‘A mansion,’ said Hoyle. ‘It’s fantastic, babe. You have to see it to believe it. Dozens of bedrooms, a library – the kitchen alone is the size of this place.’
‘Lucky you,’ said Anna. ‘How come?’
‘A relative died,’ said Nightingale.
‘Close?’ asked Anna.
‘My father.’
Anna’s eyebrows shot skywards. ‘Jack!’
‘Okay, somebody claiming to be my father.’
Hoyle sipped his wine. ‘Some sort of Satanist, apparently.’
‘A devil-worshipper?’ said Anna. ‘This is a joke, right?’
‘I don’t know about devil-worship, but he was definitely disturbed. He blew his head off with a shotgun.’
Anna drew her legs up underneath her and held her glass with both hands. ‘I thought your parents died years ago,’ she said.
‘They did, but apparently I was adopted and Gosling was my genetic father.’
‘But you’d know if you were adopted, surely.’
‘It happened at birth. I was given to the Nightingales and registered as if I was their natural child. Anyway, it might all be bollocks. Some sort of scam.’
‘You should be able to prove if he was your father or not. DNA, right?’
‘I’m on the case,’ said Hoyle.
‘We could ask him now, if you like,’ said Anna.
Nightingale and Hoyle looked at her in amazement. ‘What?’ said Nightingale. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘What was his name – your father?’
‘My genetic father? Ainsley Gosling.’
‘Well, let’s ask Mr Gosling. Let’s go right to the source.’
‘Anna, what’s going on?’ asked her husband.
‘Let’s have a seance,’ she said. ‘Fingers on a glass and you talk to the dead – the spirits. Robbie and I used to do it years ago.’
‘It was a joke, a party game,’ said Hoyle.
‘We had some pretty weird messages.’
‘There’s always someone pushing the glass,’ said Hoyle.
‘Anna, you don’t really believe that you can talk to the dead?’ said Nightingale.
‘It works! I can’t explain why it works but you can get messages from people who’ve passed over.’
Nightingale frowned. ‘You’re serious?’
‘I’m just saying it’s worth a try. And they say that spirits who passed over violently, like when they’ve been murdered or committed suicide, tend to hang around – I suppose because there’s unfinished business.’
‘Well, Jack is certainly that,’ said Hoyle.
Anna smiled brightly at Nightingale. ‘Want to give it a go?’
14
Nightingale, Hoyle and Anna sat at the dining-table. Anna had written the letters of the alphabet on squares of paper, with the words ‘Yes’ and ‘No’. She arranged the letters in a circle with A at the top, and put ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ inside. Hoyle fetched another wine glass from the kitchen and placed it upside down, also inside the circle. ‘Now what?’ asked Nightingale. ‘We stare at it and make spooky sounds?’
‘We have to place our right index fingers on the bottom of the glass,’ said Anna, ‘but first we have to cleanse our auras.’
‘We have to what?’ said Nightingale.
‘I think she’s saying you need a shower,’ said Hoyle.
‘It’s about making the area safe and comfortable for spirits,’ said Anna, ignoring her husband’s sarcasm. She went over to the fireplace, lit three candles and carried one over to the sideboard, close to the dining-table. Then she switched off the lights. ‘The spirits feel more comfortable in the shadows,’ she said.
‘Don’t we all?’ said Nightingale. ‘Why can’t I have my wine?’
‘There must be no alcohol at the table, no cigarettes, no impurities,’ said Anna.
‘Because?’
‘Because impurities attract bad spirits,’ she said.
‘Where do you pick up this stuff?’ asked Nightingale.
‘She reads,’ said Hoyle.
Anna took her seat and held out her hands. ‘Now we form a circle and say the Lord’s Prayer,’ she said.
‘Strictly speaking, it’s a triangle,’ said Nightingale.
‘Don’t quibble,’ said Anna. ‘Now, hold my hands and close your eyes.’
The two men did as they were told and Anna led them in the Lord’s Prayer. It had been a long time since Nightingale had said it and he stumbled twice, mumbling over the words he’d forgotten. When they’d finished they opened their eyes. Anna kept hold of their hands. ‘Let all spirits here within know that we mean you no harm and that we are here solely to do God’s will,’ she said.
‘Amen,’ said Hoyle.
‘Good grief,’ said Nightingale.
Anna looked at him disapprovingly. ‘You have to take it seriously,’ she said. ‘Now, place the index finger of your right hand on the bottom of the glass.’ She did so gently and the two men followed. ‘Right, here we go,’ she said. ‘Is anybody there?’ They sat in silence for ten seconds. ‘Is anybody there?’ Anna repeated.
‘You’re mad, you know that,’ said Nightingale.
‘I’d be careful if I were you,’ said Hoyle. ‘The last person who said she was mad is buried in our back garden.’
Anna glared at him. ‘Is anybody there?’ she said, her voice lower this time.
Hoyle grinned at Nightingale and waggled his eyebrows. Nightingale tried not to laugh. They stiffened as the glass jerked under their fingers.
‘Is anyone there?’ repeated Anna.
Slowly but surely the glass scraped across the table top, heading for the piece of paper with ‘Yes’ written on it.
‘No way,’ said Nightingale, under his breath.
‘Sssh!’ hissed Anna.
The glass stopped next to ‘Yes’, then moved back slowly to the middle of the circle. Nightingale looked at Hoyle, who shook his head as if to say he wasn’t pushing the glass.
‘What was your father’s name again?’ whispered Anna.
‘Ainsley Gosling,’ said Nightingale, his eyes on the glass.
‘We want to speak with Ainsley Gosling,’ said Anna. She tilted her head back. ‘Is Ainsley Gosling there?’
The glass jerked again, and moved inexorably towards ‘Yes’. It stopped halfway, but a few seconds later it began to move again until it nudged the piece of paper.
‘I don’t believe this,’ whispered Nightingale. ‘Someone’s pushing it.’
‘Jack!’ hissed Anna. ‘The spirits sense negativity.’ The glass moved back to the centre of the table. Nightingale knew he wasn’t applying any pressure to it and it didn’t feel as if either Anna or Hoyle were either. ‘Do you have a message for us?’ asked Anna, and even before she had finished the question the glass shot across to ‘Yes’, then slid back to the centre.
‘This is amazing,’ whispered Hoyle. ‘You’re not pissing around, are you, Jack?’
Nightingale shook his head. His finger was aching but he didn’t want to take it off the glass, afraid that he would put a stop to whatever was happening. ‘Now what, Anna?’ he said.
She was still staring at the ceiling. ‘What do you want to say to us?’ she said.
