Stephen Leather - Nightshade

Fairchild pushed himself up out of his chair and shook Nightingale’s hand, then hugged Jenny and kissed her on both cheeks. She took him to the door, patted him on the back as he left, then closed the door and glared at Nightingale. ‘What the hell was that about?’

‘What?’

‘You were so rude. You practically kicked him out. And we’re not finished with the case. Not by a long way.’

‘You didn’t tell me you’d seen him.’

‘Didn’t I? He was at Mummy and Daddy’s at the weekend, doing some shooting.’

‘And you told him about the case? Why would you do that?’

‘Is something wrong?’

Nightingale sighed. ‘It’s just, you know, our business. Client confidentiality.’

‘Our client’s dead.’

‘That’s not the point. When people come to us for help they expect a modicum of privacy, don’t they?’

‘Well, yes, but Mr McBride’s dead. And Uncle Marcus was really interested.’

‘I bet he was,’ muttered Nightingale.

‘Jack, what’s wrong? Why are you being like this?’

‘Like what?’

‘Like you’ve taken a real dislike to Uncle Marcus. He’s a lovely man, he just wants to help.’

‘He’s not a lovely man, Jenny.’

She stiffened and looked at him with narrowed eyes. ‘What do you mean by that?’

Nightingale looked at her, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘I don’t mean anything.’

‘What is your problem with him, Jack?’

He held up his hands. ‘Forget I said anything.’

‘He’s never done you any harm. He just wanted to help.’

Nightingale picked up his coffee and stood up. ‘Okay, let’s just leave it.’

‘Jack!’

Nightingale ignored her and strode into his office before kicking the door shut behind him.

The door opened and the headmistress looked up from her computer. ‘Here she is, Mrs Tomlinson,’ said Miss Rider, ushering in nine-year-old Bella Harper.

‘Thank you, Miss Rider,’ said Mrs Tomlinson. She waved at a sofa in the corner of her office. ‘Why don’t you sit there, Bella, and we can have a little chat.’ Bella did as she was told. ‘I’ll bring her back when we’ve finished,’ the headmistress said to Miss Rider and the teacher closed the door behind her.

Mrs Tomlinson pulled up a chair and sat down opposite Bella. Bella had her head down and her hands were fidgeting in her lap.

‘Bella, it’s okay, you’re not in trouble,’ said the headmistress. ‘Would you like a biscuit?’ Mrs Tomlinson kept a pack of chocolate Hobnobs in her desk drawer to cheer up unhappy children.

Bella shook her head. ‘No, thank you,’ she whispered.

‘Now, did Miss Rider tell you why I wanted to see you?’

‘It’s about Jesus,’ said Bella.

‘Well, sort of,’ said the headmistress. Bella’s curly blonde hair was hanging over her face, so she couldn’t see if the girl was crying or not. She wanted to reach over and brush the hair away but she knew that touching children was never a good idea. ‘First of all let me say how happy we are to have you back at school. We all missed you a lot.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Tomlinson.’

‘And I know you’ve been through a lot. But we’re all going to do what we can to make it easier for you, you know that, don’t you?’

Bella nodded solemnly. ‘Yes, Mrs Tomlinson.’

‘Good. Now you’ve been telling the children about Jesus, haven’t you?’

Bella sniffed and nodded. ‘Am I in trouble?’

‘No, of course not,’ said the headmistress. ‘But you see, Bella, it’s really not a good idea to be talking about Jesus in class. We explain about Jesus and other religious leaders in our religious education classes, so you should leave that sort of thing to Miss Rider. Do you understand?’

Bella nodded and clasped her hands together. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly.

‘You don’t have to say you’re sorry,’ said Mrs Tomlinson. ‘And I know that after everything you’ve been through, Jesus is probably a help to you.’

‘Yes. He is.’

‘And that’s okay. That’s good. But what you mustn’t do is to talk about him in class. We are lucky to have children of many religions in our school and not everyone believes in Jesus. It might upset them to hear you talking about him. You must keep your faith to yourself. Do you understand that?’

Bella nodded again. ‘Yes, Mrs Tomlinson.’

‘That’s a good girl. Have your parents been talking about Jesus at home, is that it?’

‘Not really.’ Bella sniffed and rubbed the back of her nose with her hand.

‘Talking about Jesus is fine at home,’ said the headmistress. ‘But at school, that’s something for the teachers. Then we can learn about all the great religions of the world in a way that doesn’t offend anyone. You understand that, don’t you, Bella? It’s important that people aren’t offended.’

‘I understand,’ said Bella. She looked up and for the first time Mrs Tomlinson saw the little girl’s face. Bella smiled brightly. ‘You believe in Jesus, don’t you, Mrs Tomlinson?’

‘That’s a very personal question, Bella. And in school we don’t like to ask personal questions because they can make people feel uncomfortable. A person’s religious belief is their own business.’

‘But you believe in Jesus, don’t you?’

‘Bella, that’s not a question that I’m prepared to answer. And it’s not a question you should be asking your classmates.’

‘Jesus loves you, Mrs Tomlinson.’

The headmistress stood up. ‘I’m sure that he does, Bella. Now come on, I’ll take you back to your classroom.’

Bella looked up at the headmistress and smiled. ‘Jesus has a message for you, Mrs Tomlinson.’

‘Now don’t be silly,’ said the headmistress. She held her hand out. ‘Come on, let’s go now.’

‘He’s got a message for you about your dad.’

Mrs Tomlinson’s breath caught in her throat and her head swam. She sat down heavily.

‘He knows what your dad did to you, Mrs Tomlinson. When you were little.’

Mrs Tomlinson put her hand over her mouth.

‘He has a message for you, Mrs Tomlinson. Jesus has a message for you.’ She beckoned the headmistress with her finger. ‘Come here, Mrs Tomlinson, and I’ll whisper it to you.’

Nightingale stared at the Sudoku grid but couldn’t concentrate. He knew that he had to go back into Jenny’s office and apologise to her, but for the life of him he didn’t know what to say. Marcus Fairchild was a predatory paedophile and the leading light of a group that thought human sacrifice was the route to Satanic power. But there was no way he could explain to Jenny how he knew that, and no way that Jenny would believe him. Any apology he made would be a lie, but he didn’t see that he had any choice.

His mobile rang and he fished it out of his pocket, expecting it to be Jenny. It wasn’t. The caller’s number was withheld. He took the call. It was Harry Simpson. ‘I’ve got an address for Stevenson,’ he said.

‘That’s terrific, thanks.’

‘You’re not planning to do anything stupid, are you?’ asked Simpson.

‘Like what?’ said Nightingale.

‘I don’t know. I just worry how this is going to end up.’

‘But not worried enough to ignore me, right?’

There was a long silence. Nightingale didn’t say anything. He figured that there was something Simpson wanted to tell him and he didn’t want to spoil it by prompting.

‘There’ve been some rumours, about cops and kids,’ Simpson said eventually.

Nightingale was about to say something, but he bit his lip.

Simpson sighed. ‘No names, and certainly no mention of Stevenson. But there’s talk of a task force from London coming up here. Remember that list of paedophiles that was doing the rounds on the internet? Top Tory politicians and businessmen?’