‘But just remember that I’m on your side. You don’t need to play games with me. If you want something, just ask.’
‘Jenny, I swear…’
She held up her hand. ‘Okay, I believe you.’
He went to put the board back on the desk, but he stopped and turned back to look at her. ‘Do you want to try again?’ he asked.
She held his look. ‘Do you?’
‘Everything we need is here from the last time,’ he said. ‘Except for the freshly cut flowers and there isn’t a florist for miles.’
‘There’re heathers and stuff in the garden,’ said Jenny.
‘So you’ll do it?’
Jenny sighed. ‘Jack, it’s up to you. But if we’re going to do it I’d be happier if we did it back at my place. We could open a bottle of wine and make a night of it.’
Nightingale could hear the uncertainty in her voice. She was putting a brave face on it but he knew she wasn’t happy at the prospect of using the Ouija board again. ‘This is where Robbie spoke to us,’ he said. ‘And alcohol and the Ouija board don’t mix. Can you do me a favour and see what plants you can find? The more colourful the better.’
As Jenny headed back upstairs, Nightingale went to a cupboard and took out five blue candles, slotted them into candle holders and spaced them evenly around a circular table, then put the Ouija board in the centre. He lit the candles with his cigarette lighter, then went over to the desk and pulled open one of the drawers. Inside were all the things that he’d needed the first time they’d used the board, including the old planchette, distilled water, herbs and consecrated sea salt.
He put the planchette on the board and poured the water into a crystal glass, then set out the herbs. He was just standing back to admire his handiwork when Jenny returned, clutching a handful of twigs with orange-brown flowers.
‘Do you know what they are?’ she asked. ‘I’ll give you a clue: they’re very appropriate.’
Nightingale shook his head. ‘Botany was never one of my subjects,’ he said.
‘What’s your degree in again?’
‘Economics.’
‘Never.’
‘What?’
‘Economics? You can’t even balance your cheque book.’
‘There’s a big difference between the theoretical and the practical,’ he said. ‘Ask me something about supply-side economics.’
‘Okay. What is it?’
Nightingale grinned. ‘It’s a macroeconomic theory described by Jude Wanniski in 1975 that basically says that the economy is best served by lowering barriers to producing goods and services, which in turn lowers prices. It’s in contrast to Keynesian macroeconomics, which argues that demand is more important than supply.’ He winked. ‘I got a First.’
‘You never cease to amaze me,’ she said. ‘If you were that good, why did you become a cop?’
Nightingale shrugged. ‘It’s a long story,’ he said. He waved at the board. ‘Are you playing for time because you don’t want to do this?’
‘I’m ready when you are,’ she said. She held up the twigs again. ‘Witch hazel,’ she said. ‘How appropriate is that?’
‘Brilliant,’ said Nightingale, taking the twigs from her. ‘Be a sweetie and get the lights, will you?’
As Jenny went up the stairs again, Nightingale put the witch hazel into a crystal vase and placed it on the opposite side of the table to the glass of distilled water. Jenny switched off the lights and came back down into the basement. The flickering candles cast moving shadows over the walls. She sat down at the table next to Nightingale.
‘You remember what to do?’ asked Nightingale. He sat down and picked up the planchette. It was made of ivory that had yellowed with age.
‘How could I forget?’ she asked. ‘We visualise a white light all around the table.’
‘That’s right. A protective light, pure white. Keep thinking about the light whatever happens.’ Nightingale pinched some sage from a small bowl and sprinkled it over the candles one by one, then he rubbed some on the board and the planchette; finally he sprinkled lavender and salt over the board.
‘It’s very Jamie Oliver, isn’t it?’ said Jenny.
Nightingale wagged a finger at her. ‘You have to take this seriously,’ he said.
‘I’m trying,’ said Jenny. ‘Believe me, I’m trying.’
‘Are you ready?’
‘As I’ll ever be,’ she said.
Nightingale nodded. ‘Okay.’ He took a deep breath before speaking in a low monotone. ‘In the name of God, of Jesus Christ, of the Great Brotherhood of Light, of the Archangels Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, Uriel and Ariel, please protect us from the forces of Evil during this session. Let there be nothing but light surrounding this board and its participants and let us only communicate with powers and entities of the light. Protect us, protect this house, the people in this house and let there only be light and nothing but light, Amen.’
‘Amen,’ repeated Jenny.
Nightingale looked up at the ceiling. ‘We’re here to talk to Robbie Hoyle,’ he said. ‘Robbie, are you there? Please, talk to us.’
The planchette twitched under their fingers.
‘Robbie, is that you?’
The candle flames simultaneously bent away from the stairs as if a draught was blowing from the door.
‘We want to talk to Robbie Hoyle,’ said Nightingale, raising his voice. ‘Robbie, are you there?’
The planchette scraped across the board and pointed at the word YES.
Nightingale cleared his throat. His mouth had gone suddenly dry.
‘Robbie, we need to talk to you about my sister,’ he said.
The planchette gradually moved back to its original position.
‘Abersoch,’ whispered Jenny. ‘Ask him why he sent you to Wales.’
Nightingale flashed her a warning look to keep quiet. ‘Robbie, this is Jack. I’m here with Jenny. We want to talk to you about my sister. Can you talk to us?’
The planchette slid over to YES again, then moved purposefully back to the middle of the board.
‘Robbie, can you tell-’ Before Nightingale could finish, the planchette slid purposely upwards and pointed at the letter Y. As soon as it reached the bottom of the Y it jerked to the left and settled on the letter O. Then in quick succession it touched U and R.
‘Your,’ said Jenny. She shivered and looked around the basement. ‘Can you feel a draught?’ she asked.
Nightingale nodded. There was a cold breeze blowing from the far end of the basement, even though there were no doors or windows there. The candle flames began to flicker.
Nightingale opened his mouth to speak but, before he could say anything, the planchette started to move again, touching six letters one after the other: S-I-S-T-E-R.
‘Your sister,’ said Jenny.
Nightingale didn’t look at her. The planchette had already started to move again.
I-S. It stopped briefly and then moved on. G-O-I-N-G.
‘Is going,’ said Jenny. ‘Going where?’
Nightingale’s eyes widened. He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach because he knew without a shadow of a doubt what was coming.
The planchette stayed where it was for several seconds and then it began to move. Nightingale could feel his fingers pressing down on the pointer as if they were trying of their own accord to stop it from moving.
‘Jenny, you’re not…?’
Jenny shook her head fiercely, her eyes fixed on the planchette as it continued to slide across the board.
T-O. It hesitated for a few more seconds, but Nightingale already knew where it was going next. It headed
