Nightfall

57

Nightingale climbed out of the MGB and looked up at the block of flats. ‘What floor did you say?’ It was a drab council building, the concrete stained by years of pollution and pigeon droppings, the windows grubby and cracked. There were colourful graffiti on most of the walls. A pack of mongrels watched them suspiciously.

Jenny grunted as she pushed herself out of the sports car. ‘There’s no elegant way of getting out of one of these things, is there?’

‘It’s a classic,’ said Nightingale.

‘I’m just glad I decided to wear jeans today.’

‘What floor?’

‘Ninth. Are you going to leave your car on the street here? The wheels’ll be off by the time we get back.’

‘Like I said, it’s a classic. People respect classics.’ He saw disbelief on her face and laughed. ‘I’m serious. When was the last time you saw a classic motor vandalised? It doesn’t happen. They go for the flash cars, the ones owned by people with more money than sense. Plus they can see I don’t have a CD player or anything worth stealing.’ He nodded at the entrance. There was a stainless-steel panel dotted with dozens of buttons, and a CCTV camera covering the door. ‘You should call him, tell him you’re from the mobile-phone company.’

‘Why me?’

‘Because you’re a girl, and a pretty one to boot.’

Jenny grinned. ‘To boot?’

‘You know what I mean. A girl is less of a threat than a guy.’

‘Are you a threat, Jack? Is that what’s happening here?’

‘I just want to talk, that’s all,’ he said. ‘Cross my heart.’