paranoid.’
‘Just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get me,’ he said.
‘Who?’
Nightingale grinned. ‘I was joking,’ he said. They heard the door to the outer office open. ‘Frisk him first, though, just to be on the safe side.’
Jenny shook her head and went to greet the visitor. Nightingale heard muffled voices, then Jenny showed a middle-aged man in a dark blazer into the room. He was grey-haired, tall and thin, with the bearing of a former soldier. He had a slight limp and had a walking stick in his left hand. He extended his right hand and flashed Nightingale a tight smile. ‘My name’s McBride. Danny McBride.’
Nightingale shook the man’s hand and waved him to a chair.
‘Would you like a tea or a coffee?’ asked Jenny. McBride smiled and shook his head and Jenny left the room, closing the door behind her.
‘How can I help you, Mr McBride?’ asked Nightingale.
‘I’m sure you heard about the children who died up in Berwick,’ he said.
‘The ones that were shot by that psycho?’ said Nightingale. ‘Of course.’
McBride nodded. ‘That psycho was my brother. James. Jimmy.’
Nightingale frowned. He wasn’t sure what to say. ‘Sorry for your loss?’ didn’t seem appropriate.
McBride took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘I want you to find out what happened,’ he said. ‘I know what the police think, and I read what was in all the papers. But I want to know the truth, Mr Nightingale. I want to know what happened.’
Nightingale ran a hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I don’t understand what you mean,’ he said. ‘The case was closed. Your brother shot the children and then killed himself, didn’t he?’
McBride nodded.
‘So it was what the police call murder-suicide. An open and shut case.’
‘I don’t think anyone knows the real reason my brother did what he did. I want someone impartial to look into it. Someone who can look into it with an open mind.’
‘You think the police got it wrong?’
McBride shrugged. ‘I’m not sure what to think. But he was a quiet man, always kept himself to himself. Spent most of the time working on his farm. But he wasn’t a bad man, Mr Nightingale.’
‘But you believe your brother killed those children?’
‘There’s no doubt about that, is there? He shot himself in the gym. The school had CCTV and there’s footage of him with the gun.’
‘So what is it you want me to do? Nothing I can find out is going to change things. Those children are dead and your brother killed them.’
‘I want to know why, Mr Nightingale. My brother loved kids. He was always great with my sons.’
Nightingale nodded slowly. ‘How old are your boys, Mr McBride?’
McBride’s eyes hardened a fraction. ‘Ten and eight,’ he said quietly.
‘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.’
