Bella, how are you this evening?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said.
‘I’m just going to put the light on,’ he said.
‘Okay.’
Barker flicked the light switch and two fluorescent tubes flicked on. ‘There we are.’ She brushed a lock of blonde hair away from her eyes. Her eyes were pale blue, Barker realised. He hadn’t read that anywhere. Details like that helped to flesh out a story. ‘Have they told you when you’ll be going home?’
‘The day after tomorrow,’ she said.
‘I bet you’re looking forward to it.’ He sat down on the end of her bed, careful not to put any of his weight on the recorder.
Bella nodded. ‘I don’t like hospitals,’ she said.
‘Nobody does,’ said Barker. ‘I’ll let you into a secret. Doctors don’t really like hospitals either.’
Bella giggled. ‘That’s funny,’ she said.
‘Bella, I need to take a photograph of you for our file, is that okay?’
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Can I comb my hair?’
Barker smiled reassuringly. ‘It’s only for our file, no one will see it,’ he lied. He took out his camera and took a couple of shots. No photographs of Bella had been released, and while the UK papers would probably not publish them he was sure he’d be able to sell them overseas. ‘How do you feel? Do you feel better?’ He put the camera away.
‘I feel a bit sore, still. The medicine helps me.’
‘Do you sleep okay? Do you have nightmares?’ That would be a great storyline. Kidnapped girl plagued by nightmares.
‘Not really nightmares,’ said Bella. ‘I don’t really dream at all.’
‘What about when you get home? Is there something there you really miss? A pet?’ Kidnapped girl reunited with her puppy. That would make a terrific picture.
‘I miss my rabbit. Floppy. He has really long ears.’
A rabbit wasn’t such a great picture, but it would do. ‘And have Mum and Dad said they’ll take you somewhere special? The seaside or Eurodisney or somewhere like that?’
Bella shook her head. ‘They just want me at home.’
‘I can understand that. They must have missed you so much when they were away.’
Bella brushed hair away from her eyes again. ‘I think so.’
‘Can I ask you something, Bella?’
‘Sure.’
‘When you were with the man and the woman who kept you prisoner. Can you tell me what they did to you?’
Bella swallowed but didn’t say anything as she studied him with her pale blue eyes.
‘We need to know so we can help other little girls that get taken away from their families.’ He nodded encouragingly. ‘You’ll be helping us to help them.’
Bella stared at him in silence and for a moment he was worried she was about to burst into tears. Then she slowly smiled. ‘You’re not a doctor, are you?’
‘Of course I am, sweetie.’ He took off his stethoscope and swung it around. ‘Why else would I have this?’
Bella smiled at him. ‘So people wouldn’t realise you’re a reporter,’ she said.
Barker’s stomach lurched. ‘A reporter?’
‘A freelance. You want to write a story about me that you can sell, but what you really want is a job on one of the big newspapers.’
‘How do you know that?’
Bella giggled. ‘I know everything, Jeremy.’
Barker stared at her, his mind racing. How did she know his name? ‘Did somebody tell you I was coming to see you?’
Bella nodded.
‘Who?’
‘Jesus.’
Barker screwed up his face. ‘Jesus?’
‘I spoke to Jesus. An angel took me to see him.’
‘When was this?’
‘When the bad man and the bad woman had me. But Jesus said everything would be all right. And he had a message for you, Jeremy.’
‘A message?’
‘A message for you. Come closer, Jeremy, I have to whisper it to you.’ Barker stood up and looked down at her. She crooked her finger and beckoned him. ‘Come on. Before the nurse comes back. She’ll be here soon.’
Barker’s left foot moved forward as if it had a life of his own.
‘Closer, Jeremy.’ She smiled at him, showing perfect white teeth.
Barker took another step forward. The stethoscope slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor.
‘Good boy, Jeremy,’ said Bella.
50
Nightingale got back to Bayswater just before eleven with several dozen photographs of the errant husband and his secretary in his camera, along with several minutes of video of them sitting in a bar, drinking champagne and getting in the mood. When he saw that Mrs Chan’s Chinese restaurant on the ground floor was still open, he decided to pop in for a bowl of his favourite duck noodles. Mrs Chan served him herself and persuaded him to down another two Coronas, and after he’d finished eating she sat at his table and chatted about her son, who was running a very successful property company in Hong Kong. He had just had his second child, making Mrs Chan a grandmother six times over.
‘When you marry, Mister Jack?’ she asked him. She had been in London for almost thirty years but still spoke English as if it was her first day in the country.
‘When I find the right woman, Mrs Chan,’ laughed Nightingale.
‘What about that nice girl who works for you? Miss Jenny. She very pretty.’
‘She’s too valuable as an assistant. And to be honest, I don’t think I’m her type.’
Mrs Chan laughed and patted his hand. ‘You wrong, Mister Jack. I see her when she look at you.’
Nightingale threw up his hands. ‘Please, Mrs Chan, you’ve got to stop trying to marry me off. I’m happy being single.’
‘No, Mister Jack, you just think you happy.’
Nightingale paid his bill and went upstairs to his flat. As soon as he opened the door and switched on the light he knew that something was wrong. The cushions weren’t as he had left them on the sofa and the books on his coffee table had been rearranged. Nightingale didn’t have a cleaner and Jenny had the only spare key, and he was pretty sure that she wouldn’t have popped around to do some tidying up.
His mind raced. If someone had got into the flat then they’d done it without damaging the door, which meant they’d picked the lock or come through a window. The only vulnerable windows were in his bedroom and bathroom, and they were all locked. His flat wasn’t an obvious one to burgle, as the street was usually busy outside and there were always people going in and out of Mrs Chan’s restaurant. He took a long deep breath as he considered his options. There had been someone in his flat, he was sure of that. The question was, were they still there or not?
He whistled softly as he fumbled in his bag and pulled out his camera. He groped for the flash and fixed that to the top of the camera, then slipped the bag off his shoulder and tossed it across the room onto the sofa. Then he switched off the light and held his breath. If he was wrong and he was alone in the flat then at least there’d be no one to see how stupid he was.
