Nightmare (26 page)

‘Robbie never liked him, and certainly didn’t respect him as a copper. But ever since the accident he’s been a godsend. The last time he just sat on the sofa and drank tea and listened to me for more than an hour. At one point he was close to tears.’

Nightingale wanted to say something sarcastic but he could see that Anna was serious. He wondered if he’d misjudged the superintendent. Maybe the problem that he had with the man was a total one-off, and to the rest of the world he was sweetness and light.

‘Did he say anything about me?’

Anna shook her head in disbelief. ‘You really do think that the whole bloody world revolves around you, don’t you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Because you don’t like him and because he was here with me, you naturally assume that we’d be talking about you.’

‘Anna, that’s not it, really.’

‘It’s okay, Jack, I’m not upset. It’s just funny. You’ve always been like that; it’s your way. In your mind you’re the centre of the universe and nothing is ever going to convince you otherwise. So the answer to your question is no, your name didn’t come up.’

‘He’s got it in for me, that’s all.’

‘And you thought what? That he came round here with presents for the girls just to spite you?’ She laughed. ‘Your face,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘You look so shocked. Don’t worry, I’m not getting at you.’

‘I’m sorry, really I am. I didn’t mean to sound petty. But he’s trying to put me away for a murder I didn’t commit.’

Anna looked concerned. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Some drug dealer got shot in the head last summer and he’s convinced that I did it. He keeps hauling me in for questioning.’ He held up his hands. ‘But you’re right. It’s nothing to do with you. Sorry. And fair play to Chalmers, for doing the right thing.’

‘Is that what I am, Jack? The right thing?’

‘That came out wrong,’ he said. ‘My foot just keeps going straight into my mouth these days. I’m sorry.’

‘I’m only teasing you,’ said Anna. ‘I’ve known you long enough to realise that your heart is in the right place.’ She nodded at his coffee. ‘Do you want a biscuit with that? I’ve got some Hobnobs in the kitchen.’

‘I’m fine, thanks.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘I went to Robbie’s grave yesterday.’

‘Why did you do that?’

Nightingale smiled. ‘I took him a drink.’

‘You did what?’

‘I took a bottle of wine. Shared it with him.’

‘You don’t know anything about wine.’

‘I took advice. Chianti. It was okay.’

Anna nodded appreciatively. ‘Robbie was always a big fan of Chianti,’ she said. ‘Good choice.’ She forced a smile. ‘Why did you go, Jack?’

‘You’ll think I’m crazy,’ he said.

‘That’s a given,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t just to take him a bottle of wine, was it?’

‘I wanted to talk to him, and that seemed to be the place to go.’

‘Talk to him? You mean literally have a conversation?’

‘Not literally, no,’ said Nightingale. ‘It’s difficult to explain.’

‘Try.’

Nightingale shrugged. ‘I’ve been under a lot of pressure these last few weeks and in the old days, when I needed to talk something through, it was always Robbie I went to, you know. He was my father confessor.’

‘There’s something you want to confess?’

‘Figure of speech,’ said Nightingale. ‘I just wanted to talk.’

‘I can’t bring myself to go,’ said Anna. ‘The thought of him lying there, in the ground . . .’ She shuddered. ‘I’m not sure if I should take the girls either. There I am telling them that Daddy’s in Heaven, then I go to show them a grave and tell them Daddy’s six feet under the ground in a wooden box.’

‘I guess the two aren’t mutually exclusive,’ said Nightingale. ‘The body’s in the grave, the soul is in Heaven.’

Anna sat back on the sofa, a look of surprise on her face. ‘Wow, I’ve never heard you talking about Heaven before. Do you believe that, Jack? Do you believe in Heaven?’

‘I’m starting to,’ he said. ‘Though I guess I’m starting to realise that there might be a Hell and if there’s a Hell then there has to be a Heaven. But I don’t think that angels sit on clouds playing harps all day.’ He drank some coffee. ‘What about you?’

‘Do I believe in Heaven?’ She smiled ruefully and shook her head. ‘Of course not.’ She stopped smiling and looked at him seriously. ‘I wish I did, Jack. Of course I do. I tell the girls that Robbie’s up in Heaven watching us and I can see how that makes them feel better, but in my heart I know it’s not true. It’s simply not possible. Robbie’s dead and that’s the end of it. We have to move on with our lives. That’s easier said than done but that’s the only choice we have. It’s like you said: one day at a time.’

‘Can I ask you something? Something that might sound a bit stupid?’

‘Since when has that stopped you before?’ said Anna. She smiled again. ‘Go on. What?’

Nightingale took a deep breath before replying. ‘Have you ever felt Robbie’s presence? You know, felt that he was here?’

‘All the time,’ she said. ‘But that’s different. That’s just my subconscious trying to make me feel better. I dream about Robbie every night and it’s always as if he is still here. And then for a few seconds when I wake up it’s as if he’s still in bed with me. And I told you about his coat. This is our home so he’s always here, in spirit. That doesn’t mean that I believe in ghosts.’

‘You don’t? You don’t think that your soul lives on after you die?’

‘Jack, what the hell’s happened to you? What’s brought this on?’

Nightingale desperately wanted a cigarette but he knew that Anna didn’t like him smoking in the house. ‘It sounds crazy.’

‘Yes, it does.’ She leaned forward, concern etched into her face. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You don’t sound fine. Is it because you went to Robbie’s grave?’

‘That’s part of it.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Anna. I remember at the funeral how I kept looking around to see where he was.’

She shook her head sadly. ‘I was doing the same,’ she said.

‘Everyone who loved him, everyone who worked with him, they were all there. The only one who wasn’t there was Robbie. Except of course he was. In the coffin. But I kept wondering why he wasn’t standing there with us. That doesn’t make sense, does it?’ He put his head in his hands. ‘I’m sorry, I’m rambling.’

‘No you’re not; you’re trying to sort out your feelings. I understand, Jack. I’m going through the same thing myself. It’s how you deal with loss. I lost my husband; you lost your best friend.’ She sighed.

‘And you’re sure that Robbie’s gone for ever? That dead means dead?’

‘Don’t you?’

Nightingale flopped back in his chair. ‘I just don’t know.’

‘Jack, if Robbie was still out there somewhere, don’t you think I’d know? Don’t you think he’d at least let me and the girls know? You think he’d want us to hurt the way we’re hurting? What about your parents? Did you ever feel that they came back?’

‘No,’ he said, shaking his head.

‘The dead don’t come back because they can’t. That’s what being dead means.’

‘Maybe they’re there but they can’t let us know.’ He picked up his coffee mug. ‘Jenny said something about caterpillars.’

‘Caterpillars?’

‘Yeah, she said that caterpillars turn into butterflies, but you never see the butterflies hanging out with the caterpillars, do you? Caterpillars turn into butterflies and they fly away. Maybe it’s the same with us. We die, we change, and we move on. And we can’t communicate with those we leave behind. Or maybe we just don’t want to. Maybe we don’t want to spoil the fun.’ He drank the rest of his coffee but he couldn’t taste it. When he put down the mug, his hand was trembling.

‘Jack, you’re starting to worry me now,’ said Anna.

Nightingale forced a smile. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Just thinking too much.’

‘No, it’s more than that,’ she said. ‘Have you looked in a mirror recently? You look like you haven’t slept for a month.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Clearly you’re not. What’s going on? What’s worrying you?’

Nightingale looked at her and tried to hide the turmoil he was going through. He couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t explain about Sophie, not without appearing to be totally crazy. Anna was right. Robbie was dead and the dead didn’t come back, and if they did then surely Robbie would be first in line. His death had been sudden and unexpected so he’d never had the chance to say goodbye to the people he loved. ‘It’s nothing,’ he lied. ‘I guess visiting Robbie’s grave shook me up.’

‘Are you sure?’

She held his look and Nightingale felt that she was looking right through him. She’d have made a great interrogator. He tried to smile convincingly. ‘I’m sure.’

She relaxed and Nightingale realised that she believed him. He felt a sudden stab of guilt. He’d lied to her and she’d believed him without hesitation. But he knew that he’d done the right thing. Anna had more than enough to worry about already.

‘You know, living on your own isn’t helping. When are you going to get serious about Jenny?’

‘What?’ said Nightingale. ‘She works for me.’

‘I know that. But she’s the perfect girl for you, not least because she puts up with your nonsense. Ask her out and have done with it.’

Nightingale laughed and shook his head. ‘I don’t think she’d be interested anyway.’

‘You should go for it,’ said Anna. ‘Ask her.’

‘Jenny’s a great assistant; the office would fall apart without her.’

‘You’re assuming that it’ll all go wrong. You might get a pleasant surprise. You’re thirty-three years old and single. It’s time for you to settle down.’

Nightingale grinned. ‘Maybe,’ he said.

‘I’m serious, Jack. You’ve been on your own for too long.’

‘I’m happy enough, Anna, really. And I’m not going to ask Jenny out just because she’s available.’

‘And you’ve never asked yourself why she works for you? Because I’m damn sure it’s not for the money.’

‘I pay okay,’ said Nightingale. ‘And I’m a good boss.’

Anna laughed. ‘I’ve seen the two of you together. She’s got a soft spot for you.’

‘Yeah, a patch of quicksand behind her dad’s mansion,’ he said. He groaned in defeat. ‘Okay, I give up. I’ll think about it.’

‘Well, don’t leave it too long. A girl like Jenny’s going to be snapped up sooner rather than later.’

Nightingale held up his hands. ‘Okay, okay, I hear you.’

They both laughed and Anna wiped a tear from her eye and then her laughs turned into sobs. She put her hands over her face as she cried and her whole body started to shake. Nightingale hurried over to her, put his arms around her and held her tightly.

‘I miss him, Jack,’ she sobbed. ‘I miss him so much.’

‘I know,’ said Nightingale, as she buried her face in his chest. ‘So do I.’

37

Nightingale had left Graham Lord’s card on the table by the phone. As he sat and watched Saturday afternoon racing from Sandown Park on Channel 4 he drank a bottle of Corona and kept looking over at the card. On the way to the kitchen to get a second bottle of beer he picked up the card, looked at it, then put it down. He drank the second bottle of beer lying on the sofa, then he picked up the card again and dialled the number.

‘Mr Nightingale,’ said Lord before Nightingale had spoken. ‘I was waiting for you to call.’

‘How do you know my name?’ said Nightingale. ‘I don’t remember telling you my name.’

‘You didn’t,’ said Lord. ‘You’re calling to arrange an appointment?’

Nightingale didn’t reply. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up and he shivered. He felt as if he was being played, as if a trap was being set for him and he was being invited to step inside.

‘Mr Nightingale? You want an appointment?’

‘I guess so, yes,’ said Nightingale.

‘What about tomorrow evening? Sunday is always a good day.’ He chuckled softly. ‘The Lord’s Day, of course. Shall we say eight o’clock?’

‘Okay,’ said Nightingale.

‘My fee is two hundred pounds,’ said Lord. ‘I’m afraid that’s my standard charge.’

‘What sort of guarantee is there that I’ll talk to Sophie?’ said Nightingale.

‘There are no guarantees; but trust me, you’ll have a much more satisfactory experience than you had at Marylebone.’

‘And how does it work? We just sit down and talk?’

Lord chuckled. ‘It’s a bit more complicated than that,’ he said. ‘But don’t worry, Mr Nightingale. I know what I’m doing. I’ll see you tomorrow at eight. My address is on my card. And if you have anything that belongs to Sophie, please bring it with you.’

38

There were three baristas working behind the counter, all Polish, all female, and all with dyed-blonde hair, as if Starbucks had a factory that turned them out with the same efficiency that they produced their coffees and cookies. Nightingale ordered a cappuccino and carried it over to a table near the door that led to the toilets. He looked at his watch. He was early. The coffee shop was busy with Saturday shoppers boosting their caffeine levels before heading back into the fray. There was a copy of that day’s
Daily Express
on the table next to his and he retrieved it and flicked through it as he waited. He was halfway through his coffee when he saw a black Lexus pull up on the other side of the road. Perry Smith climbed out of the back and stood on the pavement, looking around. He was wearing a black Puffa jacket over a dark blue tracksuit and white Nikes. A big man eased himself out of the car, slammed the door and joined Smith on the pavement. Smith pointed in the direction of the coffee shop and the two men crossed the road. Nightingale felt his heart begin to pound and he took a deep breath to steady himself.

The heavy walked into the coffee shop first, his eyes watchful. Smith followed, then grinned when he saw Nightingale. He swaggered over, his arms swinging loosely at his sides. He sat down opposite Nightingale and unzipped his jacket. ‘You just made it,’ he said, looking at a chunky gold watch on his wrist. ‘Your seventy-two hours are almost up.’ The heavy stood behind Nightingale, his arms crossed.

‘Yeah, it wasn’t easy,’ said Nightingale. He nodded at the heavy. ‘I told you to come alone. Tyson here can wait outside.’