Nightmare (39 page)

‘How much?’ asked Nightingale.

‘It goes for about five hundred bucks in the States so you can have it for seven hundred and fifty.’

‘Dollars?’

‘You should do stand-up, Birdman,’ said T-Bone. ‘Quid. But I’ll throw in a box of rounds.’

Nightingale took out the envelope of cash, then turned his back on T-Bone while he counted out the notes. He heard T-Bone chuckling behind him but he ignored him. He turned round again and gave him the money.

T-Bone shoved it into his coat pocket without counting it, handed Nightingale the gun and then pulled a box of cartridges from the boot. He gave them to Nightingale. ‘Pleasure doing business with you,’ he said. He raised the door and daylight flooded in. ‘Like I said, return it unfired and I’ll give you half the cash back.’

‘That’s not going to happen,’ said Nightingale. ‘Whatever happens, I’ll dispose of it.’

‘Pity,’ said T-Bone. ‘It’s a nice bit of kit.’ He pulled the door down and locked it. As he straightened up he stopped smiling and looked at Nightingale with dead eyes. ‘If anything happens to this stash any time soon, your life won’t be worth living. You know that, right?’

‘I hear you,’ said Nightingale.

T-Bone took a step closer and glowered down at him. ‘Don’t let my pleasant disposition lull you into a false sense of security,’ he said. ‘Just because you were a cop doesn’t mean you can’t be hurt. And hurt bad. And if you fuck with us, I’ll be the one doing the hurting. Clear?’

‘Crystal,’ said Nightingale. He winked. ‘Be lucky, T-Bone.’

‘Yeah. You too, Birdman.’

Nightingale shoved the gun into his pocket as he walked back to the MGB.

62

Nightingale called Morris on his mobile when he was a few miles away from Fairchild’s house. ‘Are you ready, Eddie?’

‘I’m in the pub, about half a mile past the house,’ said Morris.

‘You’re not drinking, are you?’

‘You’re not my mother, Nightingale. And I’m the one doing the favour here.’

‘For a monkey. Let’s not forget the five hundred quid in my pocket. See you in a bit.’

Nightingale ended the call. He slowed the car once he got near the house, getting a good look at it as he drove past. It was a stone barn conversion with a steep roof that looked brand new and a dovecote at one end. There was a sweeping driveway leading from the main road and a two-car garage running at a right angle to the main house. Nightingale had phoned Fairchild’s Mayfair office and confirmed that the lawyer was in London, and a check of the electoral roll had shown that he lived alone in the house.

Nightingale parked at the side of the pub and found Morris at the bar drinking a bitter lemon. Nightingale ordered a coffee from the landlord. ‘I’m pretty sure the house is empty,’ he said. ‘There’s an alarm box on the side wall. That means there’s probably not a link to the cops, right?’

‘Sometimes they have both,’ said Morris. ‘But the nearest cop shop with twenty-four hour cover is thirty miles away so there’s not much point in a phone link. But I’ll be able to deal with it no matter what the system.’

‘It’s that easy, is it?’

Morris tapped the side of his nose. ‘It is if you know what you’re doing. I used to install them, and nine times out of ten the factory setting is still there. Even if it’s not . . .’ He shrugged.

Nightingale’s coffee arrived.

‘By the way, have you got my cash?’ asked Morris.

Nightingale sighed, took out his envelope of cash and counted out ten fifty-pound notes.

‘Petrol?’ said Morris.

Shaking his head, Nightingale sighed again and then handed over another fifty-pound note.

Morris grinned and pocketed the money. ‘You’re a prince among men,’ he said. ‘Right, how are we going to do this?’

‘I’ll leave my car here,’ said Nightingale. ‘We take your car to the house, you get me in, then you shove off back to London.’

‘You’re staying?’

‘That’s the plan. And when I’m done I’ll come back here and pick up my car.’

‘What are you up to, Jack?’

‘It’s complicated,’ said Nightingale.

‘You’re not robbing the place, I hope.’

‘If anything it’s the opposite. He’s stolen from me.’

‘So we’re on the side of law and order?’

‘Not exactly,’ said Nightingale. He finished his coffee and patted Morris on the back. ‘Let’s go.’

Morris had parked his Saab behind the pub. ‘I need to get something from my car,’ said Nightingale. He went around to the MGB and retrieved the Taurus and the box of ammunition from the glove compartment. He put the gun in his right coat pocket and the cartridges in the left. They were so heavy that they pulled the coat down, so he took it off, rolled it up and carried it. He figured that Morris wouldn’t be as amenable if he knew that Nightingale was carrying a gun.

The Saab pulled up next to the MGB and Nightingale climbed into the passenger seat then sat with the coat on his lap. ‘Not cold?’ asked Morris.

‘Adrenaline,’ said Nightingale. He felt the gun shift and held the coat tighter.

‘Do you want me to park on the road or what?’

‘Let’s just drive straight up to the house,’ said Nightingale. ‘I know the guy so just in case there’s somebody inside I’ll ring the bell. If there is someone there I’ll spin them a line and we’ll get the hell out of Dodge.’

‘You said the place was empty.’

‘I said the guy isn’t there. He’s in London. And as far as I know he lives alone. But there’s a chance he has a housekeeper or something.’

‘And if he has, then what?’

‘Then we have a rethink. But there’s no point in counting chickens.’

Morris turned off the road and pulled up in front of the house. He stayed in the car while Nightingale got out. Nightingale kept a tight hold on his coat as he walked up to the front door. He pressed the doorbell twice but no one answered. He turned and gave Morris a thumbs up.

Morris joined him at the front door, carrying a black gym bag with a Nike swoosh across the side.

‘How do you want to play this?’ asked Nightingale.

‘I’ll go in through the back,’ said Morris. He lifted the bag. ‘I’ve got the gear to get through most locks here but if all else fails I’ll go through a window. You’ll hear the alarm start to beep inside once the sensors kick off but I’ll get straight to the console and get it sorted.’

‘Go for it,’ said Nightingale. ‘If there’s a problem I’ll call you.’

Morris nodded and walked around the side of the house. Nightingale unrolled his coat, put it on, then lit a cigarette. He was halfway through it when he heard a beeping sound from the hallway. Then he heard footsteps hurrying across a wooden floor. The beeping continued and Nightingale pulled a face as he anticipated the burglar alarm bursting into life. There was a muffled curse from the other side of the door and then the sound of something metallic hitting the floor, another curse followed and then the beeping stopped. Nightingale flicked what was left of his cigarette across the lawn. The front door opened and Morris stood aside to let Nightingale in.

‘Any problems?’ he asked.

Morris gestured at a control panel on the wall by the stairs. The panel had been opened to expose the circuitry. ‘They’d removed the factory settings so it took me a bit longer than usual, but all good. In fact I’ve added another code so you can come back whenever you want. Just key in four nines and Robert’s your father’s brother.’ He went over to the console and began to reattach the cover.

‘I doubt that I’ll be back,’ said Nightingale. ‘But thanks.’ To the right was a huge open-plan room with exposed beams high overhead and a brick fireplace. ‘How did you get in?’

‘Kitchen door. It wasn’t bolted and I didn’t damage the lock. You can lock it from the inside and leave by the front door and no one will be the wiser. Or are you planning on staying until he gets here?’

‘Why do you say that?’

Morris finished fixing the burglar alarm console and picked up his holdall. ‘Let’s just say that either you’re very pleased to see me or that’s a gun in your pocket.’

Nightingale’s hand went instinctively to his pocket. The gun was weighing down his coat on that side. ‘Thanks for getting me in, Eddie. You can head off now.’

‘What’s going on, Jack?’

‘Just go, Eddie.’

‘I’ve known you a long time. Since you were a copper, remember? I know that you’re not a cop any more but you’ve always played by the rules. That’s why I put business your way. People trust you because they know you’re a straight shooter.’ He grinned. ‘Now isn’t that an unfortunate choice of words?’

‘This is personal, Eddie, and you don’t know the background.’

‘I know that guns don’t solve anything.’

‘I think the army might beg to differ.’

‘Yeah, but you’re not in the army. And you’re not a cop. You’re Joe Soap, just like the rest of us. And just carrying a firearm will get you ten years. And you pull the trigger in anger and they’ll throw away the key.’

‘I can’t believe you’re lecturing me on the law,’ said Nightingale. ‘It seems to be my day for receiving advice.’ He nodded at the door. ‘I know what I’m doing, Eddie. I’ll be fine.’

Morris shrugged, clearly not convinced. He forced a smile and headed out of the door. Nightingale closed it and waited until he heard the Saab drive away before taking out the gun and clicking the safety off.

63

Nightingale walked up the stairs, the gun in his hand. At the top of the stairs was a hallway off which there were four doors. One was to a wet room, all grey marble, stainless steel and glass. Next to it was a bedroom with a Japanese theme; it contained a futon bed, black lacquered chests with brightly coloured birds on the sides, and a framed kimono on one wall. The door next to the Japanese bedroom was locked. Nightingale bent down and squinted through the keyhole but the room beyond was in darkness. He straightened up then stiffened as he heard a car horn. He hurried back into the Japanese room and carefully peered through the slatted wooden blinds, but the driveway was empty. The horn sounded again and he saw a white van in the road trying to overtake a Volvo towing a caravan.

Nightingale reached for his cigarettes but then realised that smoking in the house wouldn’t be a good idea. Fairchild was a cigar smoker but even so he’d probably smell the cigarette smoke as soon as he opened the front door. He went back to the landing. The final door led through to the master bedroom. This room had thick beams running overhead, a large picture window looking over the garden and a small orchard, a big-screen plasma television on one wall and a king-size bed with leopard-print duvet and pillows. To the right was a door leading to another bathroom; this one had a large roll-top bath with clawed feet. One wall was mirrored and Nightingale stared at his reflection. His hair was unkempt and his face looked strained. He tried smiling but it felt more like a snarl. ‘Are you looking at me?’ he said to his reflection in a passable attempt at a Robert de Niro impersonation, and took aim with the gun. ‘Because I don’t see anyone else standing here.’ He grinned and winced as he realised that he appeared even more manic.

He went back into the main bedroom. There were black wooden cabinets on either side of the bed, and standing on the top of each one was a modern chrome lamp. He went over to the cabinet on the right side and pulled open a drawer. Inside were several packs of Viagra and a bottle of massage oil. Nightingale chuckled and closed the drawer.

He went back downstairs feeling less apprehensive now that he was more familiar with the layout of the house. He walked through the sitting room, which was an interesting mix of old and modern. The furniture was Italian – low, white leather sofas and black leather and chrome chairs – and there was a huge plasma screen on one wall with a state-of-the-art sound system. The bare floorboards had been polished like glass, but overhead were old blackened beams dotted with woodworm holes, and there were various rusting agricultural implements on the walls, including a ploughshare and an enormous scythe. The walls were criss-crossed with more original beams, blackened with age. In one wall was a huge brick fireplace that was big enough to walk into and there was a metal grate piled high with logs.

As he stood in the middle of the room he realised that there was nothing of a personal nature to be seen. No photographs, no souvenirs, no books or magazines. It was as if he was standing in a show house that had yet to be occupied. The sensation was so strong that he went back upstairs and slid open the wardrobe door. There were suits and shirts lined up on hangers and a rack of ties; in the drawers there were socks and underwear. He closed the door, satisfied that Fairchild did actually live there.

Downstairs again he found that opposite the sitting room was a door that opened into a study. It had a low ceiling, with half a dozen parallel beams, and a small fireplace with ashes in the grate that suggested it had been used recently. Dark wooden bookshelves lined the walls, and in front of the old desk was a captain’s chair. For the first time since he’d set foot in the house Nightingale saw personal items: framed certificates for educational and professional qualifications on the wall behind the desk, a humidor on a table. He opened the humidor and inhaled the heady aroma of top-quality cigars. There was a green-leather winged armchair next to the fireplace and on the mahogany table by the side of it was a crystal ashtray containing a couple of cigar butts.

Nightingale ran his finger along a line of books. They were mainly concerned with criminal law, psychology and politics. He checked all the shelves but couldn’t find any volumes about witchcraft or devil-worship.

He went back to the hallway and along to the kitchen. There were more beams across the ceiling but the appliances and units were all of stainless steel and the worktops of black marble. There was a door leading to the rear garden, and another one next to the large double-fronted fridge. Nightingale frowned as he wondered where the second door led, then realised that it could only open into the double garage. He tried to open it but it was locked. Glancing around the kitchen he saw a row of keys on a rack close to the back door. There were several that looked as if they might fit the lock to the garage door so he took them and tried them one by one. The third one that he tried worked. He put the keys down on a worktop and pushed the door open.