21
Nightingale got into Jenny’s Audi with every intention of not mentioning Marcus Fairchild but she knew him well enough to realise that something was wrong. ‘You really are pissed off that I got Uncle Marcus to bail you out, aren’t you?’ she asked.
‘Bail wasn’t an issue. I was helping them with their enquiries.’ He stared out through the windscreen. There were roadworks ahead and the traffic was crawling along.
‘You know what I mean. What’s your problem with him?’ Rain began to spatter on the windscreen and Jenny switched on her wipers.
Nightingale turned to look at her. ‘Are you serious? Have you forgotten what my sister said?’
‘Your sister was under hypnosis. We don’t know if what she said was true. It could have been a false memory.’
‘She said that he killed a child. Have you forgotten that?’
‘Jack, I’ve known him for as long as I can remember. He knew my father at university.’
Nightingale looked through the windscreen again. Proserpine was standing in the middle of the road, her dog at her side, her long black coat blowing in the wind behind her. ‘Jenny, stop!’ he shouted and she slammed on the brakes.
‘What?’ she said.
He looked across at her. ‘You nearly ran her over.’
‘Who?’
Nightingale looked back at the road. Ahead of them was only traffic. There was no sign of Proserpine or her dog. ‘She was there,’ said Nightingale. ‘I saw her.’
‘Who?’
‘Proserpine.’
‘There’s no one there, Jack.’
The car behind them sounded its horn and Jenny waved an apology and moved off.
‘She was there, Jenny.’
‘She couldn’t have been. I was looking straight ahead.’
They drove in silence for several minutes, then Nightingale folded his arms. ‘You heard what my sister said about Fairchild. He killed a kid and framed her. And he admitted that he was in the Order of Nine Angles.’
‘When?’
‘Back in the wine bar near the cop shop. Before you arrived. He tried to tell me that it was some sort of charitable organisation.’
‘Maybe it is.’ A bus pulled up in front of them and Jenny braked.
‘Have you Googled it? The Order of Nine Angles? Trust me, there’s nothing charitable about them. Human sacrifice plays a big part in what they do. They call it culling.’
Jenny sighed. ‘Jack, even if there is such a thing as the Order of Nine Angles, you don’t know for sure that he’s involved with them.’
Nightingale took out his cigarettes. ‘He’s got to you,’ he muttered.
‘Please don’t smoke in my car,’ she said. ‘And what do you mean? How’s he got to me?’ The bus moved off and Jenny edged the Audi forward.
‘You’re not thinking straight and I don’t understand why. It’s like he’s a blind spot so far as you’re concerned.’
‘He’s my uncle.’
‘No he’s not, Jenny. He’s a friend of your father’s, that’s all.’
Jenny flashed him an angry look. ‘What are you getting at, Jack?’
Nightingale slipped his cigarettes back into his pocket. ‘I’m just saying that you don’t seem to think straight when he’s around.’
‘Why did you mention my father?’
‘Because you keep saying that Fairchild is your uncle and he isn’t. He’s just a family friend.’
‘You think that Marcus is a child-killer. Are you now suggesting that my father is as well?’
‘Of course not.’
‘That’s what it sounded like to me,’ she said.
‘Now you’re the one being ridiculous,’ he said.
Jenny stamped on the brake. For a second time the driver of the car behind them pounded on his horn. ‘Get out,’ she said.
‘Oh come on, Jenny.’
‘I’m serious. Get out.’
‘It’s raining.’
The driver behind them sounded his horn again and the car behind him joined in too. Jenny stared ahead through the windscreen, her lips clamped together and her chin raised defiantly.
Nightingale could see that there was no point in arguing with her. He climbed out of the car and slammed the door behind him. As Jenny drove off he took out his cigarettes. He lit one and looked around for a black cab.
22
Nightingale opened the office door half expecting Jenny not to be there, but he smiled when he saw her at her desk. ‘Sorry,’ he said, placing a Starbucks bag and two coffees in front of her. Jenny’s desk was always immaculate, in stark contrast to his own, which was usually hidden under stacks of newspapers, files, dirty coffee mugs and overflowing ashtrays.
‘You should be.’ She turned away from him.
‘I’m an idiot.’
She steadfastly refused to look at him. ‘Yes. You are.’
Nightingale moved one of the coffees closer to her. ‘Latte.’
‘Thanks,’ she said quietly.
Nightingale gestured at the bag.
‘Banana choc-chip muffin. And a croissant. Breakfast of champions.’
‘Thanks,’ she repeated. She looked at her watch. ‘But it’s six o’clock in the evening so it’s a bit late for breakfast.’
‘I figured if I turned up with a pizza it wouldn’t have been as cute,’ he said. ‘Come on, Jenny, at least give me a smile. I know I’m an insensitive prick sometimes.’
‘Sometimes?’
‘Okay, most of the time. I was just wrong-footed when Fairchild turned up out of the blue. I shouldn’t have laid into you. I’m sorry.’ He grinned. ‘Especially when you were giving me a lift. You really are heartless, aren’t you?’
‘You deserved it,’ she said. ‘Anyway, you weren’t far from the Tube.’
‘I did deserve it. And yes, the Tube wasn’t that far, though it was pissing down.’ He put up his hands. ‘But, again, it was my own fault so I’ve only myself to blame. To be honest, I didn’t really expect you to be here.’
‘I had work to do.’
‘Then I saw the light on and thought the least I could do to make amends was to buy you a very late breakfast.’ He pushed the bag towards her.
‘I had work to do,’ she repeated. ‘I thought you’d go straight home.’ Jenny turned away from her computer and opened the bag. She took out the muffin. ‘There’s a bit missing,’ she said.
‘I broke off a piece, just to check it was fresh.’
Jenny raised an eyebrow. ‘You bought me a muffin and then ate it?’
‘Checked it for freshness,’ said Nightingale, taking off his wet raincoat. He shook it then put it on the rack by
