Stephen Leather - Nightshade

‘He’s just bought a mail order bride,’ said Nightingale, getting to his feet. ‘A Latvian.’

‘God help the poor girl,’ said Jenny.

Nightingale went over to the bar and ordered a glass of wine and a Corona. ‘She’s a bit of a ball-breaker, isn’t she?’ asked the barman, nodding at Jenny.

‘She’s okay,’ said Nightingale.

‘I prefer Eastern European women. Easier to handle.’

‘Nah, she’s fine,’ said Nightingale. ‘She likes you.’

‘Like fuck she does.’

‘Seriously. She only acts like that when there’s attraction. It’s what she does when she’s flirting.’

‘Seriously?’

‘On my life,’ said Nightingale. The barman gave him his drinks, Nightingale paid and carried them over to Jenny. ‘Mrs Steadman knows what she’s talking about,’ he said as he sat down. ‘Up until now she’s always made a lot of sense.’

‘You think it’s sensible to even talk about killing a child? Jack, the woman is off her rocker. If she told you then she’s probably telling other people and there are plenty of sickos out there who might take her at her word. What did she say it was? A Shade, did she call it?’

‘It’s an evil entity without form. It can only act when it’s taken possession of something else.’ He saw the look of contempt on her face and held up his hands. ‘I know how crazy it sounds.’

‘Do you? Are you sure about that, because if you really knew I think you’d have turned her over to the authorities already.’

‘She isn’t like that,’ said Nightingale.

Jenny sipped her wine. The barman was grinning at her, and as she put down her glass he winked at her and gave her a thumbs-up. ‘What the bloody hell is he grinning at?’ she asked.

Nightingale twisted around in his seat. The barman moved down the bar, collecting empties. ‘I dunno,’ he said. ‘Probably just wanted to know if the wine was okay.’ He swirled his bottle again. ‘Look, I know everything I’ve said sounds totally mad, but Mrs Steadman has always steered me right in the past.’

‘I’ve never understood the attraction you have for that woman,’ said Jenny.

‘Attraction?’

‘You know what I’m saying. Whenever she calls you drop everything to go and see her. And it’s Mrs Steadman this and Mrs Steadman that. She’s a witch, you said.’

‘A white witch.’

‘A white witch who sells crystals and spells and voodoo dolls?’

‘Not so much voodoo. But Wicca stuff, yes. Spells and charms.’

‘Well, that right there is the sign of a disturbed mind. She’s best avoided, Jack.’

Nightingale lowered his head and moved closer to her. ‘But what if she’s right?’

‘Can you hear yourself?’

‘I’m just saying, what if? What if there is such a thing as a Shade and what if it has taken over the little girl?’

‘Then it’s not our problem. Let them get a priest or a vicar or whoever it is that the church uses for exorcisms.’

Nightingale shook his head. ‘An exorcism won’t work. That’s what she said.’

‘But shoving knives into her eyes and heart will?’

‘Special knives. Any old knife won’t do.’

‘Of course not. It probably has to be knives blessed by a vestal virgin or some such nonsense.’

‘She said she’ll give me the knives when I’m ready.’

‘Ready? When will you be ready?’

‘She said she didn’t expect me to believe her, not right away. She said I should find out for myself what’s going on.’

‘What does that mean?’

Nightingale shrugged. ‘The Shade has an agenda. Something really bad, she said. The Shade can get people to do things, things they wouldn’t normally do. She says that I should find out who the little girl has spoken to, and see what happens to them.’

‘That’s just ridiculous,’ she said.

Nightingale grimaced, then reached for a copy of the Evening Standard that was sticking out of his raincoat pocket. He spread the paper out on the table and opened it at page five. The main headline read — ‘FATHER SLAYS FAMILY THEN KILLS HIMSELF’. Nightingale tapped the headline with his finger. ‘The inquest was today. Murder-suicide.’

Jenny frowned as she read the story. ‘He was a nurse,’ she said.

‘That’s right.’

‘Please don’t tell me that he worked at the little girl’s hospital.’

Nightingale nodded. ‘In the ICU, where she was first taken.’

Jenny stared at the article in horror. ‘That doesn’t make any sense, Jack.’

‘It does if Mrs Steadman is telling the truth,’ he said.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’m a detective. I’m going to detect. That’s the easy part. But if she’s right and something has taken over the little girl, then God only knows what I’m going to do.’

‘What do you mean by detect?’

‘I’m going to head down to Southampton and ask some questions.’

‘Of whom, exactly?’

‘I want to find out why the nurse killed himself, for start.’ He grinned across at her. ‘Fancy a drive?’

‘I’m not a taxi service, Jack.’

‘I was thinking more of your role as my sidekick.’

‘Sidekick?’

‘Robin to my Batman. Lewis to my Morse. That pretty red-haired bird to my Doctor Who.’

‘Gromit to your Wallace?’

‘See, you do get it. Seriously, it’ll be useful to have a feminine face by my side, especially when I start asking awkward questions.’

Jenny sighed. ‘Okay, you’ve talked me into it.’

Nightingale grinned. ‘Excellent. And can we take your car?’

‘Jack …’

He held up his bottle. ‘I’ve been drinking.’

‘So have I.’

‘Nah, wine doesn’t count. And you’ve barely touched yours.’

‘That’s it,’ said Nightingale, nodding at a detached house with a tiny garden in front of it. Jenny pulled up at the side of the road.

‘I think the police tape all over the front door is a clue,’ said Jenny. They were in a small road on the outskirts of Southampton. The front door of the house was criss-crossed with blue and white crime scene tape and there was a yellow seal over the lock. ‘You weren’t planning on breaking in, were you?’

‘I doubt that there’ll be much to see,’ said Nightingale. ‘The cops’ll have taken away anything interesting.’

‘And you haven’t got any cop friends who can tell you what happened?’

‘It’s Hampshire police and I don’t have any contacts there. I rang Robbie and he doesn’t either.’

‘So what’s the plan?’

‘We’ll talk to the neighbours. See what they have to say.’

‘They’re not going to be able to tell you if Bella Harper is possessed.’

‘Oh ye of little faith,’ he said. They climbed out of the car and Nightingale turned up the collar of his raincoat. The sky overhead was gunmetal grey and there was a cold wind blowing down the street. According to the newspaper, the bodies had been discovered by a neighbour, and while the reporter hadn’t identified the neighbour, Nightingale figured that it was a fair bet that it would be the occupant of the house next door.

Jenny followed him as he pushed open the wooden gate and walked down the path to the front door. He’d already checked the electoral register and there were two people living in the house — Ronald Edwards and Ruth Edwards. He rang the doorbell and practised his smile as he waited for the door to be opened. He heard footsteps and then the rattle of a bolt drawn back. The door opened on a security chain. It was a grey-haired woman in her sixties. ‘Mrs Edwards?’

‘Yes,’ said the woman, squinting up at him with narrowed eyes.

‘My name’s Jack, Jack Nightingale.’ He took out his wallet and gave her his business card. ‘I’m a detective. This is my assistant. Can we talk to you about what happened next door?’