bit of paper.' He reached over to the counter and picked up a Post-it note.

"Here, look."

Lesley brushed it aside so it floated to the tiled floor.

"Never mind that. What did this woman say? What are they going to do to find Alex and Rosie?"

Malcolm stooped to pick up the piece of paper and put it back on the counter. Lesley wanted to hit him.

'malcolm!"

'sorry, love, but we are going to need this.' He spoke slowly, as if she were an elderly relative. 'she said she's going to pass on the details to Interpol and we should ring the British embassy in Bangkok. That's what they advise. But she said this happens a lot; young people going traveling and forgetting to contact their parents. She said it was early days and that we should try not to worry."

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THE SUSPECT

'so she thinks it's going to be all right?' Lesley willed him to say yes or nod. Let it be all right . . .

Malcolm shook his head. 'she doesn't know, love. We've to ring her if Alex gets in touch'or if she doesn't in another week."

'she will, won't she?"

Malcolm pulled her to him. "Of course she will. She'll want to know her A Level results. Tomorrow or the next day. She'll turn up, like a bad penny."

Lesley wiped her eyes with a paper towel and tried to look hopeful. "I'd better ring Jenny back," she said, grateful there was something practical to be done. "I told her I would as soon as we'd spoken to the

police. She got a bit funny about it yesterday."

"I think she's as frantic as we are. Rosie's her only one. And Jenny's on her own."

"Okay. What are you doing?"

Malcolm was tapping at the keyboard of the laptop. 'the police want a photo. I said I'd send one. Then I'll find the number for the embassy."

Lesley looked over his shoulder. He'd picked the one Alex had sent of her and Rosie in a tuk-tuk on the day they arrived, grinning madly into the selfie, their surroundings a blur.

"At least they're together," Lesley said and wept, her head on her arms on their kitchen table.

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B A N G K O K D A Y 1

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