Nightmare (30 page)

‘Are you with Joshua?’ asked Nightingale.

The girl grinned. ‘Sure am,’ she said. ‘Are you Jack?’ She had a soft American accent.

Nightingale nodded and shook hands with her. She was tiny, under five feet tall, and she had to jut her chin up to maintain eye contact with him.

‘Amy Lee,’ she said.

She held open the door of the Mercedes and introduced her three colleagues sitting in the back: two middle-aged men in raincoats and a slight elderly woman who reminded Nightingale of Mrs Steadman in the Wicca Woman store in Camden. Nightingale shook hands with them and nodded at the driver, a grey-haired man in a dark suit.

‘Do you want to follow me to the house?’ said Nightingale.

‘Cool,’ said Amy, and she climbed back into the people carrier.

Nightingale opened the gates, and joined Jenny in the Audi. ‘That’s them,’ he said.

‘They don’t look like Satanists,’ she said, putting the car in gear and driving slowly towards the house.

‘What do Satanists look like, pray tell? Cloaks, sharp teeth, bloodshot eyes? They’re book experts, not devil-worshippers.’ He looked over his shoulder. The Mercedes was following them. ‘I guess. Actually, I didn’t ask Joshua. He just said they’d be able to value the books.’

‘And you trust him?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You met him only a few weeks ago, you don’t know him from Adam. Wouldn’t you be better off getting in your own experts?’

Nightingale looked across at her. ‘When did you get so suspicious?’

Jenny shrugged. The house was off to the right, expansive lawns to their left. ‘I’m just saying that there’s a lot of money involved and you might be better off getting a second opinion.’

‘He’s been fair so far.’

‘You don’t know that, Jack. He gave you a stack of money but you don’t know that someone else might not have given you more.’

‘Cash,’ said Nightingale. ‘Let’s not forget it was cash.’

‘Yeah, that says more about you than credit cards ever can,’ she said. She parked next to the massive stone fountain, switched off the engine and turned to look at him. ‘You’re not the best judge of character, that’s all I’m saying. I’ve never met this Wainwright and it’s none of my business but maybe he’s just being a bit too keen.’

‘I hear you, kid. Let’s see what they say. I don’t have to accept his first offer.’ He got out of the Audi and waved at the driver of the people carrier to park on the other side of the fountain.

Jenny got out of the Audi and shook hands with Amy and the rest of the book experts. They were all carrying aluminium briefcases.

‘Nice place,’ said Amy, looking up at the house.

‘The inside isn’t that great,’ said Nightingale. ‘We had a fire a few days ago. Watch your shoes because there’s still a fair bit of mud around. The firemen used a lot of water.’ He unlocked the front door and showed them inside. The driver stayed at the wheel of the Mercedes.

‘You weren’t lying,’ said Amy, peering at the thick mud covering the hall tiles. ‘How did the fire start?’

‘They’re not sure,’ lied Nightingale.

Amy sniffed the air. ‘Ugh,’ she said.

‘I know. Nightmare.’

‘Where are the books? They weren’t damaged, were they?’

‘Luckily no,’ said Nightingale. He went over to the hidden panel while Jenny closed the front door. Amy and the team followed him across the hall, stepping gingerly through the mud. Nightingale pulled open the panel and Amy giggled.

‘Are you serious?’ she asked. ‘A secret panel?’

‘Don’t blame me, it was my father’s house,’ he said.

‘Ainsley Gosling. I can’t believe you’re his son.’

Nightingale turned to look at her. ‘You knew him?’

Amy shook her head. ‘I know of him, of course. Mr Wainwright and Mr Gosling were often after the same books and Mr Gosling had a way of always persuading the vendor to sell to him.’

‘By offering more money, you mean?’

Amy shrugged. ‘Sometimes, but sometimes a book would be withdrawn from sale and later we’d find out that Mr Gosling had acquired it.’

‘Yeah, it’s one hell of a collection all right,’ said Nightingale. He reached for the light switch and flicked it on. ‘As you’ll see.’

He stepped through the panel and headed down the stairs. He got halfway down before he realised that the bookshelves were empty. He stopped and gripped the banister with both hands and stared down the full length of the basement. Every single book had gone. He rushed down the stairs and hurried to the far end of the basement where the CCTV monitors were. Before he reached the monitors he could see that the console had been smashed. Nightingale cursed.

‘Is there a problem?’ asked Amy.

Nightingale turned to look at her. She was standing next to one of the display cabinets and looking around, clearly confused.

‘You could say that,’ said Nightingale. He took his pack of Marlboro out of his pocket and slid a cigarette between his lips.

‘Where are the books, then?’

Nightingale lit his cigarette, inhaled, then blew a tight plume of smoke up at the ceiling. ‘That, Amy, is a very good question.’

45

Nightingale and Jenny stood and watched the people carrier drive back towards the gate. Nightingale waved. ‘Thanks for coming,’ he said. ‘Catch you later.’

‘They think you’re mad, you know,’ said Jenny.

‘They might be right.’

‘What the hell’s happened, Jack?’

‘I’ve been robbed,’ he said.

‘But who knew the books were down there?’

Nightingale flicked ash onto the ground. ‘Just you and me. And Joshua.’

‘You don’t think he stole them, do you?’

Nightingale looked at her. ‘Joshua?’

‘Basic detection, right? Motive, means, opportunity.’

Nightingale grinned. ‘You’ve been watching too much
CSI
.’

‘You think this is funny? You’ve no insurance, remember? And you need the money from those books to pay the bank.’

‘I don’t think it’s funny, no. But it can’t have been Joshua. Why would he have sent his team if he’d already taken the books?’

‘So that you wouldn’t suspect him.’

Nightingale nodded slowly. ‘Nice,’ he said. ‘But he’s out of the country, so how’s he going to arrange a robbery from the States?’

‘He knows people. You said that. With the sort of money he’s got he wouldn’t have any trouble getting professionals to clean you out.’

‘It’s certainly true that they were pros,’ said Nightingale. ‘No signs of entry, they took absolutely everything and they wrecked the surveillance equipment.’

‘Was the CCTV system on?’

‘No,’ said Nightingale. ‘But I guess they figured better safe than sorry.’

‘They knew what they were after, that’s for sure,’ said Jenny. ‘But no one else knew the basement was down there. The firemen, for example. There were lots of them tramping around but all they’d have seen was an empty house. Same with the cops. The only things of value in the house were in the basement and no one knew the basement was there.’

‘Except Joshua, is that what you’re saying? That’s just circumstantial.’

‘You took him down there. He saw what you had. How much were the books worth? We don’t know, but millions, right? Tens of millions? Don’t you think that he might have come to the conclusion that he’d be better off taking them rather than paying you?’

‘He’s not like that, Jenny,’ said Nightingale. He flicked away the remains of his cigarette. ‘He’s okay.’

‘A trustworthy Satanist? Isn’t that a contradiction in terms?’

‘You haven’t met him, kid. He’s a good guy.’

‘A good guy who worships the Devil?’

Nightingale chuckled. ‘It’s not like that. Mrs Steadman explained it to me some time ago. There’s no black magic or white magic, just magic. Like electricity. You can use electricity to save lives in an ICU or kill people in an electric chair. The power’s the same; it’s what you do with it that matters.’

‘That’s nonsense,’ said Jenny. ‘Mrs Steadman is a sweet old lady who uses herbs and crystals, and by your own admission Joshua Wainwright is a devil-worshipper.’

‘Satanist,’ corrected Nightingale.

‘You’re bisecting rabbits,’ said Jenny.

‘What?’

Jenny grinned at him. ‘Splitting hairs. It’s something my dad always says. A Satanist is a devil-worshipper, Jack. The clue is in the name.’

‘I can’t explain it but Joshua’s heart is in the right place. I trust him.’

‘I’m sure you do, but, as I keep telling you, you’re a lousy judge of character.’ She sighed. ‘What are you going to do, Jack?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You’re going to have to call the cops.’

‘Chalmers would laugh in my face.’

Jenny shook her head. ‘I can’t understand why you’re taking this so calmly.’

‘What do you want me to do? Break down and cry? At the moment, here and now, there’s nothing I can do. Whoever took the books has got clear away. The cops won’t help, so I’m just going to have to figure it out for myself. Plus, they’re specialist books. It’s not as if the thief can sell them on eBay. They can only have been stolen by another Satanist and they’re a pretty small group.’ He buttoned up his raincoat. ‘I need a drink.’

‘Drink’s not going to get the books back,’ said Jenny.

‘No, but it’ll make me feel better,’ said Nightingale. He walked over to the Audi. ‘Come on, let’s find the nearest pub. I’m buying.’

‘I’m the designated driver, remember?’

‘You can watch me drown my sorrows, then.’ He grinned. ‘I’m joking. Let’s go back to London.’

46

First thing on Tuesday morning Nightingale phoned the number that Wainwright had given him. The guy was called Adrian Miller and he lived in Milton Keynes. They arranged to meet later that afternoon. Miller asked Nightingale to bring with him any personal possessions that had belonged to the person they were trying to contact. As soon as the call was over, Nightingale phoned Colin Duggan and asked him if he’d had any luck getting Sophie’s doll from the evidence room.

‘Nag, nag, nag,’ said Duggan.

‘I’m sorry, mate, but it’s important.’

‘Yeah, well, softly softly catchee monkey as the Chinese say,’ said Duggan. ‘The guy who’s on nights this week is a real stickler and there’s no way I can get anything by him. I know where the box is but I can’t get near it while he’s around.’

‘That’s annoying. What about the day shift?’

‘I figured night would be easier because they’re quiet,’ said Duggan. ‘I can give it a go during the day but I’m not taking any risks. Any chance of me being caught and I’m out of there.’

‘I understand, mate.’

‘Do you?’ said Duggan. ‘I’m risking my job and my pension to steal a child’s doll and you won’t even tell me what’s going on.’

‘I can’t. I’m sorry. But it’s not stealing because you’ll have it back. I promise.’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said the policeman, and he ended the call.

Nightingale rang Jenny and told her that he wouldn’t be in the office.

‘Car trouble?’ she said.

‘Oh ye of little faith,’ he said. ‘The car’s fine now, I’m heading up to Milton Keynes.’

‘Home of the concrete cows,’ she said.

‘What on earth are you talking about?’

‘That’s what Milton Keynes is famous for, isn’t it? Concrete cows and roundabouts. Is it a job?’

‘I’m going to see the guy that Joshua recommended.’

‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’

‘I want to give it a try,’ said Nightingale.

‘If you want my opinion, I think you’d be better off talking to a therapist rather than talking to these charlatans,’ said Jenny.

‘Charlatans?’

‘You know what I mean,’ she said. ‘Just be careful.’

47

Nightingale didn’t see any concrete cows when he got to Milton Keynes but he did have to go around half a dozen roundabouts before he pulled up in front of Adrian Miller’s house. It was a small semi-detached with a tiny front garden behind a neatly clipped hedge. Two rose bushes were growing under a bay window. It definitely didn’t look like the home of a devil-worshipper and Nightingale checked the text message with the address. He lit a cigarette and smoked it down to the butt before getting out of the car and walking over to the front door. He pressed the doorbell. It was answered by a man with a shaved head and tattoos down his left forearm. He was wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up and black trousers. He grinned and offered his hand.

‘Are you Jack?’ Nightingale nodded and shook his hand, and Miller ushered him inside the house. ‘Come far?’ asked Miller as he closed the front door.

‘London.’

‘I’m just making a coffee – do you want one?’

‘Terrific,’ said Nightingale, and he followed Miller through to a modern galley kitchen with gleaming white units and a fridge festooned with family photographs and school notices.

Miller saw Nightingale looking at the photographs. ‘Wife and kids are staying with her mother for the night,’ he said. ‘No one’s going to walk in on us. Milk and sugar?’

‘Just milk,’ said Nightingale.

Miller picked up a jar of Nescafé Gold Blend and made him a coffee. ‘How long have you known Joshua?’ asked Miller.

‘A while,’ said Nightingale. ‘He’s a good guy.’

‘One of the best,’ said Miller, pouring in a splash of milk.

‘He thinks very highly of you,’ said Nightingale.

Miller blushed and waved away the compliment like a schoolgirl who had just been told she was pretty. ‘And you haven’t done anything like this before?’ He handed the mug to Nightingale.

‘I’m not sure exactly what it is that we’ll be doing,’ said Nightingale.

‘It’s a ceremony,’ said Miller. ‘There’ll be five of us. You, me and three others. The other three will be masked. They’re wary of outsiders.’

‘No problem,’ said Nightingale. ‘You’ve done this before, right?’

‘Loads of times,’ said Miller. ‘There’re a lot of like-minded people here in Milton Keynes. Quite a little gathering.’ He smiled. ‘So tell me who it is you want to contact?’

‘A nine-year-old girl,’ said Nightingale. ‘Her name’s Sophie Underwood. I say nine, but she’d be eleven now.’

‘Time doesn’t pass once you move into the spirit world.’

‘How would you know that?’