Nightfall

21

Nightingale got home at just after eight o’clock. He let himself into the house, made himself a cup of coffee and phoned Robbie Hoyle. ‘What’s wrong?’ said Hoyle.

‘Maybe I just wanted a chat.’

‘It’s Saturday morning – early Saturday morning. My day of rest. Yours too. So I’m guessing there’s something wrong.’

‘You should be a detective,’ said Nightingale.

‘Yeah, so should you,’ said Hoyle. ‘Now what’s wrong?’

‘I was pulled in for drink-driving last night.’

‘Oh, shit,’ said Hoyle. ‘Did you hit anyone?’

‘No, nothing like that. I’d had a few beers and they breathalysed me.’

‘You stupid bastard.’

‘I know, I know.’

‘You’ll lose your licence, you know that?’

‘That’s why I’m calling, Robbie.’

‘Come on, Jack, you know there’s nothing I can do if you’re in the system. Not these days.’

‘I wasn’t asking you to pull strings,’ said Nightingale. ‘I need a brief, a good one. Who’s hot on drink-driving right now? There’s got to be something that could sway the court. Former officer of the law, under a lot of stress, father just committed suicide – I’m thinking mitigating circumstances.’

‘I’ll ask around,’ said Hoyle. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine, just kicking myself.’

‘Do you want to come to the house tomorrow? Anna’s doing a roast.’

‘Maybe, mate. Let me see how my hangover shapes up.’

‘If you need anything, let me know,’ said Hoyle.

‘Just get me that lawyer, mate,’ said Nightingale. ‘If I lose my licence I’ll be well screwed.’