Nightfall

34

Jenny smiled as Nightingale walked into the office. ‘How did it go?’ she asked.

‘Difficult to say.’

‘Was she pleased to see you?’

‘Not really,’ said Nightingale. He went over and made himself a coffee. ‘Want one?’ he asked.

‘I’m okay,’ she said. ‘Come on, Jack, tell me what happened. Is she your mother or not? What did she say?’

‘Not much,’ said Nightingale. ‘She’s been on all sorts of anti-depressants for years. She’s in a hell of a state.’

‘But she’s your mother. There’s no doubt?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Nightingale. ‘She screamed like a banshee when I mentioned Gosling but all in all I couldn’t get much sense out of her.’ He pulled a Ziploc bag from the pocket of his coat. Inside was the hairbrush. ‘But I did get a DNA sample.’

‘You stole her brush?’

‘I borrowed it,’ said Nightingale. ‘She can have it back when I’m done with it. You remember that private forensics laboratory we used on the paternity case? The one out by the airport?’

‘Applied Forensics,’ she said, taking the bag from him.

‘Courier the brush over. I’ll give you a few of my hairs, too. Get them to run a comparison on the DNA to see if we’re related. Ask them to do a rush job.’

‘You have to pay double for their forty-eight hour service,’ said Jenny.

‘Then let’s do it,’ he said. ‘The sooner I know, the better.’

‘Okay, but remember that it’s Friday. Even if I get it to them today, it’ll be Tuesday at the earliest before we have the results.’

‘I need to know quickly,’ said Nightingale. He perched on the corner of her desk. ‘If she really is my mother then I have to go back to her.’

‘Was she pleased to see you?’

‘Horrified, more like.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘Screamed the place down, actually. They threw me out.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, they were quite nice about it, but I had to leave.’ The door opened. Two men in raincoats came in and even before they opened their mouths Nightingale knew they were cops.

‘Jack Nightingale?’ said the older of the two.

‘That’s what it says on the door.’

The one who had spoken produced his warrant card. ‘I’m Inspector Dan Evans. This is DC Neil Derbyshire.’

‘Is this about my aunt and uncle?’ asked Nightingale, putting down his coffee and getting up.

Evans frowned. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’

‘Tommy Nightingale. And Linda. Up in Altrincham.’

‘It’s a Jack Nightingale we’re here to see,’ said Evans.

‘That’s me,’ said Nightingale. ‘What’s it about?’

‘Do you know Inspector Robert Hoyle?’ asked Evans.

‘Robbie? Sure.’

‘In what capacity?’

‘He’s a friend and a former colleague. What’s happened?’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Nightingale. Inspector Hoyle died this morning.’

The news hit Nightingale like a punch to the solar plexus. ‘He what?’

‘RTA, just after eleven o’clock. He was crossing the road, got hit by a taxi.’

Nightingale sat down heavily. ‘My God. Oh, my God.’

‘It was an accident,’ said Derbyshire. ‘He stepped off the pavement and the taxi ploughed into him.’

‘We got your name and number off his mobile,’ said Evans, frowning at the detective constable. ‘Yours was the last number he called.’

‘Had the driver been drinking?’ asked Nightingale.

‘Stone-cold sober. Says he was distracted by something in the cab but that Inspector Hoyle had just stopped in the middle of the road.’

Nightingale fumbled for a cigarette.

‘Can I get you coffee or tea?’ Jenny asked the detectives. She moved across the room to Nightingale and put a hand on his shoulder.

‘We’re fine, thank you,’ said Evans.

‘What’s happening about Anna? Who’s telling her?’ said Nightingale.

‘Superintendent Chalmers is with her now,’ said Evans.

‘Chalmers?’ said Nightingale. ‘She hates him.’

‘You used to work in hostage negotiation, right?’ asked Derbyshire.

‘In another life.’

‘You’re the one who killed the paedophile, right? The banker who was molesting his daughter?’

‘Allegedly,’ said Nightingale.

‘They said you threw him out of a ten-storey window,’ said Derbyshire.

‘They?’ echoed Nightingale.

‘I’d have done the same in your place,’ said Derbyshire.

‘Most of us would,’ agreed Evans. ‘If we had the balls. I’m a dad myself. Two girls. If anyone touched them…’

Nightingale straightened. ‘Is there anything else, guys? Anything you need from me?’

‘We’re just clearing up loose ends,’ said Evans.

‘But there’s nothing untoward, right? It was an accident, pure and simple?’

‘Is there something else we should know about?’ asked Evans.

Nightingale shrugged but didn’t say anything.

‘Was he doing something on the side for you?’ asked Evans.

‘Robbie was a straight arrow,’ said Nightingale.

‘We all do favours for friends, especially those who used to be in the job,’ said Derbyshire.

‘I never asked him for favours like that. I didn’t have to.’

‘No offence,’ said Evans.

‘None taken,’ said Nightingale. ‘Thanks for…’ He left the sentence unfinished. There was no reason to thank them: they were just doing their job.

When the two detectives had left Nightingale went into his office and pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk. He kept a bottle of brandy there for clients who needed a stiff drink after hearing bad news. He took it out now. ‘Do you want one?’ he asked Jenny.

Jenny nodded. ‘I don’t believe this,’ she said.

Nightingale sloshed brandy into two glasses and gave one to her. ‘I’ve got to go and see Anna,’ he said.

‘She must be in pieces. Three children. Oh, those poor kids.’ She gulped some brandy, her hand shaking. ‘This doesn’t feel real.’

It never did, Nightingale knew. As a police officer he’d broken news of fatalities to families more than a dozen times, and rarely was it greeted with anything but disbelief. Mothers, fathers, children, the first reaction was always complete denial. Their loved one couldn’t be dead: they’d only just seen them, talked to them, they were on their way home, they had just left for work. Then, once they had acknowledged the death, came the questions – how, why, when – as if understanding would lead to acceptance. More often than not it didn’t. Acceptance came only with time.

Two young policemen had broken the news to Nightingale that his parents had died. They had turned up at his university hall of residence with one of his lecturers, asked him to sit down and told him they had bad news about his parents. Even when they had explained what had happened, Nightingale had still called home to check because he hadn’t wanted to believe that his mum and dad were dead. Then when he had gone home and stood in the empty house, he had still half thought that they would be back at any moment, that he’d hear their car in the drive and they would rush in, laughing and saying it had all been a terrible mistake and they weren’t the ones who had died in the accident. Even at the funeral it hadn’t seemed real: the coffins were closed and part of him clung to the hope that someone else was inside them and that his parents were still alive.

‘Why, Jack?’ she asked. ‘Why Robbie?’

‘There’s no reason,’ said Nightingale. ‘Wrong place, wrong time. A stupid accident. And accidents happen.’ He smiled thinly. ‘It’s Friday the thirteenth, remember. Shit happens on Friday the thirteenth.’

‘But why to Robbie?’

It wasn’t a question he could answer. Bad things happened to good people. That was the way of the world. He stood up, went to his raincoat and took out his mobile phone, then sat down at his desk and switched it on. ‘I was the last number he called, but my phone was off while I was with my mother,’ he said. He looked at the little screen. He had a voicemail message. He pressed the button to pick it up and put the phone to his ear. ‘Jack, it’s Robbie. I’m just heading into work but I’ve found something in Gosling’s file about your sister.’ Nightingale could hear traffic in the background. ‘I’ll give you a call when my shift’s over…’ There was more traffic noise, then a girl’s voice in the distance. ‘Hey, Robbie!’ And a second or two later, ‘Hey, Robbie, have you got a light?’ Then there was a sickening thud and silence.

Nightingale took the phone away from his ear and stared at it in horror.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Jenny.

‘I just heard Robbie being run over,’ he said.

‘No way,’ said Jenny.

‘He’d rung to say he had information for me. Some girl called his name and then…’

Jenny held out her hand. ‘Can I?’

‘I don’t think you should, kid,’ said Nightingale.

‘Please. I want to.’

Nightingale gave her the phone and she listened to the message. ‘Who’s the girl?’ she asked. ‘Did you recognise her voice?’

Nightingale shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘She knew Robbie, she called him by name.’

‘I guess so.’

‘But if she knew him, why did she ask him for a light? She must have known he didn’t smoke.’

Nightingale took the phone from her. ‘Maybe she was calling someone else and Robbie thought she was talking to him.’ He sipped his brandy. ‘I’ll go and see Anna.’

‘Can I come?’

Nightingale opened his mouth to say that she should stay and mind the office, but she had known Robbie well. She’d been to his home and met Anna and the kids. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Just leave a note on our door saying we’ll be shut for a couple of hours.’ He put the bottle back into his bottom drawer. ‘On second thoughts, let’s just close up for the day. If it’s important they can call me on my mobile.’