Nightmare (43 page)

‘Robbie and I’ll handle it,’ said Nightingale.

A patrol car with its blue light flashing and siren wailing appeared at the entrance to Chelsea Harbour. It screeched to a halt. The rear door opened and Robbie Hoyle rushed out. He had a North Face fleece over his suit and was holding his mobile phone.

‘Better late than never,’ said Nightingale.

‘What’s the story?’ asked Hoyle.

‘Girl on the thirteenth floor, threatening to jump,’ said Duggan.

‘Her name’s Sophie Underwood, and her father’s been fiddling with her,’ said Nightingale.

‘What?’ said Duggan, stunned.

‘Her father’s been fiddling with her and the mother knows about it.’

‘How the hell do you know that?’ asked Duggan.

‘I just know,’ said Nightingale. He put a hand on Duggan’s shoulder. ‘Listen to me, Colin. Robbie and I are going to handle this but afterwards you need to get Sophie to a hospital and get her examined. There’s a bruise on her leg; the father did it. And there’ll be other signs. You arrest him and put him away. And the wife too. No matter what she says, she knew what that bastard was doing.’ He nodded at the au pair. ‘She’s got his business card. He works for a big bank in Canary Wharf.’

‘Jack, what’s going on?’ asked Duggan.

‘Just do what I say, Colin,’ said Nightingale. ‘As soon as you examine the girl you’ll know that I’m right.’ He turned to Hoyle. ‘Let’s go, Robbie.’

‘I’ve got a PC who can take you up,’ said Duggan.

‘I know where we’re going,’ said Nightingale. ‘Come on, Robbie,’ he said, and they hurried towards the apartment block.

‘Why aren’t you up there, getting her down?’ shouted a bald man holding a metal toolbox. He pointed at Nightingale. ‘You should do something instead of pissing about down here.’

Nightingale walked over to the man and punched him in the face. The cartilage splintered and the man fell on his back, blood pouring down his chin.

‘Jack!’ yelled Hoyle, pulling Nightingale away.

‘He asked for it,’ said Nightingale. ‘He just wants to see her jump.’ He jabbed his finger at the man on the ground. ‘She’s not dying today, you ignorant bastard!’

‘Jack, what the hell’s wrong with you?’ said Hoyle. ‘You’ll be thrown out of the job for that. You can’t go around thumping civilians.’ He tugged at Nightingale’s arm and the two of them began jogging to the entrance of the block.

The reception area was plush with overstuffed sofas and a large coffee table covered with glossy magazines. A doorman in a green uniform was talking to two uniformed officers.

‘Where’re the stairs?’ shouted Hoyle.

The doorman pointed to three lift doors. ‘The lifts are there, sir,’ he said.

‘We need the stairs,’ said Hoyle.

‘It’s okay, Robbie,’ said Nightingale. ‘We can take the lift.’

Hoyle stared at him in amazement. ‘You never use lifts.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘How many years have I known you? You’ve never once stepped inside a lift.’

Nightingale stabbed at the call button. ‘Yeah, well, today’s the day, the first day of the rest of my life.’

The doors to one of the lifts opened and Nightingale strode in. Hoyle followed him. Nightingale pressed the button for the fourteenth floor.

‘It’s the thirteenth,’ said Hoyle.

‘There is no thirteen. It goes from twelve to fourteen.’

‘Why?’

Nightingale scowled. ‘Because the developer thought that thirteen was unlucky. And in this case he was probably right.’

The lift doors closed. ‘Are you okay, Jack?’

‘I need you to listen to me and to do everything that I tell you, do you understand?’

‘I’m not retarded, mate.’

‘Everything,’ insisted Nightingale. ‘No matter how . . . unorthodox it seems.’

‘Unorthodox?’

‘The girl is in Fourteen C. On the balcony. Actually, it’s more like a terrace. Next door, in Fourteen D, are a Mr and Mrs Jackson. Nice couple, in their sixties. They’ll let you out onto their terrace. Make sure that they stay well back, okay?’

‘Okay,’ said Hoyle hesitatingly.

‘Go out and talk to her. Her name’s Sophie. She’s holding a doll. The doll’s name is Jessica Lovely.’

‘What’s going on, Jack?’

‘Just listen to me. Sophie wants to jump, Robbie. She wants to end it. Her father’s been abusing her and her mother isn’t doing a blind thing. There’s a bruise on her leg and God only knows what else. When she jumps she’ll just jump. There’ll be no shouting or screaming, she’ll just go. She’s sitting on the edge with her legs hanging over so all she has to do is slide under the railing and she’s gone.’

‘How do you know all this? Do you know her?’

‘You have to keep her talking, Robbie. Get her attention. Talk about the doll. Talk about the sky. Talk about birds.’

‘Birds?’

‘Whatever it takes to distract her. You can jump over to her but the way she’s sitting that’ll just spook her and she’ll go over the side.’

‘Where will you be?’

‘I’m going up to Fifteen C. I’ll get onto the balcony above her.’ He took out a cigarette and lit it.

‘And then what?’

‘Then I’ll drop down. I’ll drop and I’ll push her away from the railing. And at the same time you jump across and grab her.’

‘Bollocks you will,’ said Hoyle.

‘It’s the only way,’ said Nightingale. ‘She wants to jump and if she thinks you’re trying to stop her, she’ll do it.’

‘Jack, you’re not the bloody SAS. We don’t do jumping off balconies.’

‘Keep your phone switched on, but set to vibrate. I’ll call you when I’m in position. When your phone vibrates you get ready, and as soon as I drop you jump across. I’ll push her back, you catch her.’

‘And then what? What about you?’

‘I’ll be okay. I’m dropping one floor. I’ll grab the railing and pull myself up. You keep hold of Sophie.’

‘Have you cleared this with Chalmers?’

‘This has nothing to do with Chalmers.’

‘What’s got into you?’

The lift arrived at the fourteenth floor and the doors rattled apart. Nightingale pressed the button for the fifteenth floor and then held the doors open for Hoyle. ‘Just go, Robbie. Keep her sweet and wait for my call. I drop, you jump, we save her life. Deviate from that and she’ll be dead. Robbie, I swear to God she’ll jump. Just do exactly what I say and we’ll save her.’

Hoyle opened his mouth to argue but then he sighed. ‘Okay,’ he said.

‘One more thing,’ said Nightingale. ‘Every time you cross the road, you bloody well look both ways, do you hear me?’

‘What?’

‘The Green Cross Code. Just look and keep looking every time you cross the road. Any road.’

‘Okay.’

‘Swear.’

‘What?’

‘Swear,’ said Nightingale. ‘Swear on the life of your kids that you’ll look both ways every time you cross a road.’

‘What’s going on, Jack?’

‘Swear, you bastard,’ hissed Nightingale.

‘Okay, okay, I swear. Cross my heart.’ Hoyle made the sign of the cross on his chest.

‘On the life of your kids.’

Hoyle’s eyes narrowed. ‘This isn’t funny, Jack.’

‘Swear,’ repeated Nightingale. He took a drag on his cigarette.

‘On the life of my kids,’ said Hoyle quietly.

Nightingale smiled. ‘One day you’ll thank me,’ he said.

‘When this is over, you and I need to talk,’ said Hoyle. He stepped out of the lift.

‘Phone on vibrate, remember? And when I drop, you jump across.’

Hoyle nodded.

Nightingale moved away from the doors to allow them to close.

‘And watch out for black cabs!’ shouted Nightingale through the gap.

The lift started up and Nightingale took a final pull on his cigarette and then dropped the butt onto the floor. At the fifteenth floor, the lift doors opened and Nightingale stepped into the corridor. He took a deep breath, then walked over to Fifteen C and rang the bell.

76

Hoyle walked over to the window that overlooked the terrace. He gestured at the door. ‘That’s unlocked?’

Mr Jackson nodded. He was in his early sixties with grey hair that was only a few years from being completely white. He had a stoop and he had to twist awkwardly to look Hoyle in the eye.

‘What’s going to happen?’ asked Mrs Jackson anxiously. She was sitting on a floral-print sofa, her hands in her lap.

‘Mr Jackson, could you sit down with your wife while I go outside? The fewer people that Sophie sees, the better.’

Mr Jackson nodded and went to sit next to his wife. She reached for his hand.

‘Do you know Sophie?’ Hoyle asked them.

They both nodded.

‘And her parents? Are they good people?’

Mr and Mrs Jackson looked at each other. ‘Six years, and I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I’ve seen her with her mother or father,’ said Mr Jackson. ‘It’s always an au pair she’s with, and they seem to change them every six months or so.’ He looked at his wife again and she nodded in agreement. ‘The thing is,’ he continued, ‘one doesn’t like to talk out of school but they didn’t seem to be the most attentive of parents.’

‘Okay,’ said Hoyle. ‘Now please just stay there while I go out and talk to her.’ He walked over to the glass door that led to the terrace. There was a small circular white-metal table and four chairs, and several pots of flowering shrubs. Around the edge was a waist-high wall which was topped by a metal railing.

Hoyle opened the door and stepped out onto the terracotta tiles. He could hear the buzz of traffic in the distance and down below the crackle of police radios.

Sophie was sitting on the wall of the balcony next door, her legs under the metal rail, her arms on top of it. She was wearing a white sweatshirt with a blue cotton skirt and silver trainers with blue stars on them. She didn’t look over at him even though he was sure she must have heard him open the door. She had porcelain-white skin and shoulder-length blonde hair that she’d tucked behind her ears, and she was bent over a Barbie doll.

Hoyle coughed but the girl didn’t react.

‘Hi, Sophie,’ he said.

The girl stiffened but didn’t say anything.

‘My name’s Robbie. Are you okay?’

‘Go away,’ she said, but she didn’t look at him.

Robbie stayed close to the door. He had a clear view to the River Thames and far off to his left was the London Eye. There was a gap of about six feet between his terrace and the one that Sophie was on. It would be easy enough to jump across but Nightingale had been right: she could easily fall before he reached her.

‘How old are you, Sophie?’

She didn’t answer.

‘I’ve got a daughter called Sarah,’ said Hoyle. ‘She’s eight.’

‘I’m nine,’ said Sophie, looking out over the river.

‘Yes, you look a bit older than Sarah,’ said Hoyle.

77

Nightingale pressed the bell for the third time but he already knew that there was no one in. He took a step back and kicked the door hard, just below the lock. It shuddered but didn’t give. Taking another step back he kicked harder this time, putting all his weight behind it, and he heard wood splinter. The third kick left the door hanging on one hinge and it hit the floor with the fourth.

He walked over the door and down the hallway. The flat was the same layout as the one directly below: a kitchen diner and two bedrooms on the left, a bathroom and one bedroom on the right, and a large sitting room with a terrace overlooking the Thames. The sitting-room windows ran from floor to ceiling and to the left was a door that led out to the terrace.

There were abstract canvases on the walls, a huge glass coffee table covered with fashion magazines, and a baby grand piano at the far end that was covered with family photographs.

Nightingale strode over to the door. There was a key in the lock and he turned it and stepped out onto the terrace. There was a wooden bench there and a bird table that had a mesh bag of peanuts hanging from it. He wanted a cigarette but knew that he didn’t have time. He took off his coat and tossed it onto the bench, then leaned over the railing and looked down.

Sophie was sitting with her feet hanging over the edge of the balcony, the doll clutched to her chest. She had turned towards Robbie and was listening to him. Nightingale smiled. Robbie Hoyle could talk the hind legs off a donkey. He retrieved his mobile from his coat and took a deep breath.

78

A helicopter flew along the Thames, heading towards Battersea heliport. ‘Have you ever been in a helicopter, Sophie?’ asked Hoyle.

She shook her head but didn’t say anything.

Hoyle knew that he had to keep the little girl talking. So long as she was talking she couldn’t be thinking about jumping.

‘What about a plane? Have you been in a plane?’

‘We went to Italy last year,’ she said.

‘Yeah? I’ve never been to Italy. Was it fun?’

Sophie didn’t reply. She kissed her doll on the top of the head. ‘Don’t worry, Jessica, everything’s going to be okay.’

‘What do you like to eat, Sophie?’ asked Hoyle, trying to get her attention. He took a step towards her.

She looked over at him as if she’d forgotten that he was there. ‘Excuse me?’

He stopped moving. ‘What’s your favourite food?’

‘Pizza. Inga always lets me order pizza.’

‘Who’s Inga?’

‘My au pair.’ She forced a smile. ‘The au pair at the moment. We change au pairs a lot.’

‘But you like Inga?’

‘She’s okay.’

Hoyle felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He wanted to take the call, to tell Nightingale that everything was all right and that he was getting through to the girl, but he knew that it was important to stay focused. Nightingale had been right. The girl wasn’t scared, she wasn’t seeking attention; it was as if she had made up her mind what she was going to do and was just waiting for the right moment.

‘Why don’t we go inside and I’ll order us a pizza?’ said Hoyle. He moved closer to the side of the terrace. There were several potted plants and if he judged it right he’d be able to spring off one and jump over to the terrace where she was. Six feet. Seven at most. Then another four feet to get to her.

‘I’m not hungry,’ she said.

‘What about a drink? Do you like Coke? Or Pepsi?’