Jack Nightingale 03 - Nightmare

by Stephen Leather

  ‘Music to my ears,’ said Barbara.

  Jenny took a glass from the cupboard and put it on the breakfast bar. She poured in orange juice while Nightingale popped the cork from the champagne bottle.

  ‘How decadent is this?’ said Barbara as Nightingale poured champagne into the three glasses.

  Nightingale sat down on a stool and raised his glass. ‘To exercise,’ he said.

  They clinked glasses and drank. ‘Do you work out, Jack?’ asked Barbara.

  ‘He was being ironic,’ said Jenny.

  ‘I’m not a big fan of gyms,’ admitted Nightingale. ‘They always remind me of hamsters on wheels.’

  ‘It’s good for you,’ said Barbara. ‘Good for your heart, your joints, your general well-being.’

  ‘So to what do we owe the pleasure, Jack?’ asked Jenny. She looked over at Barbara. ‘I’ll bet you a quid he wants something.’

  Nightingale raised his eyebrows. ‘What makes you think that I want anything?’ he said. ‘How do you know I didn’t just pop round for a social call?’

  ‘Because Bayswater is on the other side of town, because champagne isn’t your tipple, and because it’s eleven o’clock at night. What’s wrong?’

  Nightingale put down his glass and raised his hands. ‘First, I want you to promise that you won’t bite my head off.’

  Jenny’s face tightened. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Do you want me to go?’ asked Barbara.

  ‘Might be better if you stayed,’ said Nightingale. ‘You can referee.’

  ‘Jack, what’s going on?’ said Jenny.

  ‘I spoke to Joshua Wainwright this evening.’ He looked at Barbara. ‘He’s an American who was going to buy the books from Gosling Manor. The ones in the basement.’

  ‘Which Jenny says were stolen,’ said Barbara.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Nightingale. ‘Someone got in and took away the lot. Every last book. Here’s the thing, though. Hardly anyone knew that the books were down there.’ He frowned. ‘You didn’t mention it to anyone, did you?’

  ‘I didn’t realise it was a secret,’ said Barbara. ‘But no, I didn’t.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Jack!’ protested Jenny. ‘She answered your question. There’s no need for the third degree.’

  ‘I’m sorry, kid,’ said Nightingale. ‘I just meant that sometimes you can say things without realising it. Just in general conversation. And Barbara’s right: it wasn’t a secret. My point is that hardly anyone knew that the books were down there. Even the firemen didn’t know that the basement was there, and neither did the guy who came to quote for the repair work. In fact, the only people who know about the books are the three of us.’

  ‘Come on now, that’s not true,’ said Jenny. ‘That American has been down there and you’ve been giving Mrs Steadman books.’

  ‘Mrs Steadman doesn’t know about Gosling Manor. She knew I had the books but she didn’t know where they came from. And I’m sure that Joshua didn’t take them.’

  ‘Really?’ said Jenny. ‘And just as he’s about to start discussing the price, they get stolen. Doesn’t that strike you as a bit of a coincidence?’

  ‘If he was going to steal them, why would he send in his valuation team?’ said Nightingale.

  ‘I told you before, Jack. To throw you off the trail,’ said Jenny. ‘Sometimes you are so naive.’

  Nightingale laughed and raised his glass. ‘It’s not often that I get called that,’ he said, and clinked his glass against Jenny’s.

  She looked at him suspiciously. ‘Why are you here, Jack? What did Joshua say to you?’

  ‘I just need you to promise that you won’t fly off the handle.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you won’t like what he said.’ He sipped his drink.

  ‘Just tell me,’ said Jenny.

  Nightingale took a deep breath. ‘He said that Marcus Fairchild has them.’

  Jenny’s eyes hardened. ‘You bastard,’ she said quietly.

  He put down his glass and held up his hands again. ‘Don’t shoot the messenger,’ he said.

  ‘Your uncle?’ said Barbara, looking at Jenny.

  ‘Jack’s got a thing about him. Blames him for all the evil in the world, pretty much.’

  ‘Joshua said that Marcus has come into a collection of books, and he’s pretty sure they’re the ones from the basement of Gosling Manor.’

  ‘How would Uncle Marcus know the books were there?’ asked Jenny.

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘When was the last time you spoke to him?’

  ‘When he got you out of the cop shop. You were there when I saw him, remember? In the wine bar?’

  ‘And you’ve not spoken to him since?’

  ‘There you go again. What are you suggesting, Jack? Why don’t you just come out and say it? You think I told him about the books?’

  ‘Jenny, who else could it have been?’

  ‘I keep telling you. Your new best friend. That bloody American.’ She sighed in exasperation. ‘I don’t get you, Jack, I really don’t. It’s like you’re determined to prove that Uncle Marcus is behind what happened at Gosling Manor no matter what. Why are you so set against him?’

  ‘Jenny, you heard what my sister said about Fairchild.’ He looked at Barbara. ‘You remember, you hypnotised her and she remembered him killing a child and framing her.’

  ‘And we talked about false memories,’ said Jenny. ‘I’ve known Marcus for ever, he’s not a devil-worshipper, he’s not evil, and he’s certainly not a thief.’

  ‘Barbara?’ said Nightingale, hoping that she would support him.

  ‘I really don’t want to get dragged into this,’ said Barbara.

  ‘You’re the one who got my sister to talk about Fairchild and what he did,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘Your sister was in a mental hospital,’ said Jenny. ‘Let’s not forget that.’

  ‘Accused of murders that she didn’t commit,’ said Nightingale. ‘Murders that your uncle carried out.’

  ‘You’ve only got your sister’s word for that and she’s not around to back you up.’ She glared at him. ‘I don’t know why you keep banging away at this. Your sister was deranged, probably still is.’

  ‘Barbara?’ said Nightingale. ‘You were the one who did the regression thing.’

  Barbara shrugged. ‘It wasn’t really hypnotic regression; she was in a deep trance and she talked through what she remembered.’

  ‘What she thought she remembered,’ said Jenny.

  ‘So now you’re saying that she was making it up?’

  ‘I’m saying that your sister has a lot of problems. You too. You both found out that your real father was a Satanist who gave you up for adoption at birth and you’re both having trouble dealing with that. Jack, you’re talking about a man that I’ve known for as long as I can remember.’ She put a hand over her heart. ‘I swear to you, I’d trust Uncle Marcus with my life.’

  ‘I can see that,’ said Nightingale. ‘And I can see how quick you are to defend him.’

  ‘You don’t know him. You’ve met him twice, that’s all. I’ve known him for ever.’

  Nightingale nodded slowly. ‘Jenny, you’re not going to like what I’m going to say, but I want you to listen to me very carefully. There are two possibilities here. It might be that I’m completely wrong. It might be that Marcus Fairchild is a great guy and that my sister is crazy and that everything she said under hypnosis was just plain wrong. I admit that’s a possibility.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Jenny.

  ‘But there’s the other possibility and I want you to just think about it. What if I’m right? What if he is something else? What if he’s able to conceal his true self ? What if he’s able to control what people think about him? What if he really did manage to convince my sister that she killed those kids?’

  ‘And what if pigs can fly?’

  ‘Please, Jenny, just
hear me out. Suppose he is evil. Suppose he can affect the way people see him. What if he can use hypnosis or mind control or something?’

  ‘You should listen to yourself. Have you any idea how crazy you sound?’

  ‘Can you at least consider the possibility that he might have done to you what he did to my sister?’

  ‘What are you saying, Jack?’

  Nightingale took a deep breath. He had no idea how Jenny was going to react to what he was about to say, but he was pretty sure that she wouldn’t be happy. ‘I’m saying that maybe he’s hypnotised you, the way that he hypnotised my sister. And that maybe you’re the one who told him about the books in the basement.’

  Jenny looked at him coldly, picked up her glass, and threw her drink in his face.

  53

  Nightingale wiped his face with the tea towel that Barbara had given him after Jenny stormed out of the kitchen and upstairs to her bedroom. ‘She didn’t take that well, did she?’ he said.

  ‘What did you expect, Jack? You accused her of betraying you. That’s not something you say lightly.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that she did it deliberately,’ said Nightingale, dabbing at his soaked shirt. ‘I think Fairchild has conned her. Maybe even hypnotised her.’

  ‘Jack, she’s known Marcus since she was a child. He’s been a close friend of Jenny’s father since before she was born. He’s her godfather, for goodness sake. You can’t go making vague accusations like that.’

  ‘I don’t think I was that vague, actually.’ He dropped the tea towel onto the worktop. ‘I’m serious about this, Barbara. She told him that the police had taken me for questioning. Why would she do that?’

  ‘He’s a lawyer, and a bloody good one. She wanted to help you.’

  ‘But after what happened with my sister, she must have known that I’d want nothing to do with him. So why talk to him about me?’

  Barbara shrugged. ‘I can’t answer that. I don’t know.’

  ‘And the first time I met him, at her parents’ house over Christmas, he’d already talked to her about my sister.’

  ‘Well, he was on your sister’s legal team.’

  ‘And you don’t think that’s a coincidence?’

  Barbara frowned. ‘You’ve lost me, Jack.’

  ‘Fairchild was on my sister’s legal team, but from what you got out of her under hypnosis it’s clear that he was responsible for her conviction in the first place. He killed at least one of those children, maybe all of them.’

  ‘That’s if you believe what your sister said. And that’s a very big if, Jack.’

  ‘I heard the recording, and that seemed pretty definite.’

  ‘I’m sure that your sister believed what she told me, but that doesn’t mean it’s true.’

  ‘What do you think, Barbara? Do you think my sister’s making it up? Or do you think that Marcus Fairchild framed her for murder?’

  Barbara threw up her hands. ‘I don’t know, Jack. I’m sorry.’

  Nightingale looked towards the stairs. ‘She’s really pissed off, isn’t she?’

  ‘Do you blame her? Her dad’s been best mates with Marcus Fairchild since the year dot. If you accuse him that’s as good as accusing her dad.’

  ‘This is nothing to do with her dad. Barbara, there’s something not right about that man, and I need you to help me prove it.’

  ‘Me? What can I do?’

  ‘Same as you did before.’

  Barbara’s mouth fell open. ‘Jenny’s never going to agree to that,’ she said.

  ‘She might,’ said Nightingale. ‘If you asked her.’

  54

  Nightingale looked up as Barbara came down the stairs, He was about to say something when he realised that Jenny was behind her. Her eyes were red as if she’d been crying. ‘I’m sorry, kid,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want to upset you.’

  Jenny pointed a finger at him. ‘I’ll do this because Barbara asked me to, but once it’s done I’m going to want an apology from you and a promise that you’ll never, ever, mention my uncle again.’

  ‘It’s a promise,’ said Nightingale, getting off his stool.

  Jenny looked at Barbara. ‘This is crazy. It really is crazy.’

  ‘You have to go into this with an open mind,’ said Barbara. ‘It’s not going to work if you’re negative.’

  Jenny nodded. ‘Okay, I’ll get myself into a more positive frame of mind.’ She walked over to the breakfast bar and poured champagne into her glass.

  ‘I hope that’s not for me,’ said Nightingale.

  Jenny flashed him a tight smile, drank it all in one, then refilled her glass.

  ‘Is she okay drinking?’ Nightingale asked Barbara.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ said Jenny. ‘I’m not the one with the drink problem.’ She drank half her champagne.

  ‘I meant for the hypnosis. Doesn’t drink affect the process?’

  ‘In moderation it can actually help,’ said Barbara. ‘It’s a relaxant.’

  ‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Jenny. She toasted them with her glass and then drained it.

  ‘You’re going to relax yourself into a coma,’ said Nightingale.

  Jenny smiled sarcastically. ‘Yeah? Pot. Kettle. Black.’ She poured the last of the champagne into her glass.

  ‘Shall we get started?’ asked Barbara.

  ‘Let’s,’ said Jenny. ‘Where do we do it?’

  ‘The sofa in the sitting room should do the trick,’ said Barbara. ‘But anywhere you feel comfortable is fine.’

  ‘The sofa works for me,’ said Jenny. She finished her champagne and headed for the sitting room.

  The television was on with the sound muted. Barbara picked up the remote and switched it off. ‘Take off your shoes,’ she said. ‘You’ll probably be most relaxed if you lie down but sitting is okay.’ Jenny sat down on the sofa, slipped off her shoes and then lay back. She plumped up a cushion and slid it behind her head.

  ‘What about me?’ asked Nightingale.

  ‘That’s up to Jenny,’ said Barbara. She looked at her friend. ‘If it makes you uncomfortable then he should stay outside.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Jenny. ‘Unless he hears it for himself he’s not going to believe it anyway so he might as well stay.’

  Nightingale sat down in a winged easy chair by the fireplace.

  Barbara picked up a chair from around the circular dining table by the window and carried it over to the sofa. She put it down so that she could sit at Jenny’s shoulder.

  ‘Are you sitting comfortably?’ asked Jenny.

  Barbara wagged her finger at Jenny. ‘You take this seriously, young lady,’ she said. ‘You’re dealing with a professional, remember?’

  ‘Yes, miss. Sorry, miss.’ Jenny took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  ‘Okay, close your eyes and I want you to listen to your own breathing. Try to breathe as slowly as possible. Slow and even. The slower the better. Not too deep, not too shallow.’

  Jenny did as she was told. Nightingale crossed his ankles and sat back in his chair. Barbara began to speak in a slow, deep voice, barely more than a murmur, her mouth close to Jenny’s ear. Nightingale couldn’t make out what she was saying but the tone and rhythm were so soothing that he started to feel his eyelids getting heavy. He blinked and forced himself to concentrate but even then he had to struggle not to fall asleep.

  Barbara continued to talk to Jenny for almost five minutes before sitting back in her chair and nodding over at Nightingale. ‘She’s under,’ she mouthed.

  Jenny’s eyes were closed and her chest was rising and falling slowly. Nightingale could hear a slight wheeze as she breathed in and out.

  ‘Jenny, can you hear me?’ asked Barbara quietly.

  ‘Yes,’ said Jenny, her voice a dull monotone.

  ‘Everything’s calm and peaceful. You’re safe here, you’re among friends. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I want you to go back in your mind to the last time
that you spoke to your Uncle Marcus. Can you do that for me?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jenny.

  ‘Did you talk to him on the phone? Or did you see him?’

  ‘I saw him,’ said Jenny.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘He came here.’

  ‘Here? To your house?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Three days ago. Saturday.’

  ‘That can’t be right,’ said Nightingale.

  Barbara silenced him with a warning look, then pressed a finger to her lips. ‘Shhh.’

  Nightingale nodded. He was leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees.

  ‘Jenny?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I want you to go back to three days ago, when Uncle Marcus came to see you. Can you do that? Can you do that for me, Jenny?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘It’s five minutes before he’s due to arrive. What are you wearing?’

  ‘Blue jeans. My Versace T-shirt. The one with the angel wings on the back.’

  ‘I need you to look at your watch, Jenny. What time is it?’

  ‘Five to eight,’ said Jenny.

  ‘And he said he’d come to see you at eight o’clock?’

  ‘Yes. He phoned me before.’

  ‘And it’s Saturday?’

  ‘Yes. Saturday.’

  Nightingale frowned as he realised that Jenny had lied when she’d said that the last time she’d seen Fairchild was when he’d gone to the police station. But that didn’t make any sense at all. Why would she lie to him?

  ‘Now I want you to go forward until Marcus arrives. Did he knock at the door or ring the bell?’

  ‘He rang the bell. The intercom.’

  ‘That’s good, Jenny. Now I want you to go to the door and open it. Can you do that for me?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Jenny.

  ‘So open the door and tell me what you see.’

  ‘It’s Uncle Marcus.’

  ‘What’s he wearing, Jenny?’

  ‘A dark blue suit. A pink shirt with a white collar. A dark blue tie.’

  ‘And what happened then, Jenny? Did you let him into the house?’

  Jenny said nothing.

  ‘Jenny, can you hear me?’