Nightmare

44

Jenny brought the Audi to a stop in front of the gates that guarded the driveway of Gosling Manor. Nightingale looked at his watch. ‘We’re early,’ he said.

‘That’s the thing about German engineering,’ said Jenny. ‘It gets you to where you need to be.’

‘Is that a dig at my MGB?’

‘More a dig at someone who thinks an old banger is a classic,’ she said. ‘Is there any of my muffin left?’

Nightingale handed her the Starbucks bag and she peered inside. ‘You took the top,’ she said.

‘It’s the best bit.’

‘You took the best bit of my muffin,’ she said.

‘I was hungry.’

She shook her head in mock disgust. ‘Why are we waiting here?’

‘Because Wainwright’s people haven’t been here before so they might miss it.’

Jenny nibbled a piece of the muffin and drank her mocha. Nightingale took his cigarettes out and Jenny glared at him. ‘No,’ she said.

‘I’ll smoke outside,’ he said, opening the door.

‘Good idea,’ she said.

Nightingale climbed out and lit a cigarette. It was a cold afternoon and he shivered, then started pacing up and down behind the car as he smoked. From the gates there was no sign of the house, just the driveway winding off to the right between clumps of trees. He hadn’t thought about the difference that Wainwright’s money would make, but Jenny was right. Ainsley Gosling had spent a fortune on the books in the basement and Nightingale doubted that they would have gone down in value over the years. He had met Joshua Wainwright only a few times but he trusted the man and he was sure that he would pay him what they were worth. That could be tens of millions of pounds and maybe Jenny had a point: would he really want to do Mr Deepak’s legwork if he had that sort of money to play with?

The sky overhead was covered in grey and white clouds with not a shred of blue to be seen. Over to his left was a line of half a dozen towering trees stripped of all their leaves, the bare branches revealing two large nests. Sitting next to one of the nests was a magpie that must have been two feet from its beak to the tip of its tail. It was staring at Nightingale. Nightingale looked around for a second magpie, acting from a habit he’d picked up from his mother. She’d taught him the rhyme when he was still a toddler — ‘one for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl and four for a boy’ — and always made him look for a second bird whenever they came across a single magpie. He was still looking when he heard a vehicle coming down the road. He blew smoke and turned towards the sound. It was a silver Mercedes people carrier.

The vehicle came to a halt behind Jenny’s Audi. Nightingale dropped his cigarette butt, crushing it with the sole of his shoe, and went over to the Mercedes. The side door opened and a pretty Chinese girl stepped out. She had long black hair and round-lensed spectacles, and was wearing a blue parka over a green baggy polo-necked sweater and tight blue jeans.

‘Are you with Joshua?’ asked Nightingale.

The girl grinned. ‘Sure am,’ she said. ‘Are you Jack?’ She had a soft American accent.

Nightingale nodded and shook hands with her. She was tiny, under five feet tall, and she had to jut her chin up to maintain eye contact with him.

‘Amy Lee,’ she said.

She held open the door of the Mercedes and introduced her three colleagues sitting in the back: two middle-aged men in raincoats and a slight elderly woman who reminded Nightingale of Mrs Steadman in the Wicca Woman store in Camden. Nightingale shook hands with them and nodded at the driver, a grey-haired man in a dark suit.

‘Do you want to follow me to the house?’ said Nightingale.

‘Cool,’ said Amy, and she climbed back into the people carrier.

Nightingale opened the gates, and joined Jenny in the Audi. ‘That’s them,’ he said.

‘They don’t look like Satanists,’ she said, putting the car in gear and driving slowly towards the house.

‘What do Satanists look like, pray tell? Cloaks, sharp teeth, bloodshot eyes? They’re book experts, not devil-worshippers.’ He looked over his shoulder. The Mercedes was following them. ‘I guess. Actually, I didn’t ask Joshua. He just said they’d be able to value the books.’

‘And you trust him?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You met him only a few weeks ago, you don’t know him from Adam. Wouldn’t you be better off getting in your own experts?’

Nightingale looked across at her. ‘When did you get so suspicious?’

Jenny shrugged. The house was off to the right, expansive lawns to their left. ‘I’m just saying that there’s a lot of money involved and you might be better off getting a second opinion.’

‘He’s been fair so far.’

‘You don’t know that, Jack. He gave you a stack of money but you don’t know that someone else might not have given you more.’

‘Cash,’ said Nightingale. ‘Let’s not forget it was cash.’

‘Yeah, that says more about you than credit cards ever can,’ she said. She parked next to the massive stone fountain, switched off the engine and turned to look at him. ‘You’re not the best judge of character, that’s all I’m saying. I’ve never met this Wainwright and it’s none of my business but maybe he’s just being a bit too keen.’

‘I hear you, kid. Let’s see what they say. I don’t have to accept his first offer.’ He got out of the Audi and waved at the driver of the people carrier to park on the other side of the fountain.

Jenny got out of the Audi and shook hands with Amy and the rest of the book experts. They were all carrying aluminium briefcases.

‘Nice place,’ said Amy, looking up at the house.

‘The inside isn’t that great,’ said Nightingale. ‘We had a fire a few days ago. Watch your shoes because there’s still a fair bit of mud around. The firemen used a lot of water.’ He unlocked the front door and showed them inside. The driver stayed at the wheel of the Mercedes.

‘You weren’t lying,’ said Amy, peering at the thick mud covering the hall tiles. ‘How did the fire start?’

‘They’re not sure,’ lied Nightingale.

Amy sniffed the air. ‘Ugh,’ she said.

‘I know. Nightmare.’

‘Where are the books? They weren’t damaged, were they?’

‘Luckily no,’ said Nightingale. He went over to the hidden panel while Jenny closed the front door. Amy and the team followed him across the hall, stepping gingerly through the mud. Nightingale pulled open the panel and Amy giggled.

‘Are you serious?’ she asked. ‘A secret panel?’

‘Don’t blame me, it was my father’s house,’ he said.

‘Ainsley Gosling. I can’t believe you’re his son.’

Nightingale turned to look at her. ‘You knew him?’

Amy shook her head. ‘I know of him, of course. Mr Wainwright and Mr Gosling were often after the same books and Mr Gosling had a way of always persuading the vendor to sell to him.’

‘By offering more money, you mean?’

Amy shrugged. ‘Sometimes, but sometimes a book would be withdrawn from sale and later we’d find out that Mr Gosling had acquired it.’

‘Yeah, it’s one hell of a collection all right,’ said Nightingale. He reached for the light switch and flicked it on. ‘As you’ll see.’

He stepped through the panel and headed down the stairs. He got halfway down before he realised that the bookshelves were empty. He stopped and gripped the banister with both hands and stared down the full length of the basement. Every single book had gone. He rushed down the stairs and hurried to the far end of the basement where the CCTV monitors were. Before he reached the monitors he could see that the console had been smashed. Nightingale cursed.

‘Is there a problem?’ asked Amy.

Nightingale turned to look at her. She was standing next to one of the display cabinets and looking around, clearly confused.

‘You could say that,’ said Nightingale. He took his pack of Marlboro out of his pocket and slid a cigarette between his lips.

‘Where are the books, then?’

Nightingale lit his cigarette, inhaled, then blew a tight plume of smoke up at the ceiling. ‘That, Amy, is a very good question.’