Nightmare

42

Nightingale groped for his phone and took the call.

‘Jack?’ It was an American voice. Joshua Wainwright.

‘Joshua, how’s it going?’ It was still dark outside and Nightingale squinted at his wristwatch. It was half past five. He groaned.

‘Sorry, man, did I wake you up?’

‘Nah, I had to get up to answer the phone anyway.’

‘Say what?’

‘English humour,’ said Nightingale, sitting up. ‘Where are you?’

‘New York,’ said the American. ‘Shoot, what time is it there?’

‘Half five in the morning.’

‘Man, I’m sorry. I lost track of the time with all the flying I’ve been doing.’

‘Not a problem, Joshua.’ He yawned and covered his mouth.

‘Are you okay? You sound a bit tense. I can call back.’

Nightingale rubbed his chin. ‘I’m okay. I just had a bad dream, that’s all. What’s up?’

‘Is it that girl? The dream?’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Because it’s been on your mind, and problems have a way of making themselves known in your dreams.’

Nightingale sighed. ‘Yeah, so my assistant keeps telling me.’

‘I might be able to help,’ said Joshua.

‘Is that why you’re phoning? You’re not psychic, are you, Joshua?’

‘You mentioned her when I was round at your house. Doesn’t take much to put two and two together. No, I’m calling about the books. My team can be at your house today, if that’s okay. Late afternoon.’

‘Today?’

‘Yeah, I know it’s short notice but they’re heading back from Rome and they can stop off in the UK for a couple of days to work on the inventory.’

‘Okay, sure,’ said Nightingale. ‘Get them to call me on my mobile when they’re about ninety minutes away and I’ll be there to let them in. I haven’t had time to get any camp beds in, though.’

‘They can find a hotel,’ said Wainwright. ‘Now this Sophie thing.?.?. how determined are you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘How serious are you about contacting this girl?’

‘I’m still trying,’ said Nightingale.

‘That’s what I thought,’ said the American. ‘I hope you’re steering clear of dark mirrors.’

‘I tried a medium but he was a con artist.’

‘There’re a lot of them about, Jack. It can be tough separating the wheat from the chaff. But I can put you in touch with a group who might be able to help.’

‘I’m listening,’ said Nightingale.

‘The thing is, Jack, we’re talking about the dark side. Not as bad as the Order of Nine Angles, but they’re still on the side of the fallen.’

‘Devil-worshippers, you mean?’

‘It’s more complicated than that, but they do have a track record of dealing with the dead. It’s up to you.’

‘What would I have to do?’

Wainwright chuckled. ‘You wouldn’t have to sell your soul, if that’s what you mean. I know one of the guys in a London group and I could put you in touch.’

‘And it’s safe?’

‘It’s a hell of a lot safer than what you were trying to do in the basement,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I’ll talk to them and get back to you with the details if they’re cool about it.’

Wainwright ended the call. Nightingale decided that there was no point in trying to get back to sleep so he shaved and showered and put on his second-best suit, a dark blue pinstripe. He had a meeting with a solicitor in Earl’s Court and wanted to make a good impression. Solicitors were a good source of work and Nightingale was trying to get more legal firms on his books.

He was in the kitchen frying bacon, wearing a blue-and-white-striped apron over his suit, when he heard his phone beeping to let him know that he’d received a text message. It was from Wainwright, with a name, a mobile phone number and a brief message: ‘You can trust him.’

‘I hope that’s true,’ muttered Nightingale, putting the phone on the coffee table and heading back to finish frying his bacon.