Nightmare

18

Nightingale walked into the office and found Jenny sitting at her desk looking very unhappy. He hung his raincoat on the rack and held up his hands in surrender. ‘I know, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I had to go and see Mrs Steadman in Camden.’

Jenny shook her head and pointed towards Nightingale’s office and he looked over to see Superintendent Chalmers and Inspector Evans standing by his desk. Chalmers was flicking through a file on Nightingale’s desk. He was wearing a dark blue suit that looked as if it had been made to measure. Evans was wearing a sheepskin jacket over a cheap sports coat and trousers that had gone baggy around the knees.

‘You can’t touch anything without a warrant,’ said Nightingale, walking into the office and picking up the file.

‘It was in plain view,’ said Chalmers.

‘Well, it isn’t now,’ said Nightingale, dropping it into one of the desk drawers. He didn’t want to sit down so he moved to stand behind his chair. He looked over at Evans, wondering why the two detectives were in his office. The inspector avoided eye contact and looked out through the window at the street below. Nightingale’s mind whirled. Had Evans told Chalmers about Nightingale’s involvement in the Bayswater shooting? ‘What’s this about, Chalmers?’

‘We need you to come down to the station.’

‘Are you arresting me?’

‘Not unless we have to,’ said the superintendent. ‘But you’re in big trouble and I’d suggest that you agree to cooperate with us.’

Nightingale looked over at Evans again but he was still avoiding eye contact.

‘You know, I’m getting fed up with you dragging me in for questioning every time you get a case you can’t solve. If you want me to come in of my own accord then you’re going to have to tell me what it’s about.’

Jenny came to stand in the doorway, her arms folded.

‘Where were you yesterday?’ asked Chalmers.

Nightingale felt relief wash over him. He’d seen Evans in the park on Saturday so it couldn’t have anything to do with the Dwayne Robinson shooting. ‘At home.’

‘Just at home?’

Nightingale sighed in frustration. ‘I got a call from Hillingdon Home and I went down to Basingstoke to see the administrator there. Elizabeth Fraser. It’s a nursing home.’

‘I know what it is. And while you were there you spoke to a woman by the name of Fiona McFee.’

‘Are you asking me or telling me?’

‘We have a number of questions regarding Mrs McFee,’ said Chalmers.

‘In what sense?’

‘In the sense that she’s dead,’ said Chalmers.

Evans turned away from the window and put his hands in the pockets of his sheepskin jacket.

‘Chalmers, Fiona McFee was getting on for a hundred years old and she was in a coma when I went to see her.’

‘Eighty-nine years old, to be precise,’ said Chalmers. ‘But it wasn’t old age that killed her.’

‘She was in a coma when I left,’ said Nightingale.

‘That’s as maybe,’ said Chalmers. ‘But not long after you left she managed to get up to the roof and jump to her death.’ He slammed his hand down hard on the desk and Nightingale flinched. ‘Now stop messing me about and get your coat.’