Nightmare (34 page)

‘Jack?’

Nightingale froze. He wasn’t sure if he’d actually heard his name being spoken or if he’d imagined it, but it had been a little girl’s voice. The draught was back and he shivered. He stared at the doll, lying on the coffee table. Its hair was moving slowly, curling around its head as if it had a life of its own. ‘Sophie, can you hear me?’

‘Jack?’

There was no doubt the second time. It was Sophie’s voice, but little more than a whisper. ‘Sophie? Can you hear me? Where are you?’ asked Nightingale.

‘I’m here, Jack.’

Nightingale felt something brush against the back of his head and he flinched. He started to turn.

‘No! Don’t turn round,’ said Sophie.

Nightingale forced himself to keep looking forward. The doll’s hair had stopped moving and was spread out like a golden halo around its head.

‘If you see me, I’ll go back,’ she said.

‘Go back where?’ asked Nightingale.

‘I don’t know,’ said Sophie. She sniffed. ‘It’s cold. And dark.’

‘Sophie, honey, what do you want?’

‘I want you to help me.’ She sniffed again. ‘I want to go home.’

‘I don’t think you can go home, honey,’ said Nightingale, clasping his hands together.

Sophie began to cry softly. Nightingale started to turn. ‘No!’ she said urgently. ‘You mustn’t. I told you.’

Nightingale turned back to look at the photograph. She looked so happy in the picture. It had been taken two years before she died, and she was wearing her school uniform and smiling as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Nightingale wondered if her father had already started interfering with her and felt a wave of sadness wash over him. He had been a cop for too long to believe that there was any sort of fairness in life, but what had happened to Sophie was just plain wrong. ‘Sophie, I do want to help you, but you have to tell me what you want.’

‘I told you already. I want to go home.’

‘Honey, do you know what happened to your mother? And your father?’

‘Yes.’

‘Really? You know?’

‘They’re dead,’ whispered Sophie.

Nightingale shivered. ‘Aren’t they with you?’

‘I’m alone, Jack.’ She began to sob quietly.

Tears pricked Nightingale’s eyes. He wanted to help but felt completely powerless. Sophie was dead. Dead and buried. He stared at the doll and then slowly picked it up and stroked the hair softly.

‘Jack?’

‘Yes, honey.’

‘You have to come and get me.’

Nightingale frowned. ‘How do I do that?’

She sniffed once again. A cold wind blew by Nightingale’s left ear, ruffling his hair.

‘You know how,’ she said.

That was when the candles blew out and Sophie screamed as if she was in pain.

51

Nightingale groped for his torch. He found it and switched it on, then he ran the beam quickly around the basement and up the stairs, his heart pounding. The wicks of the candles were smouldering. He frowned as he stared at the candles. There were no draughts in the basement but something had blown them out.

He was heading for the stairs to switch on the lights when his phone burst into life. It was the American.

‘Jack, are you okay?’ asked Wainwright.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Just a feeling. What are you doing?’

‘I’m in the basement of Gosling Manor.’

‘That’s why I’m calling. Amy told me what happened. What’s going on?’

‘I was robbed.’

‘Amy said they took everything.’

‘Just the books. They left the artefacts and stuff, but cleaned me out of every single book. Must have taken them ages. Sorry I wasted your time.’

‘Don’t worry about that. But do you have any idea who might have done it?’

‘Hardly anyone knew that the basement was there,’ said Nightingale. ‘You, me, my assistant. Her friend. That’s about it, so far as I know.’

‘What about Marcus Fairchild?’

‘What? What about him?’

‘Did you ever take him down there, did you show him the books?’

‘No.’

‘You’re certain of that?’

‘Of course. Why? What’s going on?’

‘Word on the grapevine is that Fairchild has come into some books. Some very old, very expensive volumes. And bearing in mind what happened at Gosling Manor, that’s one hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Jack, I wouldn’t be calling you if I wasn’t sure.’

Nightingale said nothing. He ran a hand through his hair. Marcus Fairchild? How had he discovered the hidden library? He knew about the mansion, but how could he have known about the books?

‘Jack, are you there?’

‘Yeah, I’m here, Joshua.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Do? I guess I need to have a talk with him.’

‘Be careful,’ said Wainwright. ‘He’s a dangerous man.’

‘I’ll be okay. I’ve met some real hard bastards in my time.’

‘Not like Marcus Fairchild. He’s off the Richter scale.’

‘Okay.’

‘I’m serious, Jack. Fairchild is pure evil. Don’t even think about taking him on. He’s got the whole Order of Nine Angles with him. You go up against one and you’ll be facing them all.’

52

Jenny’s three-bedroom mews house was just off the King’s Road in Chelsea. There were two cars parked outside the house, Jenny’s Audi and a white VW Golf that Nightingale knew belonged to her friend Barbara. He parked his MGB behind the VW and pressed Jenny’s buzzer. He stood back so that she could see him on the video monitor.

‘Jack?’ Her voice was tinny through the speakerphone.

He held up the bottle of champagne he was carrying. ‘I come bearing gifts,’ he said.

‘Jack, it’s almost eleven o’clock.’

‘The night is young,’ he said.

‘But you’re not,’ she said. ‘Have you been drinking?’

He waggled the bottle. ‘That’s what I’ve brought this for.’

‘Barbara’s here,’ she said.

‘You’ve got three glasses, haven’t you?’

The speakerphone went dead and a few seconds later he heard footsteps clicking across a wooden floor and the door opened. Jenny was wearing baggy tracksuit bottoms and an Adidas top and had her hair tied back with a silver scrunchy. ‘We’ve just got back from the gym,’ she said.

‘At night?’

‘Best time: it’s much quieter, no ogling men.’ She stepped to the side to let him in, then closed the door. ‘We’re in the kitchen,’ she said.

Barbara was sitting at the breakfast bar with a glass of orange juice in front of her. Like Jenny she was wearing tracksuit bottoms and a sports top. He winked at her and held up the bottle of champagne. ‘I can turn that into a buck’s fizz, Barbara,’ he said.

‘Music to my ears,’ said Barbara.

Jenny took a glass from the cupboard and put it on the breakfast bar. She poured in orange juice while Nightingale popped the cork from the champagne bottle.

‘How decadent is this?’ said Barbara as Nightingale poured champagne into the three glasses.

Nightingale sat down on a stool and raised his glass. ‘To exercise,’ he said.

They clinked glasses and drank. ‘Do you work out, Jack?’ asked Barbara.

‘He was being ironic,’ said Jenny.

‘I’m not a big fan of gyms,’ admitted Nightingale. ‘They always remind me of hamsters on wheels.’

‘It’s good for you,’ said Barbara. ‘Good for your heart, your joints, your general well-being.’

‘So to what do we owe the pleasure, Jack?’ asked Jenny. She looked over at Barbara. ‘I’ll bet you a quid he wants something.’

Nightingale raised his eyebrows. ‘What makes you think that I want anything?’ he said. ‘How do you know I didn’t just pop round for a social call?’

‘Because Bayswater is on the other side of town, because champagne isn’t your tipple, and because it’s eleven o’clock at night. What’s wrong?’

Nightingale put down his glass and raised his hands. ‘First, I want you to promise that you won’t bite my head off.’

Jenny’s face tightened. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Do you want me to go?’ asked Barbara.

‘Might be better if you stayed,’ said Nightingale. ‘You can referee.’

‘Jack, what’s going on?’ said Jenny.

‘I spoke to Joshua Wainwright this evening.’ He looked at Barbara. ‘He’s an American who was going to buy the books from Gosling Manor. The ones in the basement.’

‘Which Jenny says were stolen,’ said Barbara.

‘That’s right,’ said Nightingale. ‘Someone got in and took away the lot. Every last book. Here’s the thing, though. Hardly anyone knew that the books were down there.’ He frowned. ‘You didn’t mention it to anyone, did you?’

‘I didn’t realise it was a secret,’ said Barbara. ‘But no, I didn’t.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Jack!’ protested Jenny. ‘She answered your question. There’s no need for the third degree.’

‘I’m sorry, kid,’ said Nightingale. ‘I just meant that sometimes you can say things without realising it. Just in general conversation. And Barbara’s right: it wasn’t a secret. My point is that hardly anyone knew that the books were down there. Even the firemen didn’t know that the basement was there, and neither did the guy who came to quote for the repair work. In fact, the only people who know about the books are the three of us.’

‘Come on now, that’s not true,’ said Jenny. ‘That American has been down there and you’ve been giving Mrs Steadman books.’

‘Mrs Steadman doesn’t know about Gosling Manor. She knew I had the books but she didn’t know where they came from. And I’m sure that Joshua didn’t take them.’

‘Really?’ said Jenny. ‘And just as he’s about to start discussing the price, they get stolen. Doesn’t that strike you as a bit of a coincidence?’

‘If he was going to steal them, why would he send in his valuation team?’ said Nightingale.

‘I told you before, Jack. To throw you off the trail,’ said Jenny. ‘Sometimes you are so naive.’

Nightingale laughed and raised his glass. ‘It’s not often that I get called that,’ he said, and clinked his glass against Jenny’s.

She looked at him suspiciously. ‘Why are you here, Jack? What did Joshua say to you?’

‘I just need you to promise that you won’t fly off the handle.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you won’t like what he said.’ He sipped his drink.

‘Just tell me,’ said Jenny.

Nightingale took a deep breath. ‘He said that Marcus Fairchild has them.’

Jenny’s eyes hardened. ‘You bastard,’ she said quietly.

He put down his glass and held up his hands again. ‘Don’t shoot the messenger,’ he said.

‘Your uncle?’ said Barbara, looking at Jenny.

‘Jack’s got a thing about him. Blames him for all the evil in the world, pretty much.’

‘Joshua said that Marcus has come into a collection of books, and he’s pretty sure they’re the ones from the basement of Gosling Manor.’

‘How would Uncle Marcus know the books were there?’ asked Jenny.

‘You tell me.’

‘What are you suggesting?’

‘When was the last time you spoke to him?’

‘When he got you out of the cop shop. You were there when I saw him, remember? In the wine bar?’

‘And you’ve not spoken to him since?’

‘There you go again. What are you suggesting, Jack? Why don’t you just come out and say it? You think I told him about the books?’

‘Jenny, who else could it have been?’

‘I keep telling you. Your new best friend. That bloody American.’ She sighed in exasperation. ‘I don’t get you, Jack, I really don’t. It’s like you’re determined to prove that Uncle Marcus is behind what happened at Gosling Manor no matter what. Why are you so set against him?’

‘Jenny, you heard what my sister said about Fairchild.’ He looked at Barbara. ‘You remember, you hypnotised her and she remembered him killing a child and framing her.’

‘And we talked about false memories,’ said Jenny. ‘I’ve known Marcus for ever, he’s not a devil-worshipper, he’s not evil, and he’s certainly not a thief.’

‘Barbara?’ said Nightingale, hoping that she would support him.

‘I really don’t want to get dragged into this,’ said Barbara.

‘You’re the one who got my sister to talk about Fairchild and what he did,’ said Nightingale.

‘Your sister was in a mental hospital,’ said Jenny. ‘Let’s not forget that.’

‘Accused of murders that she didn’t commit,’ said Nightingale. ‘Murders that your uncle carried out.’

‘You’ve only got your sister’s word for that and she’s not around to back you up.’ She glared at him. ‘I don’t know why you keep banging away at this. Your sister was deranged, probably still is.’

‘Barbara?’ said Nightingale. ‘You were the one who did the regression thing.’

Barbara shrugged. ‘It wasn’t really hypnotic regression; she was in a deep trance and she talked through what she remembered.’

‘What she thought she remembered,’ said Jenny.

‘So now you’re saying that she was making it up?’

‘I’m saying that your sister has a lot of problems. You too. You both found out that your real father was a Satanist who gave you up for adoption at birth and you’re both having trouble dealing with that. Jack, you’re talking about a man that I’ve known for as long as I can remember.’ She put a hand over her heart. ‘I swear to you, I’d trust Uncle Marcus with my life.’

‘I can see that,’ said Nightingale. ‘And I can see how quick you are to defend him.’

‘You don’t know him. You’ve met him twice, that’s all. I’ve known him for ever.’

Nightingale nodded slowly. ‘Jenny, you’re not going to like what I’m going to say, but I want you to listen to me very carefully. There are two possibilities here. It might be that I’m completely wrong. It might be that Marcus Fairchild is a great guy and that my sister is crazy and that everything she said under hypnosis was just plain wrong. I admit that’s a possibility.’

‘Thank you,’ said Jenny.

‘But there’s the other possibility and I want you to just think about it. What if I’m right? What if he is something else? What if he’s able to conceal his true self ? What if he’s able to control what people think about him? What if he really did manage to convince my sister that she killed those kids?’

‘And what if pigs can fly?’

‘Please, Jenny, just hear me out. Suppose he is evil. Suppose he can affect the way people see him. What if he can use hypnosis or mind control or something?’