‘In a way, you do,’ said Nightingale. ‘But no, we’ve never met. But I know that I can trust you. I know that you’re a gangster and that you’ve got blood on your hands. I know you deal drugs and you do all sorts of other shit that turns my stomach. But I need a gun and I know that you can sell me one. So how about it?’
Smith put the gun down on the coffee table next to the remaining lines of white powder and picked up the envelope. He opened it and flicked through the fifty-pound notes with his thumbnail. ‘A paedo, yeah?’
Nightingale nodded. ‘Dyed in the wool.’
‘I fucking hate nonces,’ said Smith. ‘Fucking scum.’ He tossed the envelope back to Nightingale. It hit him in the chest but he managed to catch it with fumbling hands. ‘You can have this on the house,’ he said.
‘Thanks.’
Smith grinned. ‘Yeah, you can owe me one.’
Nightingale held out the envelope. ‘I’m happy to pay.’
‘Yeah, well, I’m happy not to take your fucking money. You can owe me one. Okay?’
Nightingale nodded, wondering for a moment if Smith was going to ask for his soul as well. ‘Okay,’ he said.
Smith waved his hand at T-Bone. ‘You get Bird-man sorted,’ he said.
‘Whatever you say, boss.’ T-Bone patted Nightingale’s shoulder with a massive hand. ‘Let’s roll.’
66
Barbara McEvoy was lying on a yoga mat trying to get her left leg behind her head when her doorbell rang. She was in her late twenties, with dark green eyes and freckles peppered across her nose and cheeks. She sighed, untangled herself, and padded barefoot to the front door. She grinned when she saw Jenny McLean. ‘This is a nice surprise,’ she said.
‘Just passing by,’ said Jenny. She nodded at Barbara’s lilac tracksuit. ‘Pilates?’
‘I was doing a few relaxation exercises, but now you’re here I might as well switch to alcohol. Wine?’
‘Go on then, twist my arm.’
Jenny went into Barbara’s sitting room and dropped down onto the sofa while Barbara went into the kitchen, returning a short time later with a bottle of pink champagne and two glasses. Barbara’s two-bedroom flat was close to Portobello Road in Notting Hill, and street parking was almost impossible when the market was in full flow on a Saturday, so Jenny had taken a taxi to see her friend. The flat doubled as an office, and Barbara had converted her spare bedroom to a consulting room where she saw patients on the days when she wasn’t based at one of the many hospitals where she worked.
‘Are we celebrating?’ asked Jenny.
‘It’s Saturday. Best day of the week for champagne, right?’
Barbara sat down on the sofa next to Jenny and looked at her over the top of her glass as she sipped her champagne. ‘What’s wrong?’
Jenny raised her eyebrows. ‘What on earth makes you think there’s something wrong?’ she asked.
‘Darling, I’m a clinical psychiatrist. It’s my job to read people. And you’re as tense as a kitten in a cage of Rottweilers.’
Jenny laughed, but there was a nervous edge to it.
‘And it’s Saturday and we almost never get together on a weekend unless I’m in the country with you.’ She frowned. ‘Weren’t you going to Norfolk today to see the folks?’
‘I decided not to,’ said Jenny.
‘And you came to see me instead,’ said Barbara. ‘Is that significant?’
Jenny leaned back and drew up her legs. ‘You’re good.’
‘I’m damned good,’ said Barbara. ‘But unless you tell me what’s wrong I won’t be able to help.’
Jenny sipped her champagne. ‘This is going to sound crazy,’ she said.
This time it was Barbara who laughed. ‘You wouldn’t believe how many of my patients start off by saying that,’ she said. ‘The thing is, most of them ARE crazy.’
‘I might be, too,’ said Jenny. She sighed and then took a deep breath. ‘Okay, this is it. Jack is being really weird about Uncle Marcus. He keeps asking me if I’m seeing him and he went very strange when Uncle Marcus turned up at our office unannounced.’
‘Marcus? He’s a sweetie. He’s a bit pompous but he wouldn’t harm a fly.’
‘That’s what I keep telling Jack. I’ve known him since before I could walk. He’s one of Daddy’s oldest friends.’
‘And what’s Jack’s problem with him?’
‘Jack won’t say. He does that Jack thing of just changing the subject or making a joke. But here’s the thing, Barbara. Now I’ve been having … I don’t know what they are. Flashbacks? Deja vu? Just a feeling that there’s something wrong.’
‘In what way?’
Jenny sighed in exasperation. ‘That’s the crazy thing. I don’t know. It’s a feeling of … I don’t know … dread, I guess. Uncle Marcus is in Norfolk today doing some shooting with Daddy and his friends and I was supposed to be there.’
‘And you changed your mind?’
‘I keep getting these feelings, Barbara. A sense that something is wrong.’
‘Dread, you said.’
‘I know, it sounds silly. And really, I can’t put my finger on it.’ She sipped her champagne and sighed. ‘Maybe it’s just Jack’s silliness rubbing off on me. Like you said, Uncle Marcus is a sweetie.’
‘Jack has never said anything concrete about Marcus?’
‘Never.’
‘And you don’t feel uncomfortable when you’re around Marcus?’
‘Uncle Marcus? Of course not. He’s my godfather, Barbara.’
‘But the fact that you’re here suggests that subconsciously at least there is something wrong.’
Jenny shrugged. ‘I guess.’ She sighed again. ‘I thought that maybe you could do that regression thing of yours. Put me under and see if you can find out what’s causing this.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘You do it with your patients all the time.’
‘Not all the time,’ said Barbara. ‘It’s not helpful in all cases.’
‘But if there is something worrying me then it would be one way of getting to the bottom of it, wouldn’t it?’
Barbara nodded and put her champagne down on the coffee table. She went into her consulting room and returned with a small digital recorder.
‘What’s that for?’ asked Jenny.
‘When you come out of it you won’t remember anything,’ said Barbara, sitting down in the armchair facing the sofa. ‘I’ll be able to play the recording back to you.’
‘We’re going to do it now?’ asked Jenny.
‘Strike while the iron’s hot,’ said Barbara. ‘Kick off your shoes, lie back and let’s see how we go.’
67
Jack Nightingale was eating a bacon sandwich and watching football on Sky Sports when his mobile rang. He didn’t recognise the number but he took the call anyway. ‘Jack? It’s Barbara.’
It took Nightingale a couple of seconds to pull the name from his memory – Barbara McEvoy, one of Jenny’s oldest friends. ‘Barbara, how the hell are you? Long time no hear.’
‘I need to see you, Jack. Now.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’ll tell you when I see you.’
