Mr and Mrs Jackson looked at each other. ‘Six years, and I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I’ve seen her with her mother or father,’ said Mr Jackson. ‘It’s always an au pair she’s with, and they seem to change them every six months or so.’ He looked at his wife again and she nodded in agreement. ‘The thing is,’ he continued, ‘one doesn’t like to talk out of school but they didn’t seem to be the most attentive of parents.’
‘Okay,’ said Hoyle. ‘Now please just stay there while I go out and talk to her.’ He walked over to the glass door that led to the terrace. There was a small circular white-metal table and four chairs, and several pots of flowering shrubs. Around the edge was a waist-high wall which was topped by a metal railing.
Hoyle opened the door and stepped out onto the terracotta tiles. He could hear the buzz of traffic in the distance and down below the crackle of police radios.
Sophie was sitting on the wall of the balcony next door, her legs under the metal rail, her arms on top of it. She was wearing a white sweatshirt with a blue cotton skirt and silver trainers with blue stars on them. She didn’t look over at him even though he was sure she must have heard him open the door. She had porcelain-white skin and shoulder-length blonde hair that she’d tucked behind her ears, and she was bent over a Barbie doll.
Hoyle coughed but the girl didn’t react.
‘Hi, Sophie,’ he said.
The girl stiffened but didn’t say anything.
‘My name’s Robbie. Are you okay?’
‘Go away,’ she said, but she didn’t look at him.
Robbie stayed close to the door. He had a clear view to the River Thames and far off to his left was the London Eye. There was a gap of about six feet between his terrace and the one that Sophie was on. It would be easy enough to jump across but Nightingale had been right: she could easily fall before he reached her.
‘How old are you, Sophie?’
She didn’t answer.
‘I’ve got a daughter called Sarah,’ said Hoyle. ‘She’s eight.’
‘I’m nine,’ said Sophie, looking out over the river.
‘Yes, you look a bit older than Sarah,’ said Hoyle.
77
Nightingale pressed the bell for the third time but he already knew that there was no one in. He took a step back and kicked the door hard, just below the lock. It shuddered but didn’t give. Taking another step back he kicked harder this time, putting all his weight behind it, and he heard wood splinter. The third kick left the door hanging on one hinge and it hit the floor with the fourth.
He walked over the door and down the hallway. The flat was the same layout as the one directly below: a kitchen diner and two bedrooms on the left, a bathroom and one bedroom on the right, and a large sitting room with a terrace overlooking the Thames. The sitting-room windows ran from floor to ceiling and to the left was a door that led out to the terrace.
There were abstract canvases on the walls, a huge glass coffee table covered with fashion magazines, and a baby grand piano at the far end that was covered with family photographs.
Nightingale strode over to the door. There was a key in the lock and he turned it and stepped out onto the terrace. There was a wooden bench there and a bird table that had a mesh bag of peanuts hanging from it. He wanted a cigarette but knew that he didn’t have time. He took off his coat and tossed it onto the bench, then leaned over the railing and looked down.
Sophie was sitting with her feet hanging over the edge of the balcony, the doll clutched to her chest. She had turned towards Robbie and was listening to him. Nightingale smiled. Robbie Hoyle could talk the hind legs off a donkey. He retrieved his mobile from his coat and took a deep breath.
78
A helicopter flew along the Thames, heading towards Battersea heliport. ‘Have you ever been in a helicopter, Sophie?’ asked Hoyle.
She shook her head but didn’t say anything.
Hoyle knew that he had to keep the little girl talking. So long as she was talking she couldn’t be thinking about jumping.
‘What about a plane? Have you been in a plane?’
‘We went to Italy last year,’ she said.
‘Yeah? I’ve never been to Italy. Was it fun?’
Sophie didn’t reply. She kissed her doll on the top of the head. ‘Don’t worry, Jessica, everything’s going to be okay.’
‘What do you like to eat, Sophie?’ asked Hoyle, trying to get her attention. He took a step towards her.
She looked over at him as if she’d forgotten that he was there. ‘Excuse me?’
He stopped moving. ‘What’s your favourite food?’
‘Pizza. Inga always lets me order pizza.’
‘Who’s Inga?’
‘My au pair.’ She forced a smile. ‘The au pair at the moment. We change au pairs a lot.’
‘But you like Inga?’
‘She’s okay.’
Hoyle felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He wanted to take the call, to tell Nightingale that everything was all right and that he was getting through to the girl, but he knew that it was important to stay focused. Nightingale had been right. The girl wasn’t scared, she wasn’t seeking attention; it was as if she had made up her mind what she was going to do and was just waiting for the right moment.
‘Why don’t we go inside and I’ll order us a pizza?’ said Hoyle. He moved closer to the side of the terrace. There were several potted plants and if he judged it right he’d be able to spring off one and jump over to the terrace where she was. Six feet. Seven at most. Then another four feet to get to her.
‘I’m not hungry,’ she said.
‘What about a drink? Do you like Coke? Or Pepsi?’
‘Coke, of course,’ she said scornfully.
And that was when Nightingale dropped from the sky.
79
Nightingale let go of the railing. For a moment he seemed to be frozen in time and then gravity got to work and pulled him down. He twisted around, his hair whipping in the wind, ignoring the fear and focusing every fibre of his being on Sophie and what he had to do.
The bricks of the terrace wall flashed by his face and then he was looking down at Sophie, her face turned to the left, the doll in her hands clutched to her chest.
He saw Hoyle, one foot on a plant pot, the other over the railing, his right hand outstretched as he jumped.
The doll slipped from Sophie’s fingers and it span through the air.
Nightingale’s stomach lurched and he grunted as his hands flailed towards the girl.
Hoyle opened his mouth to scream but all Nightingale could hear was the wind rushing past his ears.
