Nightmare

65

Nightingale groaned and stretched and slapped his right cheek a couple of times, trying to wake himself up. He was sitting on one of Fairchild’s sofas, his feet on a glass coffee table that was balanced on three large marble spheres. At just after ten o’clock he’d raided the fridge and found some cheese, tomatoes and celery and he’d eaten them with a couple of slices of bread and butter, and a can of Carlsberg. By his feet was a crystal ashtray with half a dozen cigarette butts in it. Once he’d found all the books in the trunks in Fairchild’s garage he’d decided that there was no point in keeping a low profile. One way or another it would all be over by morning, so he’d sat and he’d smoked and he’d waited.

Every book from the basement of Gosling Manor had been packed into the trunks and transported to Epping. It would have needed a huge truck and quite a bit of manpower. Nightingale hadn’t even considered calling the police. He wasn’t sitting there in the dark because he wanted to talk to Fairchild about stolen books. He wanted to talk to Fairchild, that much was true. But Nightingale wanted to know exactly what the man had done to Jenny, and why. And he was sure that Fairchild would tell him, not because of the gun that Nightingale would be pointing at his chest but because the lawyer was arrogant, one of life’s boasters. He’d want to tell Nightingale everything, to revel in his superiority. Nightingale would listen to Fairchild, he’d hear everything that the man had to say, and then he’d pull the trigger.

He reached for his pack of Marlboro. There were only three cigarettes left. He cursed under his breath. Why hadn’t Fairchild come home? When ten o’clock had come and gone Nightingale had assumed that Fairchild had gone for dinner in London, but now it was starting to look as if he wasn’t coming home at all.

Standing up, he paced around the room as he smoked, then he stood at the window and looked out over the garden towards the road. He looked at his watch. It was just after midnight. He had no choice now: he had to wait until Fairchild came home because when he did he’d smell the smoke and he’d notice the missing food and he’d realise that someone had been in the house.

Nightingale flinched as his mobile burst into life. He went over to the coffee table, picked up the phone and looked at the screen. It was Jenny. He pressed the green button to take the call. ‘Hi, kid, are you okay? I thought you were going to sleep.’

‘Where are you, Jack?’

‘I’m still in Epping. Fairchild hasn’t come back yet.’

‘Jack, I want you to come back. Now.’

‘I want to wait until Fairchild comes home.’

‘And then what?’

‘Best you don’t know, kid. But I’ll take care of it. He’ll never hurt you again; I’ll make sure of that.’

Jenny sniffed. ‘Please come back, Jack.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’m scared. I need you.’

‘Jenny, just a few more hours.’

‘Please, Jack.’ She began to cry.

‘Jenny, honey, let me do this and then I’ll be straight back.’

Jenny said nothing but he could hear her sobs.

‘What’s wrong, Jenny?’

‘I don’t want to be on my own. I’m scared.’

‘Did something happen?’

‘I just need you here. Now.’

The line went dead.