Stephen Leather - Nightshade

Nightingale shook his head.

‘If you have kids, you know that they’re the most important thing in your life. Nothing means more than your kids. You’d die for them, without even thinking about it. And once you’re a father you’d never hurt another man’s kids. You just wouldn’t.’

‘McBride didn’t have kids.’

‘That’s right. So maybe that’s why.’

‘That’s hardly a motive,’ said Nightingale. ‘Anything known about him?’

‘Seems not,’ said the policeman. ‘Couple of speeding tickets, but other than that he was a model citizen. Never married, which is a bit off, but then farmers tend not to date much. Too busy and not too many opportunities for dating.’

‘And no problems with kids? Vandalism on the farm, anything like that?’

‘Nothing I heard of.’ He dropped his cigarette butt on the floor and stamped on it. ‘He was just a regular guy by all accounts.’

‘Someone said that maybe he was possessed.’

‘Possessed?’ The policeman shook his head. ‘You were in the job,’ he said. ‘You know the score. Evil has nothing to do with the Devil or God or crap like that. It’s people that are evil, pure and simple. People are nasty to each other. End of.’

‘But there’s usually a tipping point,’ said Nightingale. ‘Something that makes them kick off.’

‘But not McBride, is that what you’re saying?’

Nightingale finished his cigarette and flicked it into the gutter. ‘Doesn’t seem to have been anything that set him off.’

‘But why kids?’ asked the policeman. ‘That’s what I don’t get.’

‘Maybe he chose it at random?’

The policeman shook his head emphatically. ‘He walked from his farm to the school. Partly across the fields, but when he reached the village he walked past a garage where there are half a dozen people working, a haulage company, and the council offices. If it was some sort of grudge against authority he could have gone into the council and started shooting.’

‘I didn’t realise that.’

‘Well, it’s true. Walked right by the council to the school. But if it was about the school, why not shoot the teachers? He went into three classrooms and it was only kids that he shot.’

‘I thought he shot the deputy headmaster.’

‘Yeah, he did. Over there.’ The policeman pointed to the playground. ‘The deputy came out, probably to ask him what he was doing on school property. McBride shot him. But from that point on it was only kids that he shot. That’s what I don’t get. You open the classroom door and what’s the first thing you see?’

‘The teacher,’ said Nightingale.

‘Exactly. The teacher, standing at the front of the class. But he didn’t shoot any of the teachers. It was kids he wanted to shoot.’

Nightingale nodded thoughtfully. ‘But if he just wanted to kill kids, why did he move from classroom to classroom?’ It wasn’t so much a question as Nightingale trying to get his thoughts in line.

‘And he ended up in the gym,’ said the policeman. ‘And even there he didn’t shoot the teacher. He shot two kids. That’s when the armed police arrived and he killed himself.’

‘And he didn’t shoot at the cops?’

‘As soon as they arrived he turned his gun on himself. Blew his own head off. Probably best, because the way things are now a smart lawyer would have had him declared insane and sitting in some cushy hospital.’ Two pensioners wrapped in thick coats and headscarves were making their way down the street to the school. One of the ladies was holding a cellophane-wrapped bunch of flowers. The policeman straightened up and squared his shoulders. ‘Eight kids,’ he said quietly. ‘I hope he burns in Hell.’

Nightingale was just getting back into his car when his phone rang. It was Robbie. ‘Hey, you wanted to talk to a cop on the McBride case?’

‘I’ve already spoken to one but he was less than forthcoming.’

‘What was his name?’

‘Stevenson. Colin Stevenson.’

‘Well, I’ve got a contact up there who says he’ll talk to you, off the record and on the QT. He says he’ll call you for a chat but all non-attributable.’

‘I’ve no problem with that. Who is he?’

‘DI by the name of Simpson. He’s the brother-in-law of a guy I know in Clubs and Vice. He’s a bit jumpy but says he’ll phone you if you want. He’s worked on the case from Day One.’

‘That’d be great, Robbie. But can I meet him? I’m up here, might as well strike while the iron’s hot.’

‘He says no to a meet. He’s happy enough to brief you on the phone but he’s a bit wary of a face to face, you being a private eye and all.’

‘I’ll happily bung him a few quid.’

‘Oh yeah, a bribe will swing it.’

‘I didn’t mean it that way, you daft bastard.’

‘Mate, the days of a cop accepting a drink are long gone. And I understand his reservations — I’d be the same if a private eye from up north wanted to pick my brains. These days you never know where that could end. So stop looking gift horses in the mouth and stay by the phone.’ Robbie ended the call.

Nightingale lit a cigarette and he was halfway through it when his mobile rang. The caller was withholding his number. ‘Jack Nightingale?’

‘Yeah. Thanks for calling.’

‘Not sure there’s much I can tell you, but what do you need?’

‘Anything you can tell me about the McBride shootings would be helpful,’ said Nightingale.

‘You’re a PI, right?’

‘For my sins, yeah.’

‘Who’s the client?’

Nightingale had expected the question and had already decided that honesty was the best policy. If Simpson did show Nightingale the file he deserved the truth. ‘McBride’s brother. Danny.’

‘I thought that might be it,’ said Simpson. ‘He’s been in and out of our station every other day since it happened. He thinks there’s some sort of conspiracy, right?’

‘He just wants to understand, that’s all. I think he’s looking for closure and for that he has to know what happened.’

‘We know what happened. His brother shot dead eight kids and a teacher. Then he topped himself. It’s as open and shut as it gets. Murder-suicide. And hand on heart, everyone is happier it ended that way. A trial would have turned into a circus and some high-priced lawyer would have put in some insanity plea. You talk about closure, at least the parents have that. Their kids are dead but so is the man who killed them. That’s probably easier to deal with than if he was in a cell with his PlayStation and choice of meals.’

‘I hear what you’re saying,’ said Nightingale.

‘You’re not trying to prove that McBride didn’t do it, are you?’

‘Absolutely not,’ said Nightingale. ‘The brother knows that Jimmy did it. He knows what happened. It’s the why he doesn’t get.’

‘His brother went psycho. Who the hell knows what was going through his head? If he’s hoping for an explanation he’s going to be disappointed.’

‘You think that was it? He just snapped, for no reason?’

‘It happens.’

‘But kids?’

‘Who knows what sets a psycho off?’ said the detective.

‘There was no reason? No problems with the school or the staff? Kids throwing stones through his windows, that sort of thing?’

‘His farm’s in the middle of nowhere. We spoke to people in the nearby village and as far as they know he had no problems. He went to the local pub now and again, played dominos and cribbage, two pints and then he’d go home. Used the post office, shopped in the supermarket once a week. Nice enough guy by all accounts.’

‘A nice guy who just snapped?’

‘Like I said, it happens. We weren’t really interested in why. He did it, and he topped himself. Case closed. I understand that the brother wants more, but other than holding a seance I don’t see that he’s going to get that. The only person who knows why he did it is James McBride and he took the secret with him to the grave.’