Stephen Leather: Nightshade

‘They weren’t at the school, were they?’

McBride shook his head slowly. ‘We live in a different town. Alnwick.’

‘And he was always okay with your children?’

‘Of course.’ He tilted his head on one side and frowned. ‘What are you suggesting?’

‘I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just trying to build a picture of your brother, that’s all.’

‘My brother was great with kids. My boys spent a lot of time on the farm with Jimmy and he never so much as raised his voice to them. Have you got children, Mr Nightingale?’

Nightingale shook his head.

‘Kids can try the patience of a saint at times, especially boys. It’s only now that I’ve got kids of my own I realise the hell that Jimmy and I put our parents through. But Jimmy was great with my boys. He loved kids, Mr Nightingale. He sponsored a couple of kids out in Africa and every Christmas he went around the local hospitals and children’s homes dressed as Father Christmas, giving out toys.’

Nightingale nodded thoughtfully. ‘So why do you think he did it?’

‘I don’t know, Mr Nightingale. That’s what I want you to find out. I’ve got money. Jimmy left the farm and everything to me. He had more than a quarter of a million pounds in the bank and it’s all mine now. At least it will be when the solicitors have finished whatever it is that they’re doing. So I can pay you, Mr Nightingale. Money isn’t an issue. I just want to know why Jimmy turned into a serial killer.’

‘Spree killer,’ said Nightingale.

‘Sorry, what?’ McBride frowned in confusion.

‘Serial killings happen at different times,’ explained Nightingale. ‘When the killings occur at the same time, it’s called a spree.’ He sighed. ‘Look, Mr McBride, sometimes people just snap. People can do terrible things. Maybe something had pushed your brother over the edge and he just wanted to hit back.’

‘At children?’

‘Maybe kids had been making his life a misery. Maybe they’d been, I don’t know, vandalising the farm. Hurting his animals. I don’t know.’

‘I spoke to the local police. Jimmy hadn’t reported anything to them. And he would have mentioned it to me.’

‘Okay, then maybe he just went crazy. People sometimes just lose it. Schizophrenia. Depression.’

‘Jimmy was a bit depressed, but you find me a farmer who doesn’t bitch and moan. It goes with the job. But he wasn’t crazy. My brother was definitely not crazy.’

As they spoke Nightingale began to recall more details of the case. It had been on the front pages of the tabloid newspapers and led the TV news since it had happened. ‘What about the devil-worship stuff? The police said they found all sorts of stuff on his computer. Videos of animal sacrifice, end of the world stuff.’

‘My brother didn’t have an internet connection, Mr Nightingale. He used his computer to do the farm accounts and that was it. My kids have been nagging him for months to get online so they could Facebook him but he couldn’t be bothered. He doesn’t even have a TV on the farm. He’s a big reader.’ McBride forced a smile. ‘Was a big reader, I mean.’

‘The police definitely said they found Satanic information on his computer. I remember reading that.’

‘I’m not arguing with that,’ said McBride. ‘I’m just saying it wasn’t Jimmy that put it there. And that’s why I came to you. I Googled and it said you were a bit of an expert in things like that.’

‘Things like what?’

‘You know. Black magic. Possessions. You’ve a reputation for working on cases that are a bit out of the ordinary.’

‘So what do you want me to do, Mr McBride?’

‘I want you to find out why he did it. That’s all I want. I want to know the real reason he took his shotgun to that school and went on a killing spree. Because it wasn’t about devil-worship, I know that for a fact.’

‘If he was a devil-worshipper he’d hardly advertise the fact, would he? And you must have seen the pictures in the papers. There was a whole Satanic altar thing in his barn. With blood and offerings and all sorts of shit.’

McBride nodded. ‘Sure, I saw the pictures. And I saw the TV coverage, too.’ He leant forward so his face was just inches from Nightingale’s. ‘But here’s the thing. I went to see Jimmy, two days before the killings. I was in that barn with him. And none of that stuff was there then. None of it.’

Nightingale frowned and stared at McBride for several seconds without speaking.

‘You heard what I said?’ said McBride.

‘I’m trying to get my head around it,’ said Nightingale. He reached for his cigarettes. He offered the pack to McBride but he shook his head. Nightingale lit one and stared thoughtfully at McBride as he inhaled the smoke and blew a fairly respectable smoke ring at the ceiling. ‘So the Satanic stuff was found when?’

‘They were around at Jimmy’s farm the day of the shootings. Monday.’

‘And you were there when? Saturday?’

‘That’s right. Jimmy said one his tractors was playing up and he needed a hand with it. There was no altar there then.’

‘So you think someone is setting your brother up as a Satanist?’

‘That’s exactly what I think.’

Nightingale flicked his cigarette at the ashtray by his paper but missed by several inches. ‘But why would anyone do that?’

‘That’s what I want you to find out, Mr Nightingale.’

‘Even though you know that your brother did kill those children?’

‘There’s no doubt that he did. But I want to know why.’

Nightingale took another drag on his cigarette. ‘It won’t be cheap, Mr McBride. Berwick isn’t my patch and it’s going to take time.’

‘My brother has left everything he had to me and my kids,’ said McBride. ‘Money is one thing I don’t have to worry about. But I won’t be able to rest until I know why Jimmy did what he did.’

Jenny showed Mr McBride out and then went back into Nightingale’s office. He was already back at his Sudoku. She waved the cheque that Mr McBride had given her. ‘Two thousand pounds on account,’ she said.

‘On account of the fact that his brother is a child-killer,’ said Nightingale, putting down his paper.

‘What do you think?’ asked Jenny.

‘I think it’ll make a change from chasing unfaithful husbands,’ said Nightingale. ‘And the whole Satanic thing is interesting.’

‘Why would a Satanist kill kids with a shotgun? They go in for ritual killings, don’t they? Not much in the way of ritual with a 12-bore.’

‘I’ll know better once I’ve had a look around McBride’s barn.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Bit of a drive, Berwick.’

‘There’s a train,’ she said.

‘That’ll get me to Berwick, but what do I do then?’

‘You can hire a car. Or you could drive up.’

‘My MGB isn’t up for that,’ he said.

‘But my Audi is, is that what you’re saying?’

Nightingale grinned. ‘Vorsprung durch technik,’ he said.

‘I’m not your chauffeur,’ she said.

‘I’ll split the driving with you,’ he said.

‘Can’t you fly up?’

‘To where? Newcastle? I’m still going to have to get a car. Plus I’ll have to schlep out to Heathrow. Come on, I’ll pay for the petrol and I’ll buy you lunch.’

‘Jack, seriously, it’s a six or seven-hour drive. Fourteen hours there and back. It’s an overnighter. And someone has to mind the office.’

Nightingale nodded. She was right. She usually was. ‘Can I at least borrow the Audi?’

‘If you promise to be careful.’

‘Cross my heart.’

‘I’m serious, Jack.’

‘So am I. We’ll do a swap, you can borrow the MGB.’