Stephen Leather - Nightfall

‘Jack,’ said Jenny, ‘maybe we should go.’

‘Just a few minutes, Mr Harrison. Then we’ll go. I promise.’

Harrison continued to push at the door but realised eventually that it wasn’t a contest he was ever going to win. He stepped back, holding up his hands defensively. Nightingale saw that his nails were bitten to the quick. ‘Please, just leave me alone.’

‘You know who I am, then?’ asked Nightingale.

‘You’re the boy, the Nightingale boy. Of course I know. You think I could ever forget?’

‘I want to talk about what happened to my parents,’ said Nightingale. ‘The accident.’

Harrison’s shoulders slumped and he turned to walk down the hallway.

Nightingale looked at Jenny. ‘Do you want to wait outside?’

She shook her head fiercely. ‘I’m coming with you,’ she said.

‘You don’t have to.’

‘I want to.’

Nightingale nodded and followed Harrison. The hallway was the same drab green as the corridor outside. A bare bulb hung from a frayed wire and there was a stack of unopened bills on a side table beneath a cracked mirror. As he passed it, Harrison adjusted his comb-over. Jenny shared a smile with Nightingale.

The living room was a mess. There were two red plastic sofas, one piled high with magazines, most of which seemed to be pornographic, and the other with old takeaway cartons. The only item of value in the flat was a large LCD television. Through an open door, Nightingale saw a filthy kitchen, with a greasy gas stove and a sink full of dirty dishes.

‘How long have you lived here, George?’ asked Nightingale. ‘What brought you to London?’

Harrison shrugged but didn’t answer. He went over to a door that led out to a small concrete balcony and pulled it open. A bicycle missing its front wheel was leaning against a box of empty vodka bottles.

Jenny stood watching the television. A young woman who must have weighed at least twenty stone was shrieking at a spotty-faced man, accusing him of fathering a child with her sister as the audience screamed and shook their fists.

Harrison went out onto the balcony, Nightingale behind him. The shabby council flat had a stunning view of the river Thames, with the Houses of Parliament ahead and the London Eye to the right. It was a cloudless day and they could see for miles. High overhead, passenger jets were lining up to land at Heathrow in the west.

The wind ruffled Harrison’s comb-over but he didn’t seem to notice. He wiped his face with his right hand. ‘Why, after all these years?’ he asked. ‘Why now?’ His comb-over flapped like a flag.

‘I need to talk to you,’ said Nightingale. He took out his Marlboro and offered one to Harrison. ‘About what happened to my parents.’

‘I don’t smoke,’ Harrison said.

Nightingale lit a cigarette. ‘We’re a dying breed, smokers,’ he said.

‘You’re going to hell, Jack Nightingale,’ said Harrison, his face a blank mask, his voice a dull monotone. He vaulted over the side of the balcony. Nightingale froze, the cigarette on the way to his mouth. He flinched as he heard the body slam into the concrete nine floors below.

Jenny appeared behind him. ‘My God, Jack, what have you done?’

Nightingale backed away, the cigarette forgotten in his hand. ‘He just jumped,’ he said. ‘We were talking and he jumped.’

‘He jumped?’ said Jenny. ‘Why would he jump?’

‘He told me I was going to hell and he jumped.’ He turned to her. ‘You heard him, right? You heard what he said?’

‘I didn’t hear anything. I just saw him go over the edge.’

‘Jenny, he told me I was going to hell. You must have heard him say that! You were standing right there.’

‘Jack, I’m sorry…’ She was shaking as she folded her arms across her chest. ‘I’m going to throw up,’ she said.

‘We’ve got to get out of here – now,’ he said.

‘You’re not going to call the police?’

‘And tell them what? That he took one look at me and jumped to his death? They’re not going to believe that.’

‘But it’s the truth.’

‘They’ll assume I pushed him, Jenny.’

‘But you didn’t.’

‘We have to go. We have to wipe everything we touched and then we have to go.’

‘What?’

‘Forensics. We have to wipe everything we touched to remove DNA and fingerprints and we have to do it now. Do you understand?’

Jenny stared at him blankly.

Nightingale grabbed her shoulders. ‘Jenny, I need you with me on this. We have to clean up and go – now.’

‘Okay,’ she said.

Nightingale waved the barmaid over. ‘A whisky – a double,’ he said, ‘with ice.’

‘Any particular brand?’ she asked. She had a South African accent.

‘Bell’s. Teacher’s. Anything.’

‘Jack, I don’t see that drink is going to help,’ said Jenny, putting a hand on his shoulder. They were in a pub close to the office. They had driven in silence from Battersea, too shocked to discuss what had happened.

‘I need a drink,’ said Nightingale. ‘And so do you.’

‘Make it two,’ she told the barmaid. She put her head close to Nightingale’s. ‘What happened back there, Jack?’

‘You saw what happened.’

‘You were in the way.’

‘You didn’t hear him tell me I’m going to hell? Because that’s what he said, Jenny, as clear as day. He said, “You’re going to hell, Jack Nightingale.” Those were his exact words.’

‘The TV was on, I didn’t hear him say anything.’

‘We were talking on the balcony. You were right there.’

‘And he said you were going to hell?’

‘Yes.’

‘So, think about it, Jack. Maybe it’s your subconscious – maybe you were flashing back to what happened to Simon Underwood two years ago. Maybe you thought you heard him say that because the situations were so similar.’

‘Similar in what way?’

‘You know in what way,’ she said.

‘You don’t think I pushed him, do you?’

‘Who?’ she asked. ‘Underwood or Harrison?’

‘Thanks a lot, Jenny. Thanks a bloody lot.’ She reached over to touch his hand but he pulled it away. ‘You don’t want to get too close to me,’ he said. ‘I might push you out of a window.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Jack,’ she said softly. ‘Of course I don’t think you killed anybody. It’s not in your nature. But Harrison couldn’t have slipped – the railing was too high.’

‘I told you already. He jumped. He told me I was going to hell and then he jumped.’

‘Why would he jump?’

‘I don’t know.’ He drained his glass and gestured to the barmaid for another.

‘Getting drunk isn’t going to help,’ said Jenny.

‘I’m not driving, if that’s what you’re worried about,’ said Nightingale. He handed her the keys to the MGB. ‘You can drive me home.’

‘I’m not your bloody chauffeur.’

‘No, and you’re not my mother either.’

His drink arrived. He raised the glass to her, then sipped.

‘You can be an arsehole at times,’ she said, and sat on a barstool.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Nightingale. ‘I shouldn’t have let you go with me.’

‘That’s what you’re sorry about? You’re not sorry that a man died, that we saw him jump to his death?’

‘You told me you didn’t see anything.’

‘I saw him fall. I didn’t see if you pushed him.’ She raised her whisky to her lips, then put the glass down. ‘I’m not drinking this.’ To the barmaid she mouthed, ‘Coffee, please.’

Nightingale picked up her glass and poured the contents into his own. ‘Waste not, want not.’

‘If the police come, it’s not going to help if you’re smelling of drink,’ said Jenny. ‘We should have stayed. We should have called them and stayed.’