Nightmare

59

Nightingale put his mobile on hands-free as he drove over Lambeth Bridge and into south London. He called Eddie Morris.

‘What do you want, Nightingale?’ asked Morris as soon as he took the call.

‘What makes you think I want anything, Eddie?’

Eddie Morris was an old-school villain who had put a lot of work Nightingale’s way during the two years he’d been a private detective, mainly standing up alibis to keep him out of prison. His speciality was breaking into country houses but he wasn’t averse to burgling city centre apartments if the pickings were right. He was the ultimate gamekeeper turned poacher as he’d once worked for one of London’s top security companies, and there was nothing he didn’t know about burglar alarms and safes.

‘Because I only hear from you when you want something.’

‘I’ve been hearing that a lot lately,’ said Nightingale. ‘I need to update my Christmas card list.’

‘No, you need to start thinking about other people and not just yourself,’ said Morris. ‘It’s time you started sharing.’

‘Bloody hell, Eddie, since when did you go all touchy-feely?’

‘I’ve been watching a lot of daytime television,’ said Morris. ‘Jeremy Kyle, Oprah, all that crap. So what do you want?’

‘Where are you?’

‘Now? Betting shop.’

‘Can I persuade you to come to Epping with me? I’ve a job needs doing. Near the forest.’

‘What sort of job?’

‘The sort you’re good at. Country house. I assume with all the whistles and bells.’

Morris sighed. ‘Jack, one of these days you’re going to drop me in it, you really are.’

‘I just need you to get me inside. I’ll do the rest. If you get caught you can just say you’re a squatter. The way the world is, squatters have more rights than owners these days.’

‘I’ll need a monkey.’

‘To help with the locks?’

‘Tosser. Five hundred quid. To help with my expenses.’

‘How about we take five hundred quid off my next bill?’

‘How do you know there’ll be a next bill?’

‘Because I know you, Eddie. You’ll be needing my services again. Look, I’m south of the river, can you meet me there? In Epping?’

‘Hang on, you just said you wanted me to go with you.’

‘I meant to the house. I want you to get me in and then leave me to it. If you’ve got your own transport then you can drive yourself back to London.’

‘You’ll pay for the petrol?’

‘Yes, I’ll pay for the bloody petrol. Just make sure you’ve got your tools with you.’

‘You’re a hard taskmaster, Jack.’

‘I’ll text you the address.’ Nightingale ended the call. So far so good.