Nightfall

28

Jenny looked up from her computer when Nightingale walked in, swinging his attache case. ‘How did it go?’ she asked.

‘Perfect,’ said Nightingale. He put the case on her desk, clicked the double locks and opened it. He removed the memory card from the side of the camera and gave it to Jenny. ‘Run off a couple of DVDs, might need a bit of editing.’

‘No problem,’ said Jenny. ‘How’s my car, by the way?’

‘I had a bit of a run-in with a delivery van, scraped the side.’

‘You did not!’

Nightingale grinned. ‘Joke,’ he said. ‘Would I take any risks with your pride and joy? Now, did you get the credit-card records? They were obviously regulars at the Hilton. Be handy to show how often they go there.’

‘Yes, but my contact’s asking for more money.’

‘Because?’

‘Because he says they’re clamping down – Data Protection Act and all that. Now he wants three hundred a go.’

‘There’s enough in petty cash, right?’ said Nightingale, lighting a cigarette.

Jenny flashed him a sarcastic smile. ‘We haven’t had any petty cash for the last three months. I paid him myself.’

‘Put it on Mr McBride’s bill,’ he said.

‘My DWP pal wants more too.’

‘What is it with these people?’ Nightingale sighed. ‘They shouldn’t even be selling us information in the first place.’

‘I think that’s why the price keeps going up,’ said Jenny.

‘But she came through, did she?’

‘She managed to track down Rebecca Keeley. She’s in a nursing home, apparently. But nothing on Mitchell. He isn’t on any of the databases. Never paid tax, never been on the electoral roll, never seen a doctor. The original invisible man.’

‘Well, I hope we’re not paying for that,’ said Nightingale.

‘We’re paying for the checks, Jack, not the results.’

‘So what’s the story on Keeley? It’s an old folks’ home, is it?’

‘Hardly,’ said Jenny. ‘She’s only fifty.’

Nightingale’s brow furrowed. ‘Fifty? That means she was seventeen when she gave birth.’

‘You’re assuming she’s your mother, Jack. And that’s a very big assumption. All you have is that Gosling gave her some money at about the time you were born.’

‘Twenty thousand pounds was a lot of money back then,’ said Nightingale. ‘He must have been paying her for something important.’

‘She could have sold him a painting. Or a piece of furniture.’

‘He was meticulous with his records. Every cheque stub was filled in with either a reference number or a description of what he’d paid for. But the one for Keeley just had the amount with no explanation.’

‘I’m just saying, don’t get too excited. It might turn out to be nothing.’

‘Message received and understood,’ said Nightingale. ‘So why’s she in a home if she’s only fifty?’

‘I don’t know, but I’ve got an address,’ she said, handing him a sheet of paper. ‘Shall I get Mr McBride in so that you can give him the bad news – and his bill?’

‘Might as well,’ said Nightingale, studying the piece of paper she’d given him. The Hillingdon Home was in Hampshire, and there was no indication of what sort of outfit it was. Underneath the address there was a phone number, and the name of the administrator, a Mrs Elizabeth Fraser.

‘His wife paid for the hotel room, did you realise that?’ asked Jenny.

‘Yeah, I saw her handing over her card. Unbelievable, isn’t it? She sleeps with the boss and pays for it. What’s he got that I haven’t?’

‘Charm for a start,’ said Jenny.