‘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?’
‘Yes.’
‘Marcus is there, standing at the door, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good, now I want you to let him in the house. Can you do that?’
Jenny said nothing.
‘Jenny? Can you hear me?’
There was no response. Barbara looked over at Nightingale and shrugged. Nightingale made a circling movement with his hand. ‘Move her forward,’ he mouthed.
Barbara nodded and turned back to Jenny. ‘Jenny, I want you to go forward an hour, it’s now nine o’clock. Can you do that?’
‘Yes,’ said Jenny.
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m showering.’
‘You’re in the shower?’
‘Yes.’
‘And where is Uncle Marcus?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Okay, Jenny. I want you to finish showering. What do you do then?’
‘I go downstairs.’
‘Is Uncle Marcus there?’
‘No.’
