Chasing the Dark by Sam Hepburn

story? It didn’t seem likely. Not unless he’d been doing a feature onthirty-something singers who still had dreams of hitting the big time. Yuri on the other hand . . . well, he coincided a lot more closely with my idea of someone a hot-shot reporter might want to talk to – on the run, up to his tattooed neck in all sorts of dodgy stuff, and petrified that ‘bad people’ were trying to kill him. Come to think of it, could that be why they were trying to kill him, to stop him selling information to Lincoln?
    A terrible thought began circling the edges of my brain. I made a supreme effort to shut it out but it waltzed in anyway, making my breath stop and the room start pitching around. The hospital had given me a leaflet that said grief did funny things to your brain and you shouldn’t be surprised if you started ‘indulging in fantasy as an outlet for your emotions’. I’d chucked it straight in the bin but now I did a quick bit of DIY counselling and told myself to get real before I cracked up. It didn’t work and even sticking my head under the cold tap couldn’t slosh away the horrible feeling that I was on to something. The phone rang. I lurched across the room and grabbed it.
    â€˜Hello?’
    â€˜Is that Joe Slattery?’
    â€˜Yeah.’
    â€˜Ralph Lincoln.’
    Weirdly, he pronounced it Rafe , like it rhymed with ‘safe’.
    â€˜Oh, right . . . um, thanks for calling back. I’m . . . Sadie Slattery’s son. I don’t know if you remember me. We met . . . at the hospital.’
    â€˜Of course I remember you, Joe. How are you bearingup?’ He sounded old and tired.
    â€˜Um . . . OK.’
    â€˜Still in London?’
    â€˜No, Kent. With Mum’s sister.’
    â€˜How’s that working out?’
    â€˜Oh, you know. She and Mum weren’t exactly close.’
    â€˜That must very difficult for all of you. So how can I help you, Joe?’
    â€˜There’s been a mix-up with Mum and Ivo’s stuff.’
    â€˜I don’t follow.’
    â€˜The bags in the car. The police sent me Ivo’s as well as Mum’s.’
    He made a faint sound, somewhere between a sob and a groan.
    â€˜It’s got his laptop and a notebook in it and . . . ’
    â€˜I’ll . . . organise a courier to pick them up.’
    â€˜OK, but . . . um . . . before I get his laptop back to you I was wondering if you’d mind me taking a look through his files.’
    â€˜Whatever for?’
    I took a breath. ‘Have you ever wondered if there might be a link between the crash and a story he was investigating?’
    He went so quiet I thought the phone had gone dead.
    â€˜Professor, are you there?’
    â€˜Yes, I’m here.’
    â€˜Have you . . . ever wondered that?’
    â€˜Listen to me, Joe. When someone young and healthy dies an untimely death, those left behind automatically search for answers to take away the senselessness of theirloss. It’s a natural part of the grieving process.’ The hospital had obviously given him the same leaflet. ‘So yes, I did consider the possibility that Ivo’s death had not been accidental. In the end, however, I had to accept that what happened to my son was just a hideous and arbitrary case of hit and run.’
    â€˜Well, sir’ – the ‘sir’ slipped out like I was talking to a teacher – ‘I’m still at the looking-for-answers stage, so would you mind if I asked you a couple of questions?’
    He sighed. ‘Very well.’
    â€˜What was Ivo working on?’
    â€˜I’m sorry to disappoint you, Joe. A prolonged assignment in Afghanistan had left him so exhausted he’d taken a break. Ironic, isn’t it, that he survived the dangers of Helmand only to die on the streets of North