Nightfall

STRANGER AT HIS WORD, BUT REMEMBER THAT FRIENDS CAN ALSO LIE.’

Nightingale wiped his face with his left hand, blinked several times and read it again.

‘Jack, what is it?’

Nightingale turned the slip of paper over. The back was blank.

‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

He tossed the fortune onto the table. ‘I’m just tired,’ he said. ‘My eyes are playing tricks on me.’

‘What did you think it said?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Don’t lie to me, Jack.’

Nightingale massaged the bridge of his nose. ‘I’m just tired, kid.’

‘Don’t “kid” me,’ she said. She picked up the scrap of paper. ‘This is the normal sort of fortune rubbish you find in every cookie, but when you looked at it, it was as if you were reading your death warrant.’

‘It was nothing,’ said Nightingale.

‘I’m serious, Jack. Don’t you dare lie to me.’

‘It’s a long story.’

‘I’m not going anywhere.’

Nightingale sighed. ‘Okay. I thought it said I was going to hell. That’s what it said the first time I read it.’

‘That you were going to hell?’

‘That’s right. That I, Jack Nightingale, was going to hell.’

‘So you misread it. No big deal.’ She frowned. ‘Those words mean something, don’t they?’

‘My uncle wrote them before he died. In blood. In his bathroom.’

Jenny gasped. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that before?’

‘Because… I don’t know, Jenny. I thought maybe I’d imagined it. Like I imagined it just now, when I read the fortune.’

‘Why would your uncle tell you that you were going to hell?’

‘I’ve no idea. But those words keep cropping up.’

‘Since when?’

‘Like I said, it’s a long story.’

‘Jack…’

‘Okay, okay,’ said Nightingale. He sighed and put his head in his hands. He had never told Jenny about Sophie Underwood, or what had happened to her father. It wasn’t something he wanted to talk about, but as he sat in the Chinese restaurant and stared at the tablecloth stained with the food that had slipped from his chopsticks he told her everything that had happened on that chilly November morning. Or, at least, as much as he could remember.

‘Hand on heart, Jenny, I don’t remember what happened to the father. I don’t remember if he jumped or if I pushed him. There’s a gap in my memory, just a few seconds, but no matter how many times I replay it in my mind, I can’t remember what happened. It feels like I pushed him – I know I wanted to and I know he deserved to die the way Sophie died, but I can’t remember doing it. But the one thing I can remember is what he said to me. Or screamed at me, more like.’ He forced a smile. ‘He yelled at me that I was going to hell. Not a curse, not an insult, but like he knew it was a fact.’

‘It’s an expression, Jack.’

Nightingale shook his head. ‘He meant it. And I remember him saying it as clear as if he was standing here right now. But I don’t remember what happened after that. The next thing I do remember I was downstairs, heading towards my car. He said it, and I saw it just then, on the fortune that came out of my cookie.’

‘But it doesn’t say that, Jack.’

‘Not now it doesn’t. But it did when I looked at it. It did, Jenny. I swear.’

‘Maybe your subconscious is playing tricks. You heard about Robbie, it made you think about sudden death, and your subconscious replayed what happened two years ago and muddled things up.’

‘Since when were you a psychiatrist?’

‘It’s common sense. We’ve both been under stress since we found out what happened to Robbie. And stress does funny things to people.’

Nightingale drank the rest of his beer. ‘I still can’t believe Robbie’s dead. You know, I’ve known him almost ten years. We were at Hendon together.’

‘He was a nice guy,’ said Jenny.

‘He was a better cop than me,’ said Nightingale. ‘A better human being, too. A husband, a father. He didn’t deserve to die like that.’

‘Nobody deserves to die,’ said Jenny. ‘It was just a stupid accident.’

‘He was leaving a message for me when he was hit by the cab,’ said Nightingale. ‘Maybe if I’d answered the phone it wouldn’t have happened. Do you want another beer? One for the road?’

Jenny shook her head. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘It was an accident, Jack. You have to stop blaming yourself. And at least it was quick. He didn’t suffer.’

‘That’s bollocks,’ said Nightingale. ‘They always say that. “At least he didn’t suffer. At least it was quick.” One moment they’re there and then they’re gone. Bang. Thank you and good night.’

‘But isn’t that better than lying in a hospital bed wired up to a life-support machine?’

‘There’s too much unfinished business. There’s no time to prepare yourself, or to prepare the people you care for. Sudden death just rips people away. It leaves too many unanswered questions.’ Nightingale opened his wallet and dropped three twenty-pound notes onto the saucer. ‘I need a smoke,’ he said. ‘And don’t worry, I won’t be driving.’

Jenny picked up the money and gave it back to him. ‘My treat, remember?’

‘Thanks.’ He returned the notes to his wallet.

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘Secondary smoke kills,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t want you on my conscience.’

Jenny opened her mouth to argue but Nightingale held up his hand to silence her. ‘I just want to be on my own,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. I need to think.’

‘And you can’t think when I’m around? Jack, you can’t always push people away like this.’

‘I’m not pushing anyone away,’ he said.

‘No, you’re running away, and that’s worse. You can’t solve your problems by running away from them.’

Nightingale headed for the door. ‘Watch me,’ he said.