Lastnight (26 page)

‘Yes. Tomorrow should be okay.’

‘So tomorrow. Same place I told you about before. Garlic and Shots, in Frith Street, Soho.’

‘Seven o’clock?’

‘Seven o’clock, basement bar,’ she said, and ended the call.

39

N
ightingale had his feet up on his desk and was flicking through one of Ricky Nail’s notebooks when Superintendent Chalmers burst into his office. ‘What aren’t you telling me, Nightingale?’ he snapped.

‘What do you mean?’

Jenny appeared behind the policeman, clearly flustered. ‘Jack, I’m sorry, he just—’

‘It’s okay, Jenny,’ said Nightingale, swinging his feet off his desk. ‘The superintendent isn’t one for the social niceties.’

Jenny went back to her office. Chalmers stood in front of Nightingale’s desk, pointing his finger at Nightingale’s face. ‘You’ve got some cheek, going to Anna’s house the way you did yesterday. I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, but if you’re not careful it’s going to backfire, big time.’

‘You’re going to have to be more specific, Chalmers.’

‘I’d rather you called me Superintendent Chalmers, to be honest.’

‘Yeah? Well, to be honest I’m not in the job any more. So I’ll call you whatever I want. Now what’s your problem? And what do you mean about me going to Anna’s house?’

Chalmers stared at him for several seconds, then held out his hand and clicked his fingers impatiently. ‘I want your phone,’ he said.

Nightingale pushed the telephone on his desk towards the policeman. ‘Be my guest.’

‘Your mobile phone.’ He clicked his fingers again.

‘Why?’

‘Because I want to see it.’

‘It’s a bog-standard BlackBerry, nothing special.’

‘Don’t screw around, Nightingale. Give me your phone.’

‘Not without a reason.’ He took out his cigarettes and lit one.

‘You know it’s an offence to smoke in a place of work?’

‘Yeah, punishable with a fifty-pound fine reduced to thirty pounds if paid immediately.’ Nightingale took out his wallet, pulled out three ten-pound notes, and tossed them at the policeman. ‘Help yourself.’ The notes fluttered across the desk and on to the floor.

‘If you’ve got nothing to hide, you’ve no reason for not letting me see your phone.’

‘And if you’ve got a good reason for looking at my phone, you’ll get a warrant.’ He blew smoke up at the ceiling and grinned at the superintendent. ‘I can play this game all day,’ he said.

‘I can get a warrant, that’s not a problem.’

‘On what basis?’

‘On the basis that I believe your phone has information pertinent to an ongoing investigation.’

‘Bullshit,’ said Nightingale. ‘What’s going on, Chalmers?’

‘You’re refusing to give me your phone?’

‘Damn right I am,’ said Nightingale.

Chalmers took a deep breath as he stared at Nightingale as if he hoped he could persuade him to change his mind by force of will alone. Then he shook his head as if he had realised he was wasting his time. ‘You’re a prick, Nightingale.’

‘I thought we were on the same side,’ said Nightingale. ‘I’ve been helping you with the Goths thing, haven’t I?’

‘Not really, no,’ said Chalmers. ‘It’s not as if you’ve cracked the case, is it?’

‘I think I’m getting somewhere,’ said Nightingale.

‘With help from Robbie Hoyle?’ said Chalmers.

Nightingale froze, his cigarette a few inches from his lips. He realised instantly that Chalmers had seen his reaction. He forced a smile. ‘What makes you say that?’ he said, trying to keep his voice level. Chalmers wasn’t the smartest of coppers but he had more than enough experience to spot when someone was under pressure.

‘Are you denying that Sergeant Hoyle was providing you with information?’

‘And if he was, what would be the problem with that? You gave me the case, remember?’

‘That would depend on the nature of the information he was giving you,’ said Chalmers. He held out his hand again. ‘The easiest way to resolve this is for you just to hand over your phone.’

Nightingale shook his head. ‘That’s not going to happen. Why don’t you tell me what you think you know?’

Chalmers took back his hand and glared sullenly at Nightingale. ‘All right, Nightingale. I’ll put my cards on the table. Two mobile phones were found among Sergeant Hoyle’s personal effects. The phone that he used for work and personal use, and a pay-as-you-go mobile. The latter was missing its SIM card.’

Nightingale said nothing and concentrated on keeping his hand steady as he smoked his cigarette.

‘No comment, Nightingale?’

‘I’m waiting to see where you’re going with this.’

‘Where I’m going with this? I think you know exactly where I’m going. As I said, the SIM card was missing but the phone’s memory was intact and we found that he had sent two text messages to your number.’

‘Is that right?’

Chalmers clenched his jaw and glared at Nightingale.

‘If you know he sent me texts, why do you need my phone?’ He waved at a chair. ‘And sit down, you’re making me nervous looming over me like that.’

Chalmers pulled up a chair, unbuttoned his cashmere overcoat, and sat down. ‘Here’s the problem we have. For whatever reason, Sergeant Hoyle deleted the content of the messages from his phone’s memory. So we know they were sent, we just don’t know what he sent.’

Nightingale shrugged. ‘I’m not sure I remember getting any texts from Robbie, certainly not from a strange phone.’ He looked the policeman in the eyes as he spoke, trying to give as much authority to the lie as he could.

‘Which is why I’d like a look at your phone.’

‘The thing is, I delete pretty much all the messages I get. Security.’

‘Security?’ Chalmers repeated.

‘I wouldn’t want confidential information falling into the wrong hands, would I? And street muggings are on the rise, haven’t you heard?’

‘So you can’t recall receiving texts from Sergeant Hoyle on Monday?’

Nightingale shrugged. ‘Sorry.’

‘Sorry doesn’t cut it, Nightingale. My cards are on the table so I might as well go all in. Sergeant Hoyle might have thrown away his SIM card and deleted the messages, and you might well have done the same, but they’ll still be sitting on the phone company’s servers and once the paperwork’s done I’ll know exactly what it was he sent you. So if there’s anything in those texts that you don’t want me to know about, you’re wasting your time.’

Nightingale held smoke deep in his lungs. He knew Chalmers was right. It would take a day or two at most but then the superintendent would have copies of the texts that Robbie had sent him. He groaned and swung his feet off the desk. He pulled open the top drawer and took out a bottle of malt whisky and two glasses. He put them on the desk, poured himself a decent measure, and showed the bottle to Chalmers. Chalmers scowled and then nodded. ‘Fuck it, go on. It’ll get the taste of smoke out of my mouth.’ Nightingale poured whisky for the superintendent and handed over the glass. ‘Thought you only drank that fancy Mexican beer,’ he said.

‘The whisky’s for special occasions,’ said Nightingale. He raised his glass in salute before drinking. Chalmers did the same. Nightingale’s mind was racing. Once Chalmers had copies of Robbie’s texts, he would know about the two vehicles and the two owners, Billy McDowell and Tony Barnett. Barnett was dead and hopefully buried, so Chalmers wouldn’t get anywhere there. But so far as he knew Billy McDowell was still out and about. Nightingale was going to have to come up with a plausible explanation for Robbie passing him the information and one that wouldn’t lead Chalmers to T-Bone. Nightingale looked down at the bottom drawer. It was still open and he could see the Glock there, sitting on top of its holster. He leant down and pushed the drawer closed.

Robbie had been breaking the rules by giving him information from the PNC, but if Nightingale could persuade Chalmers that it had been in connection with the Goths case then he might let the matter drop.

Chalmers put down his glass. Nightingale topped it up, and refilled his own. ‘Look, yes, Robbie gave me some intel, but I don’t want Anna having problems because of it.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Chalmers.

‘You know what they’re like now about access to the PNC. I wouldn’t want her having problems with Robbie’s pension and stuff. She’s got enough on her plate with the three kids, I can’t have her worrying about money. Robbie was just helping me out.’

‘What case?’

‘The Goths, of course. I needed a couple of vehicles checking and I asked Robbie to run the registration numbers.’

‘Why ask him? Why not come to me?’

Nightingale shrugged. ‘I called your office but you weren’t in.’

‘Did you try my mobile?’

‘I made one call, you weren’t in, then I was talking to Robbie about something else and I gave him the numbers. That’s all you’ll find in those text messages – the PNC details of the two vehicles and their owners.’

Chalmers took a sip of his whisky. ‘And what was special about these vehicles?’

Nightingale fought to keep his hand steady and he put his glass down on the desk. He flicked ash into the crystal ashtray by his computer. ‘Someone I’d spoken to had said they’d seen them outside the home of one of the Goths.’

‘Which one?’

Nightingale frowned. ‘Which one?’ he repeated, not understanding the question.

‘Which Goth?’

Nightingale frowned. ‘I’m not sure. I’d have to check my notes.’

Chalmers waved his hand over the desk. ‘Then check.’

Nightingale made a pretence of looking for his notebook on his desk, then he shrugged. ‘I might not even have made a note.’

‘But you must have made a note of the registration numbers. You don’t have a photographic memory, do you?’

Nightingale frowned. ‘Yeah, you’re right. I must have, mustn’t I? Let me see if I can find my notebook.’ He stood up and then hesitated. It wouldn’t be a smart move to leave Chalmers alone in his office, not when there was a loaded Glock in the bottom drawer of his desk. He sat down again. ‘Hey, Jenny!’ he called.

Jenny appeared at the open door. ‘Coffee?’ she asked.

‘My notebook,’ he said. ‘It should be in my coat by the door.’ He looked at Chalmers and nodded at the whisky. ‘Do you want a coffee to go with that?’

‘No, the whisky’s fine,’ said Chalmers.

‘Just the notebook, kid,’ said Nightingale. He stubbed out the remains of his cigarette in the ashtray and refilled his glass. He went to pour more whisky for Chalmers but the detective shook his head and moved his glass away.

Jenny reappeared with Nightingale’s notepad. She stood between Chalmers and his desk as she gave it to him. ‘Are you okay?’ she mouthed.

Nightingale flashed her a thumbs-up. She turned to look at the policeman. ‘You sure I can’t get you a coffee, Superintendent Chalmers?’

‘I’m fine,’ he said.

Jenny gave Nightingale a final look of concern and then left, though she kept the door ajar. Nightingale flicked through his notebook. He knew the more he lied, the more likely it was that Chalmers would trip him up. He had to keep the untruths to a minimum, but Chalmers was an experienced copper and knew that the best interrogators piled question upon question. It was like building a house on weak foundations – if you continued to pile lie upon lie eventually the whole edifice would collapse under its own weight. Nightingale needed to keep the story simple, but he had to keep T-Bone and Perry Smith out of it.

‘Stella Walsh, the first girl who was killed.’ he said, looking up from the book.

‘Somebody saw the two vehicles at her house?’

Nightingale nodded.

‘At the same time?’

That was a good question, of course. ‘No,’ said Nightingale. ‘On different occasions.’

‘And the same witness told you about the two vehicles?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And wrote down the registration numbers?’

Nightingale felt his stomach tighten as he stared at the notepad. Another good question. T-Bone had a vested interest in the vehicles but why would a neighbour go to the bother of writing down registration numbers? ‘They were in the local neighbourhood watch.’

‘They?’

‘The woman who wrote down the numbers. A pensioner, she spends a lot of time looking out of her window. She’d seen the vehicles parked out in front of the Walsh house on several occasions.’ Nightingale immediately regretted giving out too much information. The less he said the better, because every lie was a fact that could be checked.

‘Did this pensioner see the occupants of the vehicles, or see them interact with Stella Walsh?’

Nightingale shook his head. ‘She just got the numbers.’

‘So nothing suspicious?’

‘Not that she mentioned.’

Chalmers frowned. ‘She must have written down a lot of numbers then? Every time a strange car parked in her road she’d write it down, is that what you’re saying?’

Nightingale swallowed. His mouth had gone bone dry so he took a quick drink of whisky. ‘She only gave me these two numbers. I suppose because the drivers were sitting in the car, watching the house.’

‘Ah, so there was something suspicious? Something that made these vehicles stick out.’

Nightingale could feel himself being painted into a corner, but there was nothing he could do. That was the trouble with lying, once you started you had to keep on adding to the lies – either that or admit that you weren’t telling the truth in the first place. ‘She just said the two vehicles had been outside the house, she didn’t say why she’d written the numbers down.’

‘And what was the name of this witness?’

Nightingale made a show of flicking through his notebook. ‘You know, I don’t think I wrote it down. I wasn’t planning on going back. Like I said, she didn’t see anything, just the vehicles.’

‘And the vehicles were what?’ asked Chalmers.

‘An SUV and a van.’

Chalmers held out his hand. ‘Let me see what Sergeant Hoyle gave you?’

‘I told you, I deleted the texts.’

‘But you wrote the information down, right?’

Nightingale nodded. ‘Sure. Yes.’ He flicked through to a blank page and then copied down the names, addresses and vehicle details that Robbie had given him. He tore out the sheet and gave it to the superintendent.