Lastnight (25 page)

T-Bone nodded thoughtfully. ‘And who’s this Proserpine he talked about?’

‘One of the demons.’

‘A female,’ he said.

Nightingale nodded. ‘They can be male or female.’

T-Bone’s eyes narrowed. ‘You believe in that shit, Bird-man?’

Nightingale took a long pull on his cigarette as he returned T-Bone’s gaze. He had no choice other than to lie to the man because the alternative was to explain why he believed and if he started down that road there was no way of knowing how it would end. ‘Do I look stupid?’ he said. Answering a question with a question meant that at least he wasn’t telling a deliberate lie. ‘So where do we go from here?’

‘I’ve got guys waiting for white van man to appear. Soon as he does, we’ll play show and tell with him. You want in?’

‘I’m not sure I’d get anything out of it,’ said Nightingale. Nightingale was being less than honest – the simple fact was that he didn’t want to be dragged into another murder scene. One was more than enough. He pointed with his cigarette at the body on the floor, which was now swathed in duct tape. ‘What about him?’

‘He’ll never be found, don’t worry about that,’ said T-Bone. ‘It’s not the first body I’ve disposed of.’

‘I’m sure it isn’t,’ said Nightingale. ‘But if you’re leaving the rounds in him, you’ll need to be careful with the gun.’

T-Bone laughed out loud. ‘I’m not a virgin at this, Bird-man,’ he said. ‘Don’t you go worrying your pretty little head about the corpse or the gun.’ His face hardened. ‘Speaking of guns, you’re still carrying?’

Nightingale nodded. He’d finished his cigarette so he stubbed it out on the sole of his shoe and slipped the butt into his raincoat pocket. ‘Yeah.’

‘Where?’

‘Small of my back.’

‘That a police issue holster?’

‘Bought it myself when I was with CO19.’

T-Bone nodded his approval. ‘It does the job,’ he said. ‘You’d never know.’

‘That’s the idea.’

35

N
ightingale went home intending to catch a few hours’ sleep but he slept through his alarm and didn’t wake up until eleven. He picked up coffees and croissants at Costa Coffee before hurrying to his office.

‘You look terrible,’ said Jenny as he handed her a coffee and croissant.

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Bit of a rough night.’

She had paused one of Nail’s videos on the screen. ‘Well, the good news is that I’ve found Daryl Heaton at the Ink Pit.’

‘Are you serious?’

She clicked the mouse and the video started moving again. Nail was working on a large tattoo on the man’s hip. Nail wiped the tattoo with a cloth, then sat back and stretched.

Nightingale held up his hand. ‘Can you freeze it there?’

‘Sure.’ She clicked her mouse and the picture froze.

Nightingale peered at the screen. Half the tattoo was hidden by Nail’s hand and the tattoo gun but he could make out two twisted horns and the top of a skull. ‘That’s a goat, right?’

‘Looks like it, yes.’

‘And you’re sure this is Daryl Heaton?’

‘You get a good view of his face when he lies down,’ said Jenny. ‘It’s definitely him. Why?’

‘I’ve seen that tattoo before.’ He took his phone out of his pocket and opened his picture gallery. He showed her the picture he’d taken of Barnett’s shoulder.

‘Where did you get that from?’ she asked.

‘I’ll explain later,’ he said. ‘It’s the same design, right?’ He took the phone off her and put it into his pocket.

‘Looks like it,’ she said. She clicked the mouse and the video started moving again. They both watched as Nail worked on Heaton, slowly and methodically adding to the design.

‘It’s pretty ugly.’

‘Yeah. What about the others?’

Jenny wrinkled her nose. ‘Not yet but I’ve plenty more footage to look at.’

Nightingale hung up his raincoat and took his coffee and croissant through to his office. He sat down at his desk and slid the Glock into the bottom drawer before gathering up Nail’s notebooks. He had given them a cursory glance but he needed to check every drawing now that he knew what he was looking for.

36

I
t took almost an hour for Nightingale to find them. They were in the third notepad, a dozen or so drawings of the goat skull and the logo of the Order of Nine Angles. He cursed under his breath as he flicked through the pages. The first few were rough sketches as if Nail wasn’t sure how the goat should look, and two of the pages were filled with sketches of the logo, the strange seven-pointed star. Again Nail had taken several stabs at it, each one slightly different. Then he’d amalgamated the two, the goat’s skull and the logo, and done half a dozen versions until he’d found one that he was happy with. The final one was similar to the one in the video. Nightingale took out his phone and compared the photograph of the brand on Barnett’s back to the final drawing. It was a perfect match.

Jenny made a whooping sound from her office. ‘Bingo!’ she shouted.

Nightingale pushed himself up out of his chair. ‘Gabriel Patterson!’ she called. ‘He’s just taken his shirt off.’

Nightingale hurried through to her office. Jenny clicked her mouse and leaned back so that he could get a better look at the screen.

Patterson was sitting bare-chested on Nail’s reclining chair. He had Maori tattoos on his upper arms and as he turned over and lay down on the chair they could see several others on his back. A large bat, a hideous skull with a worm crawling out of an eye socket, and a burning cross.

‘They’re pretty gruesome,’ said Jenny. ‘And he seemed like such a nice guy before he took off his shirt.’

‘He only had them done where they couldn’t be seen when he was wearing a shirt,’ said Nightingale. ‘You can see why. Who’d employ someone if they knew they had that skull thing tattooed on them?’

‘As opposed to someone with a top-hatted Pink Panther on their arse?’ said Jenny. ‘What’s the rule about cops with tattoos, anyway?’

‘No one ever saw mine, and I’m starting to regret that I let you see it,’ said Nightingale. ‘You can’t have tattoos above the collar line or on the hands. They have to be covered at all times when you’re on duty. And they mustn’t be violent or intimidating or offensive to any religion or belief.’

‘So the Pink Panther is cool?’

‘He’s positively frosty,’ said Nightingale. ‘Now can you jump ahead and see what design Nail did on Gabe.’

Jenny clicked on the mouse and fast-forwarded. Nail sketched a design on Patterson’s back in triple time and then reached for his tattoo gun. He alternated between using the gun and dabbing with a cloth in a series of jerky movements. Even on fast-forward, Nightingale could see that the design was a match to the tattoo that Nail had done on Heaton. Jenny turned to look at him, her eyes wide. She had obviously had the same thought. ‘What are the odds?’ she said. ‘Two victims with the same tattoo? The tattoo is the link?’

Nightingale held up a hand. ‘Let’s not jump to conclusions,’ he said. On the screen, Nail continued to fast-forward on the design, inking in the curly horns. ‘We need to see if he did the others, too.’

‘What is it?’ said Jenny, pointing at the screen. ‘That’s a goat’s skull, obviously, but what’s that thing below it? A pentangle?’

Nightingale shook his head. ‘No, a pentangle has five points. That’s got seven.’

‘So what is it?’

Nightingale didn’t say anything. He took out his cigarettes, playing for time.

‘And how come you have that picture on your phone? You know what the tattoo is, don’t you?’ Nightingale stood up and headed to his office. ‘Jack?’ she called after him. ‘Jack, what’s going on?’

She stood up to follow him but her phone rang.

Nightingale flopped down at his desk, lit a cigarette and picked up one of the ring binders. He was flicking through the photographs when Jenny appeared at his door, ashen-faced. ‘It’s Chalmers for you,’ she said.

‘Tell him to sod off, I’ve had enough of him this week.’

Jenny shook her head and Nightingale realised she was close to tears. ‘What is it?’

‘Line two,’ she said. ‘You need to talk to him. It’s about Robbie.’

37

R
obbie Hoyle’s house was a neat semi-detached in Raynes Park. Anna’s black VW Golf was in the driveway and the Jaguar that Chalmers used was parked behind it. The driver was at the wheel, reading a newspaper.

As Nightingale climbed out of his MGB, he recognised a uniformed inspector striding purposefully towards the house. ‘Colin!’ he shouted.

The inspector turned and looked at Nightingale. Nightingale had worked with Colin Duggan when he was on the job, though they had lost touch since Nightingale had left. He was short and balding and his uniform always looked as if it was a size too big for him. Duggan nodded. ‘Jack.’

‘This is …’ Nightingale shrugged, not sure what to say.

‘Yeah,’ said Duggan. ‘A bloody hit and run.’ He looked up at the sky. ‘I hate this. I never know what to say.’

‘It’s not about saying anything. It’s about being there.’

‘Yeah, I know.’

‘I told him,’ said Nightingale. ‘I told him to be careful about crossing the road.’

‘He wasn’t a kid, Jack.’

‘They’re looking for the car?’

‘It was a van,’ said Duggan. ‘A white van. Witnesses saw it speeding away but no one got a look at the registration number. We’re checking all CCTV in the area but you know how many white vans there are in London.’

38

A
nna’s mother opened the door. Her eyes were red from crying but she smiled when she saw Nightingale. ‘Jack,’ she said. ‘Thank you for coming.’

‘I’m so sorry, Louise,’ said Nightingale, stepping forward and hugging her. ‘How’s Anna?’

‘Not good,’ she said.

‘Where are the girls?’ asked Nightingale. Robbie and Anna had three young daughters.

‘Sarah’s still at school, the twins are asleep upstairs. Angela’s here, she’s looking after them.’ Angela was Anna’s sister. She held the door open for them. ‘Please come in.’

Nightingale and Duggan stepped into the hallway. Nightingale introduced Duggan and she shook his hand. ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ said Duggan.

They went through to the sitting room. Anna was sitting on the sofa in between her mother-in-law and her brother, Dave. Dave was a forklift truck driver and had obviously rushed over from work, still wearing his overalls.

Anna’s chestnut hair was clipped up at the back and her face was flushed. At first she stared at Nightingale with unseeing eyes, then she recognised him and stood up. She was unsteady and Nightingale moved forward and held her. She buried her face in his chest. He held her and felt her start to sob. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered.

She continued to sob and Nightingale felt tears prick his own eyes. Over the top of Anna’s head he saw a line of photographs on a mahogany sideboard. The largest, in the middle, was a gilt-framed wedding picture, taken almost ten years earlier when Robbie and Nightingale had both been beat bobbies. On either side of the big picture were framed photographs of the girls. One of the pictures was of the oldest, Sarah, smiling proudly in her school uniform. Nightingale blinked away tears. He couldn’t imagine how little Sarah would take the news that she was never going to see her father again.

‘I keep thinking this is a dream,’ sobbed Anna.

‘I’m sorry, Anna.’ He closed his eyes, knowing how futile the words were. There was nothing that he could say that would help her, or make either of them feel better. Robbie was gone and they were going to have to deal with that, one way or another.

‘Do you need someone to get Sarah from school?’

‘My sister’s going to pick her up. How am I going to tell her, Jack? What do I say?’

He held her for several minutes and then the doorbell rang and Louise showed in Robbie’s brother, Paul. Paul was ashen-faced and he strode over to Anna. Anna turned and hugged him and they both began to cry.

Nightingale moved away. Robbie had been his best friend and he loved Anna like a sister, but he wasn’t family.

Someone had opened a couple of bottles of whisky and placed them and several dozen glasses on a table by the French windows that led out to the back garden. Chalmers was there, pouring himself a Scotch. He nodded at Nightingale and poured him a glass.

‘What happened?’ Nightingale asked Chalmers.

‘I can’t add much to what I said on the phone,’ said the superintendent. ‘It happened at about ten o’clock this morning. Robbie was heading to work, he was crossing the road and a white van slammed into him. No tyre marks so he didn’t brake, just kept on going. Carried Robbie twenty feet or so and then he went under. The body’s a mess.’ He took a deep breath. ‘There are some evil bastards in the world, that’s for sure.’

‘No argument here,’ said Nightingale.

‘We’ve got two witnesses who saw it happen. They said they thought Robbie was on his mobile. Neither of the witnesses got the registration number but we’ll get the bastard, eventually. There’ll be CCTV somewhere and there’ll be damage to the van. Robbie was bleeding so there’ll be blood and tissue on it and once we get the bastard he’ll be going down for a long time.’

Nightingale nodded but didn’t say anything. The silence was awkward but eventually Nightingale’s phone rang. He apologised to Chalmers and went out into the garden to take the call. It was Caitlin. ‘You never got back to me, Mr Nightingale,’ she said.

‘Caitlin, yes, I’m sorry, I’ve had a lot on my plate.’

‘Do you want to talk to me or not?’

Nightingale looked through the window into the sitting room. Anna had put her head in her hands and was sobbing. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘Tonight then. Same time, same place. Okay?’

‘I can’t tonight.’

‘Are you messing me around, Mr Nightingale? Maybe you don’t want the information I have.’

She sounded as if she was about to hang up on him so he spoke quickly. ‘It’s not that, Caitlin. A good friend of mine died today.’

There was a short pause. ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said eventually.

‘That’s okay,’ he said. ‘But I’m with the family now and it’s going to be a while before I can get away.’

‘Tomorrow then?’