‘Was it a secret?’ Fairchild shrugged. ‘I’m sure it wasn’t, not considering my involvement in the case.’
‘You’ve got me totally confused,’ said Nightingale. ‘What do you know about Robyn?’
‘I represented her in court,’ said Fairchild. ‘Didn’t Jenny tell you?’
‘I think it must have slipped her mind,’ said Nightingale.
‘She was asking me about famous cases I’d worked on over the years and I mentioned Reynolds. Could have knocked me down with a feather when she said you were related.’
‘Half-related,’ said Nightingale. ‘She’s my half-sister. Same father, different mother. Up until a few weeks ago I didn’t even know I had a sister.’
‘I was her barrister,’ said Fairchild. ‘She was on Legal Aid but I did it pro bono. Didn’t feel that she was getting a decent show.’
‘I thought you specialised in human-rights cases?’
‘I’m a jack of all trades,’ said Fairchild. ‘Hired gun; have brief will travel. And there’s nothing like the thrill of a good criminal case, no matter which side you’re on.’
‘She pleaded guilty, right?’
‘Yes, but there’s guilty and there’s guilty. Just because you plead guilty doesn’t mean you don’t need decent representation.’ He sucked on his cigar. ‘The stuff about her going to Hell. What’s that about?’ he said quietly.
‘I don’t know,’ said Nightingale. ‘She’s been on my mind a lot lately and when it’s happened I’ve only half heard it. How did that come up in conversation with Jenny?’
‘I think I mentioned that the tabloids at the time were saying that she should burn in Hell and Jenny said someone had said that to you.’
Nightingale shrugged and tried to look unconcerned. ‘Like I said, I was probably imagining it.’
‘I thought perhaps members of the public were making their views known,’ said the lawyer. He blew a cloud of smoke over the garden. ‘There was a lot of ill-feeling at the time, if you recall. A lot of people would have hanged her, given the chance.’
‘You were convinced that she was guilty?’
‘No question of it,’ said Fairchild. ‘Open and shut. But there were suggestions that her father abused her.’
‘Did that come out in court?’
The lawyer shook his head. ‘She wouldn’t let me. I have to say, I wish I’d known then that she had been adopted. It would have been useful.’
‘We were both adopted at birth,’ said Nightingale. ‘I don’t think that alone would have turned her into a killer.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Fairchild. He smiled at Nightingale. ‘Besides, you turned out all right.’
They heard footsteps behind them and turned to see Jenny standing by the French windows. ‘Pudding is served,’ she said. ‘Mummy requires your presence in the dining room.’
Fairchild groaned as he pushed himself up out of the planter chair. ‘Banoffee pie?’ he said. He stubbed out his cigar in an ashtray.
Jenny laughed. ‘Absolutely.’
Fairchild patted his stomach. ‘Your cook will be the death of me,’ he said. ‘I always leave here weighing a good ten pounds more than when I arrived.’
Jenny linked arms with him. ‘Come on, Jack,’ she said.
Banoffee pie was the last thing Nightingale wanted just then. What he wanted more than anything was to ask Jenny why she was so close to Marcus Fairchild and to ask Marcus Fairchild whether he really did belong to a sect that promoted human sacrifice. He couldn’t ask either question, of course, so he just smiled, extinguished his cigarette, and followed them back to the dining room.
64
N ightingale didn’t get a chance to talk to Jenny on her own until late at night, when everyone was heading for bed, except for Jenny’s father and Fairchild, who had gone out onto the terrace for a last cigar. She took him upstairs to show him his bedroom.
‘Why didn’t you tell me about Fairchild?’ he asked her as they walked down a corridor that seemed to stretch to infinity.
She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He represented my sister in court. How could you not tell me?’
‘I didn’t know until this evening,’ said Jenny. ‘You got whisked into dinner as soon as you arrived and I didn’t want to say anything in front of anybody.’
‘And you told him about the messages? About my sister going to Hell?’
‘I didn’t tell him about Alfie Tyler or Connie Miller, obviously.’
‘Obviously.’
‘Jack, what’s wrong?’
Nightingale fought the urge to snap at her. He took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I don’t think you should have said anything.’
‘He was her lawyer. He knows her. He might be able to help. That’s what I thought. It came up in conversation, before you arrived. I wanted to tell you but we went straight into dinner and then after dinner you went outside with him for a smoke.’
‘I get that, but why would you tell him that people were telling me that she was going to Hell? Why’s that of any concern to him?’
‘He said that Robyn was disturbed a lot of the time. Unbalanced. He was asking about you, how you had reacted when you found out that she was your sister.’ She stopped in front of one of the doors. ‘This is yours,’ she said. ‘It’s the green room. Very restful.’
‘Yeah, I need restful,’ said Nightingale. ‘You told him that I’d been hearing voices, didn’t you?’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ said Jenny. She put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Jack, I’m on your side, you know that. Marcus was chatting away and he got me talking. That’s what he does, right? He’s a barrister. He gets people to open up, to reveal themselves.’ She took her hand away and folded her arms. ‘I’m not explaining this very well, am I?’
‘No, you’re not,’ he said. ‘That was personal, Jenny. And he’s a stranger.’
‘He’s an old friend of Daddy’s,’ she said. ‘I’ve known him for years. He’s not a stranger. Of course I wouldn’t have said anything to a stranger. But he’s Uncle Marcus. I’ve called him uncle for as long as I can remember.’
‘Did you tell him about the Ouija board?’
‘Of course not.’
‘You say “of course not”, but I don’t understand why you said anything about my sister in the first place.’
‘Why is that so important, Jack? What’s the problem?’
Nightingale opened the bedroom door and motioned for Jenny to follow him inside. She was right — it was restful, with pale green walls, a dark green carpet, and a large mahogany four-poster bed with fern-patterned linen. A fire was burning in a slate fireplace and there was a chocolate mint and a small posy of flowers on one of the pillows. Nightingale closed the door. ‘There’s something I didn’t tell you,’ he said. ‘Something that Wainwright told me when I went to see him at Biggin Hill. About Fairchild.’ Nightingale wiped his face with his hand and it came away wet with sweat. ‘He’s a Satanist. A devil-worshipper.’
‘Nonsense.’
‘I’m not making this up, Jenny. He’s a member of the Order of Nine Angles. And they believe in human sacrifice.’
‘Jack, why are you saying this? It can’t possibly be true.’
‘That’s what Wainwright told me.’
‘Then he’s lying.’
‘Why would he lie about something like that?’
