Nightmare (29 page)

Two female paramedics crouched over the little girl’s body. The younger of the two was crying. Four firemen in bulky fluorescent jackets were standing behind them. One was being sick, bent double and heaving, while another was wiping tears from his eyes with the back of his gloves.

Nightingale went over to the paramedics. The younger one looked up at him, her face glistening with tears. Her lower lip trembled, then her face froze and her eyes glazed over. ‘Please help me, Jack,’ she said, staring up at Nightingale, her voice a dull monotone. He elbowed her out of the way and knelt down beside Sophie. A pool of blood was spreading around her shattered skull. Her eyes were closed as if she was sleeping and the Barbie doll was still in her right hand. Nightingale reached out to stroke her hair but as he did so her eyes opened wide. ‘Please help me, Jack,’ she croaked, then she took a long slow breath that rattled in the back of her throat before she began to scream at the top of her voice. The scream turned into the ringing of his mobile phone and that’s when he woke up.

42

Nightingale groped for his phone and took the call.

‘Jack?’ It was an American voice. Joshua Wainwright.

‘Joshua, how’s it going?’ It was still dark outside and Nightingale squinted at his wristwatch. It was half past five. He groaned.

‘Sorry, man, did I wake you up?’

‘Nah, I had to get up to answer the phone anyway.’

‘Say what?’

‘English humour,’ said Nightingale, sitting up. ‘Where are you?’

‘New York,’ said the American. ‘Shoot, what time is it there?’

‘Half five in the morning.’

‘Man, I’m sorry. I lost track of the time with all the flying I’ve been doing.’

‘Not a problem, Joshua.’ He yawned and covered his mouth.

‘Are you okay? You sound a bit tense. I can call back.’

Nightingale rubbed his chin. ‘I’m okay. I just had a bad dream, that’s all. What’s up?’

‘Is it that girl? The dream?’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Because it’s been on your mind, and problems have a way of making themselves known in your dreams.’

Nightingale sighed. ‘Yeah, so my assistant keeps telling me.’

‘I might be able to help,’ said Joshua.

‘Is that why you’re phoning? You’re not psychic, are you, Joshua?’

‘You mentioned her when I was round at your house. Doesn’t take much to put two and two together. No, I’m calling about the books. My team can be at your house today, if that’s okay. Late afternoon.’

‘Today?’

‘Yeah, I know it’s short notice but they’re heading back from Rome and they can stop off in the UK for a couple of days to work on the inventory.’

‘Okay, sure,’ said Nightingale. ‘Get them to call me on my mobile when they’re about ninety minutes away and I’ll be there to let them in. I haven’t had time to get any camp beds in, though.’

‘They can find a hotel,’ said Wainwright. ‘Now this Sophie thing . . . how determined are you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘How serious are you about contacting this girl?’

‘I’m still trying,’ said Nightingale.

‘That’s what I thought,’ said the American. ‘I hope you’re steering clear of dark mirrors.’

‘I tried a medium but he was a con artist.’

‘There’re a lot of them about, Jack. It can be tough separating the wheat from the chaff. But I can put you in touch with a group who might be able to help.’

‘I’m listening,’ said Nightingale.

‘The thing is, Jack, we’re talking about the dark side. Not as bad as the Order of Nine Angles, but they’re still on the side of the fallen.’

‘Devil-worshippers, you mean?’

‘It’s more complicated than that, but they do have a track record of dealing with the dead. It’s up to you.’

‘What would I have to do?’

Wainwright chuckled. ‘You wouldn’t have to sell your soul, if that’s what you mean. I know one of the guys in a London group and I could put you in touch.’

‘And it’s safe?’

‘It’s a hell of a lot safer than what you were trying to do in the basement,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I’ll talk to them and get back to you with the details if they’re cool about it.’

Wainwright ended the call. Nightingale decided that there was no point in trying to get back to sleep so he shaved and showered and put on his second-best suit, a dark blue pinstripe. He had a meeting with a solicitor in Earl’s Court and wanted to make a good impression. Solicitors were a good source of work and Nightingale was trying to get more legal firms on his books.

He was in the kitchen frying bacon, wearing a blue-and-white-striped apron over his suit, when he heard his phone beeping to let him know that he’d received a text message. It was from Wainwright, with a name, a mobile phone number and a brief message: ‘You can trust him.’

‘I hope that’s true,’ muttered Nightingale, putting the phone on the coffee table and heading back to finish frying his bacon.

43

The meeting with the solicitor in Earl’s Court went really well. He was a middle-aged Bangladeshi wearing what seemed to be a Savile Row made-to-measure suit that probably cost ten times as much as Nightingale’s pinstripe, a gold Rolex wristwatch and handmade shoes that put Nightingale’s Hush Puppies to shame. The solicitor did a lot of immigration work and needed a private detective to do the legwork on cases where failed asylum seekers were being threatened with deportation. Most of the work appeared to be computer-based and Nightingale was confident that Jenny would be able to handle it in her sleep, so after an hour he shook the man’s expensively manicured hand and headed back to his MGB. He’d parked in a multi-storey car park not far from the Exhibition Centre.

He lit a cigarette, blew smoke, then put the key in the ignition and turned it. There was a dull clunking sound from under the bonnet, then silence. He cursed and tried again. This time there wasn’t even a clunk. He got out of the car and phoned Jenny.

‘Dial-A-Cab,’ she said when she answered.

‘Is the whole world psychic?’ he asked.

‘You drove your MGB; it’s an hour since your meeting started so I’m guessing you’ve just left the solicitor; I doubt that he’s told you anything that merits an immediate phone call, so I’m guessing your car has died again.’

‘You should be a detective,’ said Nightingale.

‘And you should buy yourself a decent car,’ said Jenny.

‘I know, I know,’ said Nightingale. ‘I hang my head in shame. But I’ve got a problem.’

‘I know. You’ve to get to Gosling Manor.’

‘Can you pick me up?’

‘I can. But Jack, you really can’t keep using me as a taxi service. I’ve got a stack of accounts to deal with here and I was going to go to the bank to pay in those cheques that arrived today.’

‘Pretty please?’

‘You’re the one who’s going to be paying my expenses, so you can do whatever you want. I just think that you could be making better use of my time, that’s all.’

‘So you’ll come and get me?’

‘Yes, master.’

‘I’ll be in the Starbucks close to the Exhibition Centre. Give me a bell when you’re in the area and I’ll bring you a coffee.’

‘Make it a mocha,’ she said. ‘I could do with giving my blood sugar a boost.’

‘And a muffin?’

‘Banana choc-chip.’

‘You’re a sweetheart.’

Nightingale locked up the MGB and finished smoking his cigarette as he walked to Starbucks. Jenny phoned when she was ten minutes away and by the time she drove up in her Audi he was standing outside with a large mocha and a muffin in a paper bag.

‘Did you call the AA?’ she asked as he slotted her drink into a cup holder and put the muffin on the dashboard.

‘What’s my drink problem got to do with anything?’

She laughed as she pulled away from the kerb. ‘Idiot. The AA. For what you laughingly call a car.’

‘I’ll do it tomorrow,’ he said. He nodded at the Starbucks bag. ‘Do you want that now?’

‘I’ll save it for later,’ she said. ‘How did it go with Mr Deepak?’

‘Great. Nice guy, very professional. Says he can put a lot of work our way.’

‘Can I ask you something?’

Nightingale looked across at her, surprised by the question. ‘Sure.’

‘Wainwright’s going to buy the library, right?’

‘Fingers crossed.’

‘Probably for a lot of money?’

‘Fingers and toes crossed, sure.’

‘He paid you a stack for those books you sold him last year. Two million euros.’

‘Which went straight to the bank, if you’re thinking about a pay rise.’

‘What I’m thinking is that if he’s going to buy the entire library from you, he’s going to pay millions.’

‘That’s the plan.’

‘So you’ll be able to pay off the bank and have a small fortune left.’

‘Maybe a big fortune,’ said Nightingale.

‘And then what?’

Nightingale frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

She sighed and shook her head. ‘Sometimes you can be so obtuse.’

‘What?’ said Nightingale, genuinely confused.

‘What happens to Jack Nightingale Investigations?’

‘It’ll take the pressure off,’ he said.

‘Jack, you’ll be a very wealthy man. You’re not going to want to work, are you?’

‘I’m not old enough for a pipe and slippers.’

‘No, but you’ll be rich enough to buy a villa in Spain or a go-go bar in Bangkok, or pretty much anything you want.’

Nightingale grinned. ‘A go-go bar? Where did that come from?’

‘It’s an example of what guys do when they come into money,’ she said. ‘And you’re coming into a lot of money.’

‘And you think I’ll just up sticks and run off to the sun?’

‘I don’t know what to think,’ said Jenny. ‘But if that’s what you’re going to do I’d appreciate some advance notice so that I can make plans.’

‘You don’t want to help me run the go-go bar, then?’

Jenny flashed him an exasperated look. ‘I’m serious. I don’t want to turn up for work one day to find you’ve done a runner.’

‘Is that what you think’s going to happen?’

Jenny shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea what’s going to happen other than the fact that you’re about to come into a large sum of money.’

They stopped at a set of traffic lights and she picked up her mocha and took a sip.

‘I enjoy being a detective,’ said Nightingale. ‘I was a good cop and now I’m a good private eye. I know it sounds corny but I like the work. Even the seedy stuff, following errant husbands and the like. I don’t see me stopping work just because I’ve got a bit of cash.’

‘But it’s not going to be just a bit of cash, is it?’ She put the cup back in the holder. ‘You’ll be rich, Jack.’ The light turned green and she started driving again.

‘I’m not planning to retire, Jenny. Cross my heart.’

‘Okay.’

‘Are you worried about losing your job? Is that it?’

She sighed. ‘Yes, Jack, I’m worried about my wonderful job,’ she said, her voice loaded with sarcasm.

‘I tell you what, if Wainwright comes through, you’re definitely getting a pay rise.’

‘That makes it all worthwhile, really.’

‘You’re being ironic, right?’

‘Not much gets by you, does it?’

Nightingale pointed at the bag on the dashboard. ‘Do you mind if I have a piece of your muffin?’

‘Help yourself,’ she said.

44

Jenny brought the Audi to a stop in front of the gates that guarded the driveway of Gosling Manor. Nightingale looked at his watch. ‘We’re early,’ he said.

‘That’s the thing about German engineering,’ said Jenny. ‘It gets you to where you need to be.’

‘Is that a dig at my MGB?’

‘More a dig at someone who thinks an old banger is a classic,’ she said. ‘Is there any of my muffin left?’

Nightingale handed her the Starbucks bag and she peered inside. ‘You took the top,’ she said.

‘It’s the best bit.’

‘You took the best bit of my muffin,’ she said.

‘I was hungry.’

She shook her head in mock disgust. ‘Why are we waiting here?’

‘Because Wainwright’s people haven’t been here before so they might miss it.’

Jenny nibbled a piece of the muffin and drank her mocha. Nightingale took his cigarettes out and Jenny glared at him. ‘No,’ she said.

‘I’ll smoke outside,’ he said, opening the door.

‘Good idea,’ she said.

Nightingale climbed out and lit a cigarette. It was a cold afternoon and he shivered, then started pacing up and down behind the car as he smoked. From the gates there was no sign of the house, just the driveway winding off to the right between clumps of trees. He hadn’t thought about the difference that Wainwright’s money would make, but Jenny was right. Ainsley Gosling had spent a fortune on the books in the basement and Nightingale doubted that they would have gone down in value over the years. He had met Joshua Wainwright only a few times but he trusted the man and he was sure that he would pay him what they were worth. That could be tens of millions of pounds and maybe Jenny had a point: would he really want to do Mr Deepak’s legwork if he had that sort of money to play with?

The sky overhead was covered in grey and white clouds with not a shred of blue to be seen. Over to his left was a line of half a dozen towering trees stripped of all their leaves, the bare branches revealing two large nests. Sitting next to one of the nests was a magpie that must have been two feet from its beak to the tip of its tail. It was staring at Nightingale. Nightingale looked around for a second magpie, acting from a habit he’d picked up from his mother. She’d taught him the rhyme when he was still a toddler – ‘one for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl and four for a boy’ – and always made him look for a second bird whenever they came across a single magpie. He was still looking when he heard a vehicle coming down the road. He blew smoke and turned towards the sound. It was a silver Mercedes people carrier.

The vehicle came to a halt behind Jenny’s Audi. Nightingale dropped his cigarette butt, crushing it with the sole of his shoe, and went over to the Mercedes. The side door opened and a pretty Chinese girl stepped out. She had long black hair and round-lensed spectacles, and was wearing a blue parka over a green baggy polo-necked sweater and tight blue jeans.