Stephen Leather - Nightshade - The Fourth Jack Nightingale Supernatural Thriller

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.’

9

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.’

‘I’ll stick with taxis, thanks. Which you’ll pay for. I’ll get a hotel fixed up for you. When are you going up?’

‘Might as well go tomorrow, strike while the iron’s hot. Come on, the office can do without you for one day. The answer machine will be on.’

‘No can do. I’m at my parents at the weekend.’

‘Hunting, shooting and fishing?’ Jenny’s parents owned a huge estate outside Norfolk.

‘Eating, walking and napping is what I had planned,’ said Jenny. ‘Plus I’ve a mountain of reading I want to catch up on. I’ve got Jodi Picoult’s new one and I’m dying to get stuck into it.’

‘Is your Uncle Marcus going to be there?’

‘No. Why do you keep asking about him?’

‘Do I?’

‘Every time I say I’m going home.’

‘Well, forgive me for expressing an interest in your personal life. Anyway, chick lit trumps a nice drive up to bonnie Scotland, does it?’

‘I think you’ll find that Berwick is in England,’ she said. ‘How long do you think you’ll be there?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Do you think you’ll be back on Saturday? Or Sunday?’

‘Doubt I’ll be able to get much done on a Saturday,’ he said. ‘I’ll fly up first thing tomorrow and come back Saturday. Evening maybe.’

‘I’ll book your flights and hotel,’ she said. ‘Edinburgh’ll probably work best. And I’ll arrange a hire car at the airport. I’ll get the postcode of the farm so I can get the car people to pre-programme the sat-nav for you.’

‘I’m not completely helpless,’ said Nightingale.

‘It’ll be safer,’ said Jenny. ‘That way I won’t have to deal with an “I’m lost” phone call when I’m stuck in to Jodi Picoult.’

‘Oh ye of little faith.’

‘I have faith, Jack. Just not in your navigation skills.’

10

Nightingale arrived at Heathrow airport at ten o’clock on Friday morning, which gave him more than enough time to check in, pass through security and grab a coffee. As he sat in the café surrounded by suited businessmen tapping away on laptops and BlackBerrys, he phoned Robbie Hoyle. Robbie was one of the few serving officers who’d stayed in touch with him when he’d left the force, but he was more than just a former colleague – he was a friend, and a good one.

Robbie was at his desk when he answered and he told Nightingale that he’d call him right back. Two minutes later Nightingale’s phone rang and from the sound of the echo he figured Robbie had moved to the toilets. ‘I guess I’m still persona non grata,’ said Nightingale.

Robbie laughed. ‘Mate, whenever you call you want something so I need to be away from prying ears.’

‘That’s not true. I’m always calling you for a chat. How’s Anna?’

‘Anna’s great.’

‘The kids?’

‘All great. You’re coming for dinner week after next, right? Wednesday?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Nightingale. ‘It’s in my diary. I wouldn’t miss Anna’s cooking for the world. Look mate, I need a favour.’

Robbie laughed. ‘See.’

‘Okay, I need a favour this time but that’s not the only reason I call you.’

‘Stop digging, Jack, the hole’s deep enough as it is. What do you want?’

‘Do you have any contacts up in Northumbria? Berwick?’

‘What sort of contacts?’

‘I’m heading up there as we speak. Remember that farmer who took potshots at schoolkids?’

‘Sure. He topped himself before the armed cops got there, right?’

‘Yeah, well, the brother’s hired me.’

‘To do what?’

‘To find out what happened. He accepts that his brother killed the kids, he just wants to know why.’ Nightingale realised that a woman in a black suit was looking at him over the top of her spectacles. He covered his mouth with his hand. ‘Do you know anyone who might be able to give me any pointers?’

‘Not off the top of my head, but let me ask around.’

Nightingale thanked him, ended the call, and finished his coffee. The flight was full, mainly with businessmen who spent the flight tapping away on BlackBerrys and laptops. Jenny had booked him a window seat and Nightingale spent the hour in the air working on the Sun ’s Sudoku. He had almost finished it when the plane’s wheels touched the runway.