Stephen Leather - Nightshade

‘I’m not tired,’ she said.

‘Are you okay? Do you need anything?’

Bella shook her head. ‘I just want to go home.’

‘Soon,’ said Fraser. ‘You’re moving to a general ward tomorrow and I think you’ll be home in a few days.’

‘I saw Jesus,’ said Bella solemnly.

‘Really?’

Bella nodded. ‘He was very kind. And I saw the Archangel Michael. He was nice too.’

‘Good,’ said Fraser.

Bella’s father snored and moved his legs, then went quiet again.

‘Jesus gave me a message for you, John,’ said Bella.

‘What?’

‘There’s something he wants you to know.’

‘Bella, come on now, it’s time you were asleep.’

Bella waved at him, urging him to move closer. ‘Come here, John, I’ll tell you what he said. It’s important.’

Fraser frowned. He looked over at Mr Harper, but he was fast asleep.

‘Really, John, it’s important. But I have to whisper it, okay?’

‘If I let you whisper it, you’ll go to sleep?’

Bella nodded. ‘Sure.’

‘Okay,’ said Fraser. He bent over her and put his ear close to her mouth. He could smell her breath and he frowned. It was sour and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. Maybe the little girl hadn’t been cleaning her teeth, or perhaps it was something she’d eaten. ‘What is it you want to tell me?’ he asked.

Sally Fraser heard the front door open and she rolled over and squinted at the alarm clock on her bedside table. It was just after seven. She groaned. She had to be up at seven thirty and she doubted she’d be able to get back to sleep.

She heard slow, steady footsteps as John walked upstairs. Sally hated it when John worked nights. She was a teacher and had to be at school by eight, which meant they hardly saw each other — the best they could manage was a couple of hours after they’d put the kids to bed and before he headed off to the hospital. The only plus point was that he was able to drop the boys off at the childminder’s in the morning.

She curled up and closed her eyes, desperately wishing she could slip back into sleep, and hoping John wouldn’t slip into bed hoping for a quickie before she got up. She took a deep breath, and then frowned. It was just after seven, but John’s shift didn’t finish until eight. She opened her eyes again and blinked at the clock. Twenty past seven.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. ‘John?’ There was no answer. She got out of bed and padded across the carpet to the bedroom door. The first thing John usually did when he got in was shower, to get rid of the smell of the hospital. When he was on nights he used the guest bathroom, but there was no sound coming from it. ‘John?’ she called but again there was no answer.

She walked down the hallway, past the bathroom towards the boys’ room. The door was open and a shaft of yellowish light ran across the carpet and up the opposite wall.

‘John, what’s going on?’ she said.

‘Nothing, honey, go back to bed,’ said her husband. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’

‘Don’t wake them up yet, they were up late last night.’

‘Go back to bed, honey.’

There was a tenseness to his voice and Sally realised something was wrong. She reached the door but froze when she saw three-year-old Darren lying on his back, his eyes wide and staring. She knew instinctively he was dead — there was an emptiness in his eyes and his tongue was protruding from his mouth. Sally gasped and she covered her mouth with her hands. Her whole body began to shake.

She reached out with her left hand and pushed the door open. It scraped on the carpet, and then she saw her husband, bent over Gary’s crib. He had a pillow pressed over Gary and he was pushing it down hard. ‘Go back to bed, honey,’ he said.

‘What are you doing?’ she screamed, pushing the door wide open. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

John ignored her and continued to press on the pillow. She ran over to him and grabbed at his arm. ‘Get off him!’ she screamed. She pulled hard and the pillow came away. Gary was as dead as his brother, his eyes open and lifeless, his mouth forming a perfect circle. Sally reached for him, tears pricking her eyes. ‘What have you done?’

Before she could pick up Gary, John seized her by the throat, his fingers digging into her trachea, cutting off her breath. ‘It’s better like this,’ he said. ‘It’s better they don’t suffer.’

Sally tried to speak, but his grip was too tight. There was a look in his eyes she’d never seen before. It wasn’t anger, or hatred, it was something cold and hard, as if they had turned to glass in their sockets.

‘It’s going to be okay, honey. Jesus says so.’ He nodded earnestly. ‘Really, he says so.’ His left hand joined the right and he squeezed tighter. Her throat was burning and her chest was heaving but she couldn’t get any air into her lungs. Sally didn’t know enough human anatomy to realise it wasn’t the lack of air that was killing her, it was the fact that her husband’s hands had cut off the blood supply to her brain. She tried to beg him to let her go, but even if she could have formed the words she knew there was nothing she could say that would stop him. The last thought that went through her mind was that at least her boys hadn’t suffered.

Jenny was at her desk tapping away on her keyboard when Nightingale walked in. It was clear from the look on his face that something was wrong. He didn’t take off his raincoat, just dropped down onto the chair opposite hers. ‘He’s dead,’ he said.

‘Who’s dead?’

‘Danny McBride. The client.’

Jenny’s jaw dropped. ‘Please tell me that’s a sick attempt at humour.’

Nightingale sat down. ‘I wish it was a joke.’

‘What happened?’

‘He hanged himself, or someone hanged him. I had a quick look around and I didn’t find a note. And the last time I saw him he didn’t seem the suicidal type.’

Jenny put her hand over her mouth. ‘That’s awful.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘Why are you only telling me this now? Why didn’t you call me yesterday?’

‘It wasn’t something I wanted to share on the phone.’

‘I can’t believe it. He seemed like such a nice man.’

‘He was.’

‘And his poor kids. And his wife.’

‘I know.’

Jenny folded her arms. ‘I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.’

‘I’m as shocked as you are,’ said Nightingale.

‘What did the police say?’

Nightingale looked pained. ‘I’m not sure if they know yet.’

‘What do you mean?’

He shrugged. ‘I couldn’t call it in, could I? Then I’d be right in the middle of it. The cops are already pissed off at me, it’ll only get worse if they think I had a hand in McBride’s death.’

‘Jack! What, you found the body and you just left it there?’

‘What else could I have done? The last time I made waves I got hit over the head and driven off the road. If I’d drawn attention to myself …’ He shrugged. ‘Who knows what might have happened. So yes, I put my tail between my legs and skulked away. Discretion being the better part of valour and all that crap.’

‘And what about his family? Who’s going to tell them?’

‘Someone will find him eventually,’ said Nightingale. ‘His wife will report him missing and I’m pretty sure the cops will check the farm. It’d be the obvious place to look.’

‘But you said it was suicide. I don’t understand why you couldn’t just report it to the police.’

Nightingale shook his head. ‘He was hanged but he wasn’t suicidal. You met him. He was fine. And like I said, there was no note.’