clutching the towel. ‘What’s going on, Barbara?’
‘The regression went wrong,’ she said.
Nightingale turned off the shower and tried to help Jenny out but she shrugged him away. ‘Leave me alone,’ she snapped.
Barbara wrapped the towel around Jenny.
‘Is this because I threw champagne over you?’ she asked Nightingale. ‘Is that what this is about?’
Nightingale shook his head. Water was pouring from his soaking wet clothes and pooling around his shoes. ‘We need to talk,’ he said.
55
Nightingale walked into the sitting room with three mugs of coffee on a tray. He put it down on the table in front of Jenny and Barbara. Jenny had taken off her wet clothes and put on a pink bathrobe. She was on the sofa with her legs curled up underneath her. Nightingale had dried himself off as best he could but he was still wet and he was shivering.
‘There’s another robe in the airing cupboard,’ said Jenny. She picked up her mug. ‘You’ll catch your death.’
‘I’m okay,’ he said.
‘You’re not okay,’ said Barbara. ‘Jenny’s right. You’ll end up with pneumonia.’
Nightingale shivered and nodded. He headed for the stairs.
‘Leave your clothes on the rail in the bathroom,’ Jenny called after him. ‘It’s heated.’
Nightingale went upstairs, took a white robe from the airing cupboard and stripped off his wet clothes in the bathroom. He patted himself down with a towel, put on the robe and hung his clothes on the towel rail to dry.
Jenny and Barbara were sipping coffee when he got back downstairs.
‘Did you tell Jenny what happened?’ he asked Barbara as he sat down.
‘I was waiting for you,’ she said.
‘What happened?’ said Jenny.
‘What do you remember?’ asked Nightingale. He realised that the robe had ridden up his legs and he pulled it down.
‘Lying on the sofa. Hearing Barbara telling me to relax. Then the next thing I remember is being in the shower.’
The robe rode up Nightingale’s thighs again. He pulled it down and then grabbed a cushion and placed it on his lap. He caught Barbara grinning at him but he ignored her. ‘Jenny, you stopped breathing.’
‘What?’
‘You stopped breathing. Your heart was still going but, trust me, you weren’t breathing. We tried to wake you up but you weren’t having it. That’s why I took you into the shower. I figured cold water was the only way to get a reaction.’
‘Yeah, well, that worked a treat.’
‘And you don’t remember anything before that? You don’t remember what you said to Barbara?’
Jenny shook her head. Nightingale looked over at Barbara. She motioned with her hand for him to continue, and he understood why she didn’t want to be the one who told Jenny what had happened. He grimaced, then sipped his coffee, realising that he was playing for time; but he was all too well aware that Jenny wasn’t going to be happy with what he was about to tell her. He put down his coffee mug.
‘Okay, here’s the thing,’ he said. ‘You told us that Marcus Fairchild came around here on Saturday night. Two days before the books vanished.’
Jenny’s mouth fell open in astonishment. ‘Rubbish.’ She looked over at Barbara but Barbara was nodding in agreement. ‘I already told you that I haven’t seen Uncle Marcus since he got you out of the police station.’
‘While you were under, Barbara asked you when you’d last seen him and you said Saturday evening. And you were quite specific that he came at eight o’clock.’
Jenny grabbed a cushion and clutched it to her stomach. ‘That’s impossible.’
‘Where were you on Saturday evening?’ asked Nightingale.
‘Here,’ said Jenny. ‘But I was alone.’
‘Reading a Jodi Picoult book?’
‘How did you know that?’
‘Because you told us,’ said Nightingale. ‘You said you were in the kitchen drinking wine and reading a Jodi Picoult book. Wearing blue jeans and a Versace T-shirt.’
Jenny hugged the cushion. The blood had drained from her face.
‘Are you okay?’ Barbara asked her.
Jenny shook her head. ‘No, of course I’m not okay. He’s doing this to play with my head, isn’t he?’ She ran a hand through her hair. ‘That’s what I said? Really?’
‘Word for word,’ said Barbara. ‘You were waiting for him to come at eight.’
‘I have absolutely no recollection of that,’ said Jenny.
‘He buzzed and you opened the door,’ Nightingale continued. ‘He was wearing a dark blue suit and a pink shirt, you said. And you let him in.’
He stopped speaking and looked across at Barbara.
‘Then what?’ asked Jenny quickly. ‘What happened?’
‘We don’t know,’ said Barbara. ‘Something went wrong when we tried to move it forward.’
‘What do you mean? What went wrong?’
‘You saw him at the door. But when we tried to find out what happened when he was in the house, you wouldn’t say anything.’
‘Wouldn’t or couldn’t,’ said Nightingale.
‘You’re scaring me now,’ said Jenny.
Barbara put a hand on Jenny’s arm. ‘Regression doesn’t always work,’ she said. ‘Not everyone’s susceptible.’
‘That’s not the problem,’ said Nightingale. ‘And you know it.’
‘We don’t know what the problem was,’ said Barbara.
‘Jenny nearly died. She stopped breathing. And it happened because you tried to get her to talk about what was happening. You know what the problem was. Marcus bloody Fairchild.’
‘What?’ said Jenny, resting her chin on the cushion. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He did something to your head,’ said Nightingale. ‘Same as he did with my sister.’
‘You don’t know that for sure, Jack,’ said Barbara.
Jenny looked at Barbara. ‘But it’s possible, is that what you’re saying?’
‘I’ve never come across anything even remotely like it,’ said Barbara.
‘That’s not what I’m asking, Barbara. Is it possible?’
Barbara sighed. ‘Yes. I suppose so.’
‘You remembered everything that happened up to the moment you opened the door to him,’ said Nightingale. ‘Then it’s a blank. But your memory starts again after he’d gone and you’re in the shower.’
‘Why was I in the shower?’ asked Jenny.
Nightingale shrugged but didn’t say anything.
‘My God,’ said Jenny. She sat back and groaned. ‘This can’t be happening to me.’
‘Jenny, it’s all supposition,’ said Barbara. ‘We don’t know for sure what happened.’
‘We tried to move you forward half an hour, to when he was in the house,’ said Nightingale. ‘That’s when you stopped breathing.’
‘What are you saying, Jack?’ said Jenny. ‘What do you think happened?’
Nightingale leaned forward. ‘You want to know what I think? I think Fairchild played the same trick on you that he did on my sister. He made her believe that she killed those kids. How? By hypnosis or black magic, I don’t know. But whatever he did to her he did to you. He came round here on Saturday night and got inside your head and
