why, when – as if understanding would lead to acceptance. More often than not it didn’t. Acceptance came only with time.
Two young policemen had broken the news to Nightingale that his parents had died. They had turned up at his university hall of residence with one of his lecturers, asked him to sit down and told him they had bad news about his parents. Even when they had explained what had happened, Nightingale had still called home to check because he hadn’t wanted to believe that his mum and dad were dead. Then when he had gone home and stood in the empty house, he had still half thought that they would be back at any moment, that he’d hear their car in the drive and they would rush in, laughing and saying it had all been a terrible mistake and they weren’t the ones who had died in the accident. Even at the funeral it hadn’t seemed real: the coffins were closed and part of him clung to the hope that someone else was inside them and that his parents were still alive.
‘Why, Jack?’ she asked. ‘Why Robbie?’
‘There’s no reason,’ said Nightingale. ‘Wrong place, wrong time. A stupid accident. And accidents happen.’ He smiled thinly. ‘It’s Friday the thirteenth, remember. Shit happens on Friday the thirteenth.’
‘But why to Robbie?’
It wasn’t a question he could answer. Bad things happened to good people. That was the way of the world. He stood up, went to his raincoat and took out his mobile phone, then sat down at his desk and switched it on. ‘I was the last number he called, but my phone was off while I was with my mother,’ he said. He looked at the little screen. He had a voicemail message. He pressed the button to pick it up and put the phone to his ear. ‘Jack, it’s Robbie. I’m just heading into work but I’ve found something in Gosling’s file about your sister.’ Nightingale could hear traffic in the background. ‘I’ll give you a call when my shift’s over…’ There was more traffic noise, then a girl’s voice in the distance. ‘Hey, Robbie!’ And a second or two later, ‘Hey, Robbie, have you got a light?’ Then there was a sickening thud and silence.
Nightingale took the phone away from his ear and stared at it in horror.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Jenny.
‘I just heard Robbie being run over,’ he said.
‘No way,’ said Jenny.
‘He’d rung to say he had information for me. Some girl called his name and then…’
Jenny held out her hand. ‘Can I?’
‘I don’t think you should, kid,’ said Nightingale.
‘Please. I want to.’
Nightingale gave her the phone and she listened to the message. ‘Who’s the girl?’ she asked. ‘Did you recognise her voice?’
Nightingale shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘She knew Robbie, she called him by name.’
‘I guess so.’
‘But if she knew him, why did she ask him for a light? She must have known he didn’t smoke.’
Nightingale took the phone from her. ‘Maybe she was calling someone else and Robbie thought she was talking to him.’ He sipped his brandy. ‘I’ll go and see Anna.’
‘Can I come?’
Nightingale opened his mouth to say that she should stay and mind the office, but she had known Robbie well. She’d been to his home and met Anna and the kids. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Just leave a note on our door saying we’ll be shut for a couple of hours.’ He put the bottle back into his bottom drawer. ‘On second thoughts, let’s just close up for the day. If it’s important they can call me on my mobile.’
35
A dozen large nondescript saloon cars were parked outside the Hoyle house and a single police patrol car. Nightingale found a space about a hundred yards from the house. It was starting to rain but Jenny had brought an umbrella with her so they sheltered under it as they walked along the pavement. ‘What do you say to someone whose husband has died?’ she asked.
‘There’s nothing you can say,’ said Nightingale. ‘You’ve just got to show that you’re there for them.’
‘Will she be all right? You know, financially.’
‘Sure. He’d have insured the mortgage so the house will be paid for and there’ll be a pension. The job will have people helping her.’
‘Poor Anna. Poor, poor Anna.’
‘Has anyone close to you died, Jenny?’
‘Touch wood, I’ve been lucky so far,’ she said. ‘My granddad passed away a few years ago but he was ninety-seven. My family live for ever, pretty much.’
‘You’re lucky,’ said Nightingale.
Jenny put her arm through his. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t thinking.’
‘You don’t have to walk on eggshells with me,’ said Nightingale. ‘I was a cop for almost ten years and I’ve seen more than my share of dead bodies. I’m well over my parents and Gosling – well, he was just a name. My aunt and uncle… I don’t know. That still hasn’t really hit me. I think it’s because I was in London and they were up in Altrincham. I didn’t get to see them much so in a way nothing’s changed. I mean, I know they’re dead…’ He shrugged. ‘It’s difficult to explain. I was just about coming to terms with it but now this. Now Robbie’s dead too.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘You don’t have to keep asking if I’m okay,’ said Nightingale. ‘You’re as bad as Robbie.’ He groaned. ‘God, listen to me. Talking as if he was still…’ He swore savagely.
Jenny squeezed his arm. ‘Do you want to go for a walk? We can come back later.’
‘No, we have to go in – we have to see her now.’
They walked up the path to the front door and Nightingale rang the bell. Anna’s older sister, Marie, opened the door. Her cheeks were wet from crying but she forced a smile when she saw Nightingale. ‘Jack, hello.’
‘I’m so sorry, Marie,’ said Nightingale. He hugged her and gave her a light peck on each cheek. ‘This is Jenny – she works with me.’
Marie smiled. ‘Come on in – let me take your coats. Anna’s in the sitting room.’
She was on the sofa, her arm around her eight-year-old daughter, Sarah. There were a dozen people in the room, drinking tea and making small-talk. An elderly woman Nightingale didn’t recognise was walking around with a plate of chocolate biscuits. Superintendent Chalmers was standing by the window in conversation with Hoyle’s immediate superior, a chief inspector whom Nightingale had met a couple of times. Both men nodded at him and carried on talking to each other.
Anna wiped her eyes with a handkerchief but started sobbing again when she saw Nightingale. She whispered to her daughter, got up and hurried over to him.
‘I’m so sorry, Anna,’ he said. ‘If there’s anything… you know… just ask.’
Anna hugged him and rested her head on his shoulder. ‘I still haven’t told the twins. I don’t know what to say.’
‘They’re too young to understand,’ said Nightingale.
‘They’re asking for him. Last time I said he was at work. They’re asleep now.’ She put her hands on his chest and looked into his eyes. ‘What do I say, Jack? How do I tell them that they’ll never see their father again?’
Nightingale bit his lower lip. He was finding it difficult enough to come to terms with Hoyle’s death, and couldn’t imagine how two three-year-olds would react. ‘I don’t know, Anna. All you can say is that Robbie loved them more than anything and that he’s in heaven looking down on them.’
‘Do you believe that, Jack? Do you believe he’s up there somewhere, watching us?’
‘I’d really like to think so, Anna,’ said Nightingale. He had heard the uncertainty in his voice. ‘But kids believe, and that’s what’s important.’
‘I can’t live without him, Jack.’
‘Yes, you can, Anna. We’re all here for you. We’ll get you through this.’
