Stephen Leather - Nightmare

The doors to one of the lifts opened and Nightingale strode in. Hoyle followed him. Nightingale pressed the button for the fourteenth floor.

‘It’s the thirteenth,’ said Hoyle.

‘There is no thirteen. It goes from twelve to fourteen.’

‘Why?’

Nightingale scowled. ‘Because the developer thought that thirteen was unlucky. And in this case he was probably right.’

The lift doors closed. ‘Are you okay, Jack?’

‘I need you to listen to me and to do everything that I tell you, do you understand?’

‘I’m not retarded, mate.’

‘Everything,’ insisted Nightingale. ‘No matter how.?.?. unorthodox it seems.’

‘Unorthodox?’

‘The girl is in Fourteen C. On the balcony. Actually, it’s more like a terrace. Next door, in Fourteen D, are a Mr and Mrs Jackson. Nice couple, in their sixties. They’ll let you out onto their terrace. Make sure that they stay well back, okay?’

‘Okay,’ said Hoyle hesitatingly.

‘Go out and talk to her. Her name’s Sophie. She’s holding a doll. The doll’s name is Jessica Lovely.’

‘What’s going on, Jack?’

‘Just listen to me. Sophie wants to jump, Robbie. She wants to end it. Her father’s been abusing her and her mother isn’t doing a blind thing. There’s a bruise on her leg and God only knows what else. When she jumps she’ll just jump. There’ll be no shouting or screaming, she’ll just go. She’s sitting on the edge with her legs hanging over so all she has to do is slide under the railing and she’s gone.’

‘How do you know all this? Do you know her?’

‘You have to keep her talking, Robbie. Get her attention. Talk about the doll. Talk about the sky. Talk about birds.’

‘Birds?’

‘Whatever it takes to distract her. You can jump over to her but the way she’s sitting that’ll just spook her and she’ll go over the side.’

‘Where will you be?’

‘I’m going up to Fifteen C. I’ll get onto the balcony above her.’ He took out a cigarette and lit it.

‘And then what?’

‘Then I’ll drop down. I’ll drop and I’ll push her away from the railing. And at the same time you jump across and grab her.’

‘Bollocks you will,’ said Hoyle.

‘It’s the only way,’ said Nightingale. ‘She wants to jump and if she thinks you’re trying to stop her, she’ll do it.’

‘Jack, you’re not the bloody SAS. We don’t do jumping off balconies.’

‘Keep your phone switched on, but set to vibrate. I’ll call you when I’m in position. When your phone vibrates you get ready, and as soon as I drop you jump across. I’ll push her back, you catch her.’

‘And then what? What about you?’

‘I’ll be okay. I’m dropping one floor. I’ll grab the railing and pull myself up. You keep hold of Sophie.’

‘Have you cleared this with Chalmers?’

‘This has nothing to do with Chalmers.’

‘What’s got into you?’

The lift arrived at the fourteenth floor and the doors rattled apart. Nightingale pressed the button for the fifteenth floor and then held the doors open for Hoyle. ‘Just go, Robbie. Keep her sweet and wait for my call. I drop, you jump, we save her life. Deviate from that and she’ll be dead. Robbie, I swear to God she’ll jump. Just do exactly what I say and we’ll save her.’

Hoyle opened his mouth to argue but then he sighed. ‘Okay,’ he said.

‘One more thing,’ said Nightingale. ‘Every time you cross the road, you bloody well look both ways, do you hear me?’

‘What?’

‘The Green Cross Code. Just look and keep looking every time you cross the road. Any road.’

‘Okay.’

‘Swear.’

‘What?’

‘Swear,’ said Nightingale. ‘Swear on the life of your kids that you’ll look both ways every time you cross a road.’

‘What’s going on, Jack?’

‘Swear, you bastard,’ hissed Nightingale.

‘Okay, okay, I swear. Cross my heart.’ Hoyle made the sign of the cross on his chest.

‘On the life of your kids.’

Hoyle’s eyes narrowed. ‘This isn’t funny, Jack.’

‘Swear,’ repeated Nightingale. He took a drag on his cigarette.

‘On the life of my kids,’ said Hoyle quietly.

Nightingale smiled. ‘One day you’ll thank me,’ he said.

‘When this is over, you and I need to talk,’ said Hoyle. He stepped out of the lift.

‘Phone on vibrate, remember? And when I drop, you jump across.’

Hoyle nodded.

Nightingale moved away from the doors to allow them to close.

‘And watch out for black cabs!’ shouted Nightingale through the gap.

The lift started up and Nightingale took a final pull on his cigarette and then dropped the butt onto the floor. At the fifteenth floor, the lift doors opened and Nightingale stepped into the corridor. He took a deep breath, then walked over to Fifteen C and rang the bell.

Hoyle walked over to the window that overlooked the terrace. He gestured at the door. ‘That’s unlocked?’

Mr Jackson nodded. He was in his early sixties with grey hair that was only a few years from being completely white. He had a stoop and he had to twist awkwardly to look Hoyle in the eye.

‘What’s going to happen?’ asked Mrs Jackson anxiously. She was sitting on a floral-print sofa, her hands in her lap.

‘Mr Jackson, could you sit down with your wife while I go outside? The fewer people that Sophie sees, the better.’

Mr Jackson nodded and went to sit next to his wife. She reached for his hand.

‘Do you know Sophie?’ Hoyle asked them.

They both nodded.

‘And her parents? Are they good people?’

Mr and Mrs Jackson looked at each other. ‘Six years, and I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I’ve seen her with her mother or father,’ said Mr Jackson. ‘It’s always an au pair she’s with, and they seem to change them every six months or so.’ He looked at his wife again and she nodded in agreement. ‘The thing is,’ he continued, ‘one doesn’t like to talk out of school but they didn’t seem to be the most attentive of parents.’

‘Okay,’ said Hoyle. ‘Now please just stay there while I go out and talk to her.’ He walked over to the glass door that led to the terrace. There was a small circular white-metal table and four chairs, and several pots of flowering shrubs. Around the edge was a waist-high wall which was topped by a metal railing.

Hoyle opened the door and stepped out onto the terracotta tiles. He could hear the buzz of traffic in the distance and down below the crackle of police radios.

Sophie was sitting on the wall of the balcony next door, her legs under the metal rail, her arms on top of it. She was wearing a white sweatshirt with a blue cotton skirt and silver trainers with blue stars on them. She didn’t look over at him even though he was sure she must have heard him open the door. She had porcelain-white skin and shoulder-length blonde hair that she’d tucked behind her ears, and she was bent over a Barbie doll.

Hoyle coughed but the girl didn’t react.

‘Hi, Sophie,’ he said.

The girl stiffened but didn’t say anything.

‘My name’s Robbie. Are you okay?’

‘Go away,’ she said, but she didn’t look at him.

Robbie stayed close to the door. He had a clear view to the River Thames and far off to his left was the London Eye. There was a gap of about six feet between his terrace and the one that Sophie was on. It would be easy enough to jump across but Nightingale had been right: she could easily fall before he reached her.

‘How old are you, Sophie?’

She didn’t answer.

‘I’ve got a daughter called Sarah,’ said Hoyle. ‘She’s eight.’