Lastnight (20 page)

‘And what’s your interest?’

Nightingale grimaced. ‘Seriously, Robbie, the less you know, the better.’

Robbie shook his head. ‘No bloody way,’ he said. ‘You’re asking me to run a PNC check on two vehicles tied in to a mass murder. If anyone else discovers that those vehicles were involved then they could easily spot that I’d been giving them the once over.’

‘Which is why you need to cover your tracks.’

‘And that’s why I need you to stop pissing about and tell me everything.’

Nightingale sipped his coffee while Robbie broke off a piece of muffin. ‘The killers wrote some crap on a bathroom mirror about me being next. Chalmers was on the case so he hauled me in. I said I knew nothing, which is true. But afterwards the witness came forward. He’s an old contact of mine. He was outside and he saw the killers leave. Or at least he saw half a dozen men and a couple of girls. They got into those vehicles and drove off. My contact called the cops and waited for them to get there.’

‘And he won’t go public because he’s a gang-banger?’

‘You know what they’re like, Robbie. A grass is the lowest form of pondlife in their world.’

‘So what’s your interest? You get the names of the owners of the vehicles, and then what?’

Nightingale took another sip of his coffee. That was the big question, of course. And if Nightingale answered it honestly then Robbie would probably throw the piece of paper in his face and storm out. And he’d be right to be angry, too, there was no getting away from that. Nightingale was going to give the names to T-Bone and T-Bone would do what he had to do. And that would probably involve guns and a lot of blood. He put down his mug and flashed Robbie his most sincere smile. ‘One step at a time,’ he said. ‘I want to know who wrote my name on the bathroom mirror.’

‘Why don’t you just give the information to Chalmers? You don’t have to tell him where you got it from.’

Nightingale shook his head. ‘He already thinks I’m up to my eyes in it. If I give him the numbers he’ll be sure I’m involved and then he’ll make my life really difficult. I just need to know who I’m up against.’ He sat back in his chair and felt the Glock press against his spine.

‘Then send it in anonymously.’

‘Robbie, mate, just do me this one favour, will you?’

Robbie laughed but the sound came out like a harsh bark. ‘It’s never one favour though, is it, Jack? It’s non-bloody-stop. And it’s always one way.’ He waved the piece of paper in Nightingale’s face. ‘It’d be nice if every now and again you gave me something that might help my career,’ he said.

‘Most of my stuff is divorce or helping confirm alibis,’ said Nightingale. ‘This is one of a kind—’

Robbie put up his hand to cut Nightingale short. ‘I’m just saying, this is always a one-way thing with you and it would be nice if you’d give me the occasional tip off, that’s all.’

Nightingale put his hand on his chest. ‘I swear, the next murder case I get, I’ll run everything by you. But you wouldn’t want this one, Robbie. It’s messy and no matter how it plays out, Chalmers would know anything you had could only have come from me and that would do you more harm than good.’

‘That’s true enough,’ agreed Robbie. He slotted the last piece of muffin into his mouth and washed it down with coffee. ‘Okay, here’s what I’ll do. I’ve a couple of ongoing investigations that involve a lot of PNC checks. We’ve a CSO on attachment so I’ll slip these into his file. But I’m not handing anything over to you on paper. I’ll take snaps on a pay-as-you-go phone and send them to you.’

‘You devious bugger.’

‘It has to be that way, Jack. They can follow any paper trail and this way it could have come from anyone. But you need to forget that you asked me.’

Nightingale put his hand over his heart. ‘Cross my heart.’

‘And if you get asked who gave you the information …’ He left the sentence unfinished.

‘They’ll have to pull my fingernails out with pliers.’

‘Yeah, but even then, your lips stay sealed.’

Nightingale nodded. ‘Scout’s honour.’

‘You never were a scout.’

‘No, but I take their oath seriously.’ He picked up his coffee mug and raised it in salute. ‘You’re a scholar and a gentleman.’

‘No, I’m a twat for letting you twist me around your little finger. But you owe me, Jack. And I’m going to want paying back. Get me something that’ll raise my profile. I don’t want to be a sergeant forever.’

24

R
obbie left the coffee shop first, off to start his shift at Lavender Hill. Nightingale nursed his coffee. He remembered the sheet of paper that the receptionist at the Ink Pit had given him and he took it out and unfolded it. Ricky Nail’s girlfriend lived less than half a mile from where he was sitting. He took out his mobile phone and called Nail’s number. It was the sixth time he had called and yet again it went straight through to voicemail. He had left a message the first time, and the second, and sent a text, so he cut the connection and then phoned Jenny on her mobile.

‘How did it go yesterday?’ she asked.

‘Brilliant,’ he said. ‘He finished in under two hours, which is good going.’

‘Video?’

‘Loads of it,’ he said. ‘I’m on my way in but I’m going to swing by the home of the girlfriend of that tattooist. Can you hold the fort?’

‘Consider it held,’ said Jenny.

Nightingale ended the call, finished his coffee and headed out of the coffee shop. It took him just ten minutes to walk to Suw’s place. She lived in a stucco-clad terraced house that had been converted into flats. Her flat was in the basement so Nightingale pushed open a gate in the railings and carefully went down the concrete steps. There were a couple of conifers in wooden tubs either side of the front door. He pressed the bell and after a few seconds he heard footsteps and the door was opened by a woman in her late twenties wearing a red top and a short black skirt. She had several piercings in her ears and eyebrows and a tattoo of a rose on her left leg, close to her ankle.

‘Suw?’ he said.

She frowned. ‘Yes?’

‘I don’t suppose Rusty’s here, is he?’

‘Rusty?’

‘Ricky? Ricky Nail?’

‘Why would that bastard be here?’

‘I thought you were his girlfriend.’

‘One of several, as it turns out,’ she said. ‘Does he owe you money?’

‘Actually I’m with the police,’ he said, conscious as always that he was deliberately stretching the truth but that he wasn’t exactly telling a lie.

‘Good, I hope you catch him and throw away the key.’

‘You seem pretty upset,’ said Nightingale.

‘Do I? I wonder why.’ She put a hand up to her head and looked up theatrically. ‘Oh, wait, now I remember. It’s because he was shagging anything that moved behind my back.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Not half as sorry as I am,’ said Suw. ‘He made a right fool out of me, he did. Why are men such bastards?’

‘I think we’re hard-wired that way,’ said Nightingale.

She screwed up her face as if she didn’t understand what he meant, and then she grinned. ‘Yeah, that’d be right. Anyway, if you want to catch up with him you’d best look for Stella or whoever his new bitch is.’

‘Stella? Stella Walsh?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. She frowned at him. ‘Why, you know her?’

‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘How did you meet her?’

She shook her head. ‘I never met the bitch. She was some Goth girl that he’d tattooed. She was just a kid. I found texts from her and some pictures on his phone.’

‘Pictures?’

‘Sexts, they call them, right? Sex texts. Flashing her breasts, she was. And it wasn’t his regular phone. He used an iPhone but this was a Samsung that I found in the pocket of his jeans. I threw him out there and then. Haven’t heard from him since.’

‘When was that?’

‘Three weeks ago, give or take.’

Nightingale reached into his pocket for the print-out of the five Goths but then remembered that he’d given it to the bouncer at the Crypt. ‘Look, Suw, can I show you a picture of Stella Walsh, see if it’s the same Stella that sent the texts to Rusty? It’s important.’

She nodded. ‘Okay.’ She opened the door. ‘You’d better come in.’

She led him down a cramped hallway to a sitting room that was surprisingly light considering that it was underground. The walls were painted white and there was a skylight to the right of a Victorian fireplace that had also been given a coat of white paint. The sofa was white and there were white rugs on the bare floorboards that had been polished and varnished.

‘Do you want a coffee?’ she asked.

He didn’t, but he intuited that making it would make her feel more relaxed. ‘I’d love one,’ he said. She went off to the kitchen and he phoned Jenny. ‘It’s me again.’

‘The fort’s being held,’ she said. ‘You don’t need to worry.’

‘I’m not worried,’ he said. ‘Can you do me a favour and send a photograph of Stella Walsh to my phone?’

‘Your wish is my command, oh master.’ She ended the call and thirty seconds later his phone beeped.

When Suw returned with two mugs of coffee he showed her the photograph and she nodded. ‘That’s her,’ she said. ‘Though in the texts she sent Rusty she had her tits out. I mean look at her. How old is she? Sixteen? He said she was eighteen but she doesn’t look it.’

‘No, she was eighteen. Just turned.’ He put his phone away. She sat down on the sofa and Nightingale dropped down on to a wicker chair with a tasselled cushion.

‘Was?’

Nightingale nodded. ‘Yeah, she was killed a few weeks ago.’

Suw’s hands flew up to her mouth. ‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘Killed? Like murdered, you mean?’

‘You’ve heard about the Goth Killers, right? In the papers and on TV?’

‘Sure.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Oh my God,’ she said again.

‘She was one of the victims. The first, in fact.’

Suw sat back and hugged her knees up to her chest. ‘Oh my God,’ she repeated.

‘Was he actually going out with her?’ asked Nightingale.

‘He said no but he was a compulsive liar. After I’d thrown him out two of my girlfriends told me that he’d hit on them. He was a dog.’

‘Better off without him,’ said Nightingale.

‘Exactly,’ she said.

‘So she was a client.’

‘Just a client, is what he said, but that was before he realised I’d seen the texts. And that I knew he had an extra phone.’ She leaned over and picked up her coffee mug. ‘Look, I’m sorry she’s dead and all but she had no right to go messing with my man.’

‘In her defence, I’m guessing that Rusty didn’t tell her that he already had a girlfriend.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘You haven’t tried to call him or been around to his place?’

‘Why the hell would I? We’re done. Finished. Over.’

‘I’ve been calling his mobile but it goes straight through to voicemail.’

‘He’s not a great one for answering his phone. Or maybe he just doesn’t answer his iPhone but takes calls from his whores on his Samsung.’

‘At the tattoo parlour they said he’d been talking about going to some band thing in the US?’

‘The Warped Tour. Yeah. He’d said we might go but nothing came of it. It’s an indie concert tour, lots of great bands, and this year there’s half a dozen that he likes so we talked about it, yeah.’

‘Could he have gone on his own?’

‘More likely he’s taken one of his whores with him,’ she said.

She stood up. ‘There’s something I need to give you,’ she said. She left the room and returned a few minutes later with a cardboard box. She dropped it on the coffee table with a dull thud. ‘You can take this crap with you,’ she said. ‘And if you find him, tell him I’ve already moved on.’

‘Have you?’

She forced a smile. ‘No, not yet. But don’t bloody well tell him that. Tell him I’ve got a new boyfriend and he can go screw himself.’ Tears welled up in her eyes. ‘Bastard,’ she whispered.

25

J
enny looked up as Nightingale walked into the office carrying the cardboard box. ‘Been shopping?’ she asked brightly.

‘A gift from Rusty Nail’s ex-girlfriend,’ he said, placing the box on her desk. ‘He’s had a bust-up with her and that’s the stuff he left in her flat. And here’s something big – Rusty had a thing with Stella Walsh.’

‘That’s why you wanted me to send the picture?’

Nightingale nodded. ‘You know what a sext is?’

‘Of course. Oh, she was sexting Rusty?’

‘Yes she was. And his girlfriend caught him and threw him out. Three weeks ago.’

‘Not long before Stella was killed.’ She pushed her chair away from her desk. ‘Do you think Rusty killed her?’

Nightingale sat down on the edge of her desk. ‘I didn’t until you said that. Why would he kill one of his customers? And he was a bit Gothy himself.’

‘I’m not sure that Gothy is a word, actually.’

Nightingale wrinkled his nose. ‘It’s a thought, though, isn’t it? If he was the killer it would account for the fact that he’s gone missing, too.’

‘You should tell Chalmers.’

‘I will, I will.’

‘Now, Jack.’

‘I thought I might go around and ring his doorbell.’

‘You’ve phoned, right?’

‘Sure, but his ex says he doesn’t answer the phone much.’

Jenny grinned mischievously. ‘You could send him a sext.’

‘I think it’d probably work better if you did it. He is apparently one for the ladies.’

‘Well, I’ve told you what I think. You need to pass this on to Chalmers and get back to working on our cases. We make our money from divorce and insurance work, not by playing detective for the Met. Speaking of which – where’s the video from yesterday?’

Nightingale reached into the cardboard box and pulled out his video camera. ‘All there, start, refreshments midway and the finish, with some footage of him skipping to his car.’

‘Excellent,’ said Jenny. ‘I’ll get that off to the bus company today. Mr Drummond is in for a nasty surprise. He’s expecting his cheque today but he’ll be getting a visit from the cops instead.’

Nightingale slid off the desk. ‘I’ll be at Rusty Nail’s place if you need me.’ He gestured at the box. ‘Can you go through that and see if there’s anything of interest. There are a few notebooks and thumb-drives. Most of the CDs seem to be music but there might be video that’s of interest.’