Nightmare

30

Jenny put Nightingale’s coffee down on the desk by his Hush Puppies. He was sitting back in his chair with his feet up on the desk and the keyboard to his computer on his lap. There was a photograph leaning against the monitor and Jenny picked it up. The two men in the photograph were standing in what looked like a nightclub, their arms around each other, grinning at the camera.

‘Good-looking guys,’ said Jenny.

‘Yeah, under other circumstances we’d all go out for dinner, but as it is the one on the left is dead and the one on the right still wants to kill me.’

‘Who are they?’ she asked.

‘Guy on the left is the guy I shot,’ he said. ‘Allegedly. Dwayne Robinson.’

‘The one who talked to you while he was brain dead?’

‘Yeah. And the guy next to him is the guy who tried to shoot me in Queensway. Perry Smith.’

‘You’re calling the police, right?’ She put the picture back against the monitor.

‘I’m Googling and then I’ll put in a call,’ he said.

‘Googling what?’

‘Just seeing what’s out there about Robinson.’ He sighed. ‘Not much, as it happens.’ He sat up and put the keyboard back on the desk.

‘They’ll arrest this Smith guy, will they?’

‘It’s not as simple as that,’ said Nightingale.

‘What’s going on, Jack?’ said Jenny, sitting on the edge of his desk and folding her arms.

‘He’s sort of a client.’

‘Sort of?’

‘Yeah, but it’s an unusual fee structure. Basically, if I can find out who shot Robinson, Smith will leave me alone.’

‘You have to go to the police. You know that.’

Nightingale shook his head. ‘The cops can’t help me. There’s no evidence and even if there was, putting Smith away still leaves his gang. I’ll be a target for the rest of my life.’ He grinned. ‘It’ll be okay. All I have to do is find out who shot Robinson and then I’m free and clear.’

‘Can I help?’

‘We’ll see. I’ve got a few ideas.’

‘If you need a place to stay, you can have my spare room. As long as you want.’

‘Nothing’s going to happen for the next two days. Let’s see how it goes.’ He could see the look of concern on her face and he felt suddenly guilty for worrying her. He reached for his phone.

As Jenny went back to her desk, Nightingale tapped out the number for Andrew Britton, a chief inspector that he’d worked alongside in CO19. They’d both joined on the Met’s graduate entry scheme and two months before Nightingale left the force Britton had been promoted and transferred to the Operation Trident team.

Britton answered with a cautious ‘Yeah?’

‘Andy? Jack. Can you talk?’

‘Bloody hell, a blast from the past. Hang on, give me a minute.’ Nightingale heard muffled voices and then traffic. Britton had obviously taken his phone outside. ‘Where are you?’ asked Britton.

‘The office, why?’

‘Thought you might be banged up and this was your one phone call,’ said Britton. ‘What’s this I hear about you knocking off south London drug dealers? You haven’t gone all vigilante on us now that you’re in the private sector?’

‘That’s not funny,’ said Nightingale. ‘But, yeah, that’s why I’m phoning.’

‘If you’re calling me to confess let me switch on the recorder,’ said Britton.

‘Have you looked at the case?’ asked Nightingale, ignoring Britton’s attempt at humour.

‘It’s not black on black,’ said Britton. ‘And your old mate Chalmers has grabbed the case.’

‘Yeah, tell me something I don’t know. Had you been looking at Robinson’s crew?’

‘Sure, they’re on our radar. They’ve been responsible for a dozen or so shootings across the capital but they’ve not killed anyone yet, not that we know of anyway. Drive-bys mainly, and they favour the MAC-10 so not much in the way of accuracy.’

‘And when you heard that Robinson had been hit did you have any thoughts, before you knew it was a white shooter?’

‘Nothing sprang to mind. There was the usual rough and tumble but nothing that should have led to an execution.’

‘That’s what it was, yeah? No gunfight at the OK Corral?’

‘Guy in a hoodie walked up behind him and put a bullet in the back of his head. Nine mill. They got the casing.’

‘Just the one?’

‘There were civilians on the street. Looks like he didn’t want to hang around.’

‘Understood. But one nine mill, even in the head, is no guarantee of a kill, is it?’

‘You mean that a pro would have shot him twice?’

‘Once in the heart and once in the head. That’s how I’d do it. Anything on the gun?’

‘We got the round and the casing and nothing known on either.’

‘But he took the gun?’

‘We assume so. Either that or he dropped it and someone else took it but that doesn’t seem likely.’

‘Sounds like you’ve had a good look at the evidence.’

Britton chuckled. ‘Once I heard your name was in the frame I had a look-see,’ he said.

‘It’s all nonsense,’ said Nightingale. ‘I was north of the river. Watching the footie with Robbie.’

‘Damn shame about Robbie. I couldn’t get to the funeral; I was over in Jamaica on a case. How’s Anna?’

‘Bearing up,’ said Nightingale.

‘Life sucks sometimes,’ said Britton.

‘Yeah, no argument here,’ said Nightingale. He picked up the photograph and studied it. ‘What about someone in Robinson’s own gang?’

‘Last time I looked there weren’t any white faces in the Robinson posse.’

‘Very funny,’ said Nightingale. ‘I was wondering if Smith or Gayle might have brought in some outside help. Pay a pro to do the dirty.’

‘Yeah, but a pro wouldn’t have left him alive, would he?’

‘So what do you think?’

Britton laughed. ‘I’m a policeman; I’m not paid to think. I’m paid to tick boxes. Besides, your mate Chalmers has the reins. What’s your interest in this?’

‘Are you kidding? If I don’t find out who shot Robinson, no one else will.’

‘The thing is, if it had been another gang they wouldn’t have brought in an outsider. It has to be mano a mano otherwise they lose all street cred. I think you need to find a white guy who wanted Robinson dead, someone who hated him but wasn’t used to shooting people.’

‘A civilian with a grudge?’

‘That would be my bet.’

‘And you’ve no intel on that?’

Britton smiled thinly. ‘We don’t have any informers on their crew, if that’s what you mean. But I’ll keep my ear to the ground for you.’

‘Cheers, Andy.’

‘No sweat. And don’t be a stranger. Do you want to swing by for a pint and a curry tonight?’

‘I can’t. I’m having a drink with an old mate.’

‘Anyone I know?’

‘Yeah, but it’s a private session,’ said Nightingale.