Nightmare (13 page)

‘Hardly,’ said Fairchild.

Nightingale leaned forward, both hands around his bottle of lager. ‘Let me ask you something, Marcus. Okay?’

‘Go ahead,’ said the lawyer.

‘Are you a member of the Order of Nine Angles?’

Nightingale resisted the urge to smile when he saw the look of surprise that flashed across the lawyer’s face. Fairchild adjusted his cufflinks as he tried to regain his composure. ‘That’s a strange question to ask,’ he said.

‘And that’s you being evasive,’ said Nightingale.

Fairchild’s face had hardened and there was a coldness in his eyes. Not annoyance, not contempt, but something in between. Nightingale could imagine the lawyer using the baleful stare to good effect on opposing counsel in court, but it made no impression at all on Nightingale. As a cop he’d faced down some of the hardest criminals in London and it had been years since he’d been fazed by a nasty look. He stared back at the lawyer, determined not to be the first to blink.

‘One of the things I picked up during thirty years of cross-examination in court is never to ask a question to which you don’t know the answer,’ said Fairchild.

‘That’s pretty much how it works with cops too,’ said Nightingale.

‘So you know already. Yes, I am a member of the Order. Have been for years. So let me ask you a question in return, Jack. The Order goes to a lot of trouble to maintain a low profile, so who told you about us?’

‘A friend.’

‘An informant, you mean? I assume that your friend is an outsider. In the entire history of the Order no member has ever divulged any details of who we are or what we do.’

‘Child sacrifice, is what I heard,’ said Nightingale quietly.

Fairchild’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped, then he quickly forced a smile to cover his discomfort. ‘Exactly what were you told about the Order of Nine Angles?’ he asked.

Nightingale smiled. ‘There you go, asking a question that you don’t know the answer to,’ he said.

A small vein began to pulse in Fairchild’s left temple and Nightingale saw the lawyer’s legs begin to tremble, signs of the tension the man was feeling.

‘Are you a Freemason?’ asked Fairchild.

‘Never went for funny handshakes and rolling up my trouser leg,’ said Nightingale.

‘A lot of police officers are, though.’

‘No argument there.’

‘Superintendent Chalmers, for instance. I’d be very surprised if he wasn’t the member of a lodge.’

‘I dare say. But what’s that got to do with the Nine Angles?’

‘People who don’t understand the Masons think that they get up to all sorts of shenanigans.’

‘I don’t think anyone has ever accused the Masons of child sacrifice.’

Fairchild shook his head. ‘You really believe that, Jack? You think that in this day and age people actually go around sacrificing children?’

Nightingale slowly sipped his lager. ‘Since I discovered that my father, my genetic father, was a Satanist, I’ve tried to keep an open mind on the whole black-magic thing.’

‘Now it’s black magic, is it? You’re accusing the Order of black magic, devil-worship and killing children?’

‘If I was, what would your answer be?’

‘Jack, you’re being ridiculous. You know that, surely?’

‘I know that whenever you’re faced with a difficult question, you prevaricate.’

Fairchild leaned forward and glared at Nightingale. ‘I can unequivocally say that the Order of Nine Angles has absolutely nothing to do with child sacrifice or devil-worship or any other nonsense of that nature. It’s a charitable organisation that allows like-minded people to network. There are judges in the Order, politicians, members of the royal family, sportsmen. It’s not very different from the Rotary Club. Or the Freemasons, come to that.’ He stared intently at Nightingale for several seconds, then smiled, picked up his glass and swirled his brandy again.

‘And my sister?’ said Nightingale.

‘What about her?’

‘Was Robyn a member of the Order?’

‘Of course not,’ said Fairchild. ‘Why would you even think that?’

‘Because she confessed to murdering five children.’

‘Jack, you’re not listening to me. The Order of Nine Angles does not kill children. But your sister . . .’ He sipped his brandy.

‘My sister what, Marcus? My sister is a child-killer? Is that what you were going to say?’

‘As you just said, she confessed.’

‘But you were on her defence team, weren’t you? You were defending her.’

‘Innocent or guilty, a person is entitled to the best possible representation in court,’ said Fairchild. He sipped his brandy again.

‘I know what you did, Marcus,’ said Nightingale quietly.

Fairchild stiffened. ‘What do you mean? What do you think I did, Jack?’

Nightingale opened his mouth to speak but before he could say anything he saw Jenny McLean walk into the bar. She waved at him and then hurried over to their table. The two men stood up. Jenny headed straight for Fairchild, hugged him and kissed him on both cheeks. ‘Thanks for rescuing him, Uncle Marcus.’

‘Always a pleasure to put the police in their place,’ said Fairchild. ‘What can I get you to drink?’

‘White wine would be lovely, thank you,’ said Jenny. Fairchild went over to the bar as Jenny sat down next to Nightingale.

‘Why did you call him?’ whispered Nightingale.

‘You’re welcome,’ said Jenny. ‘He got you out, didn’t he?’

‘I’m serious, Jenny. He’s dangerous.’

‘Look, Jack, Chalmers clearly has it in for you and if he throws enough mud at you some of it is going to stick.’

‘I can handle Chalmers,’ said Nightingale.

‘No you can’t because you’re a civilian and he’s got the Met behind him. Now that he knows that Uncle Marcus is in your corner he’ll be less likely to give you a hard time.’

‘He’s not your uncle. I don’t know why you call him that.’

‘You’re a fine one to talk. You know that you were adopted at birth but you still call them your parents, don’t you?’

‘That’s different. That’s totally different.’

‘Sometimes you can be an obstinate bastard, Jack,’ said Jenny. She folded her arms and glared at him.

‘Something wrong?’ asked Fairchild as he returned to the table with a glass of wine for Jenny. He put the glass on the table and sat down.

‘I’m starting to think that Jack enjoys sparring with Chalmers,’ said Jenny.

‘What I can’t understand is where all the bad feeling has sprung from,’ said Fairchild, adjusting the creases of his trousers. ‘You’ve obviously done something to get under his skin.’

‘It’s probably jealousy,’ said Jenny.

‘What, of my good looks?’ said Nightingale.

Jenny smiled sarcastically. ‘Yes, I’m sure that’s it.’

‘What, then?’

‘For a start you were a better cop than he ever was,’ said Jenny.

‘Is that so?’ asked Fairchild.

‘That’s what Jack always says.’

‘Chalmers is an idiot,’ said Nightingale. ‘Always has been, always will be. But he knows how to tick the right boxes and how to say the right things at interviews to climb the slippery pole.’

‘Plus, the fact that you have the house must really get up his nose.’

‘House?’ said Fairchild.

‘Jack inherited a huge house in the country,’ said Jenny. She sipped her wine.

‘Did he now?’ said Fairchild.

‘Gosling Manor,’ said Nightingale. ‘From my biological father.’

‘What about Robyn? Did he leave anything to her?’ said Fairchild.

‘He didn’t know where she was. He gave both of us away at birth and although he found me he had no idea what had happened to her. So no, she got nothing.’

‘And this house – are you going to live there?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Nightingale. ‘I’m still considering my options. I’ll decide once the builders are out.’

‘You’re doing the place up?’ asked Fairchild.

‘I wish,’ said Nightingale. ‘I had a visit from an arsonist.’

‘You’re joking,’ said Fairchild.

‘If I am, there’s no punchline,’ said Nightingale. ‘I was in the house at the time.’

‘Did the police catch him?’

‘Sort of,’ said Nightingale. ‘But he set fire to himself before they could put the cuffs on him.’

‘And why did he pick on you?’ asked Fairchild.

‘It was probably his winning personality,’ said Jenny. She raised her glass to Fairchild. ‘Thanks for riding to Jack’s rescue,’ she said. ‘I’m grateful, even if he isn’t.’

21

Nightingale got into Jenny’s Audi with every intention of not mentioning Marcus Fairchild but she knew him well enough to realise that something was wrong. ‘You really are pissed off that I got Uncle Marcus to bail you out, aren’t you?’ she asked.

‘Bail wasn’t an issue. I was helping them with their enquiries.’ He stared out through the windscreen. There were roadworks ahead and the traffic was crawling along.

‘You know what I mean. What’s your problem with him?’ Rain began to spatter on the windscreen and Jenny switched on her wipers.

Nightingale turned to look at her. ‘Are you serious? Have you forgotten what my sister said?’

‘Your sister was under hypnosis. We don’t know if what she said was true. It could have been a false memory.’

‘She said that he killed a child. Have you forgotten that?’

‘Jack, I’ve known him for as long as I can remember. He knew my father at university.’

Nightingale looked through the windscreen again. Proserpine was standing in the middle of the road, her dog at her side, her long black coat blowing in the wind behind her. ‘Jenny, stop!’ he shouted and she slammed on the brakes.

‘What?’ she said.

He looked across at her. ‘You nearly ran her over.’

‘Who?’

Nightingale looked back at the road. Ahead of them was only traffic. There was no sign of Proserpine or her dog. ‘She was there,’ said Nightingale. ‘I saw her.’

‘Who?’

‘Proserpine.’

‘There’s no one there, Jack.’

The car behind them sounded its horn and Jenny waved an apology and moved off.

‘She was there, Jenny.’

‘She couldn’t have been. I was looking straight ahead.’

They drove in silence for several minutes, then Nightingale folded his arms. ‘You heard what my sister said about Fairchild. He killed a kid and framed her. And he admitted that he was in the Order of Nine Angles.’

‘When?’

‘Back in the wine bar near the cop shop. Before you arrived. He tried to tell me that it was some sort of charitable organisation.’

‘Maybe it is.’ A bus pulled up in front of them and Jenny braked.

‘Have you Googled it? The Order of Nine Angles? Trust me, there’s nothing charitable about them. Human sacrifice plays a big part in what they do. They call it culling.’

Jenny sighed. ‘Jack, even if there is such a thing as the Order of Nine Angles, you don’t know for sure that he’s involved with them.’

Nightingale took out his cigarettes. ‘He’s got to you,’ he muttered.

‘Please don’t smoke in my car,’ she said. ‘And what do you mean? How’s he got to me?’ The bus moved off and Jenny edged the Audi forward.

‘You’re not thinking straight and I don’t understand why. It’s like he’s a blind spot so far as you’re concerned.’

‘He’s my uncle.’

‘No he’s not, Jenny. He’s a friend of your father’s, that’s all.’

Jenny flashed him an angry look. ‘What are you getting at, Jack?’

Nightingale slipped his cigarettes back into his pocket. ‘I’m just saying that you don’t seem to think straight when he’s around.’

‘Why did you mention my father?’

‘Because you keep saying that Fairchild is your uncle and he isn’t. He’s just a family friend.’

‘You think that Marcus is a child-killer. Are you now suggesting that my father is as well?’

‘Of course not.’

‘That’s what it sounded like to me,’ she said.

‘Now you’re the one being ridiculous,’ he said.

Jenny stamped on the brake. For a second time the driver of the car behind them pounded on his horn. ‘Get out,’ she said.

‘Oh come on, Jenny.’

‘I’m serious. Get out.’

‘It’s raining.’

The driver behind them sounded his horn again and the car behind him joined in too. Jenny stared ahead through the windscreen, her lips clamped together and her chin raised defiantly.

Nightingale could see that there was no point in arguing with her. He climbed out of the car and slammed the door behind him. As Jenny drove off he took out his cigarettes. He lit one and looked around for a black cab.

22

Nightingale opened the office door half expecting Jenny not to be there, but he smiled when he saw her at her desk. ‘Sorry,’ he said, placing a Starbucks bag and two coffees in front of her. Jenny’s desk was always immaculate, in stark contrast to his own, which was usually hidden under stacks of newspapers, files, dirty coffee mugs and overflowing ashtrays.

‘You should be.’ She turned away from him.

‘I’m an idiot.’

She steadfastly refused to look at him. ‘Yes. You are.’

Nightingale moved one of the coffees closer to her. ‘Latte.’

‘Thanks,’ she said quietly.

Nightingale gestured at the bag.

‘Banana choc-chip muffin. And a croissant. Breakfast of champions.’

‘Thanks,’ she repeated. She looked at her watch. ‘But it’s six o’clock in the evening so it’s a bit late for breakfast.’

‘I figured if I turned up with a pizza it wouldn’t have been as cute,’ he said. ‘Come on, Jenny, at least give me a smile. I know I’m an insensitive prick sometimes.’

‘Sometimes?’

‘Okay, most of the time. I was just wrong-footed when Fairchild turned up out of the blue. I shouldn’t have laid into you. I’m sorry.’ He grinned. ‘Especially when you were giving me a lift. You really are heartless, aren’t you?’

‘You deserved it,’ she said. ‘Anyway, you weren’t far from the Tube.’

‘I did deserve it. And yes, the Tube wasn’t that far, though it was pissing down.’ He put up his hands. ‘But, again, it was my own fault so I’ve only myself to blame. To be honest, I didn’t really expect you to be here.’

‘I had work to do.’

‘Then I saw the light on and thought the least I could do to make amends was to buy you a very late breakfast.’ He pushed the bag towards her.