Lastnight (19 page)

‘That’s when you called it in?’

T-Bone shook his head, drained his glass and refilled it. ‘I wanted to have an idea of what was what before I rang the Feds,’ he said. ‘Just in case I was wrong, you know?’

Nightingale nodded. ‘Yeah, I know. Perry wouldn’t have been best pleased if he’d been upstairs shagging and CO19 had gone in with guns blazing.’

‘Ain’t that the truth,’ said T-Bone. He took another swig from his glass and then held it up. ‘This is one fine wine,’ he said. ‘Your assistant, you said?’

‘Yeah, her dad’s got a cellar full of the good stuff. So who came out, T-Bone?’

‘White guys,’ said T-Bone. ‘At first I thought maybe they were Drugs Squad but there were no uniforms and they got into unmarked cars. A Lexus and a BMW SUV. And a white van. I didn’t see no guns but they were carrying small bags. Like they’d just been to the gym.’

‘Did you get to see their faces?’

‘They had on hoodies.’

‘How many?’

‘Eight men. And two women.’

‘Women?’

‘Girls. Looked like hookers. Short skirts and their tits hanging out.’

‘The sort that Perry liked?’

T-Bone nodded. ‘Yeah, his spec. One blonde and one brunette. You think they were the bait?’

‘Sounds like it. The girls got inside and did what they had to do to get the others inside.’

‘So why didn’t anyone hear the shots?’ asked T-Bone.

‘They didn’t use guns.’

T-Bone frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Now how the hell can that be true?’

‘Perry was stabbed,’ said Nightingale. ‘They all were.’

‘But they had an arsenal in there.’

‘I’m guessing that Perry didn’t see it coming. None of them did.’

T-Bone drained his glass and refilled it. He’d already worked his way through half the bottle. ‘You haven’t told me why you were there, Bird-man.’

Nightingale finished his beer then went through to the kitchen to get another.

‘Why do I get the feeling you’re avoiding the question?’ called T-Bone.

Nightingale took his beer back to the sitting room. He stood with his back to the window. ‘They wrote my name on the mirror in Perry’s bathroom.’

T-Bone screwed up his face as he looked up at him. ‘Now why the hell would they do that?’

‘It was a threat. They said they were coming for me next.’

‘And they wrote that on the bathroom mirror?’

‘Yes, they did. In blood.’

T-Bone frowned and shook his head. ‘That makes no sense. No sense at all.’

‘You’re telling me.’

‘Is this about you, Bird-man?’

‘I think it’s about Marcus Fairchild.’

‘That old lawyer that Perry took care of?’

‘Yeah. The cops got a tip that Perry’s crew were involved.’

‘Damn right he was involved. Once you told him that Fairchild was a paedophile and a child-killer it was all I could do to stop him pulling the trigger himself.’ His face clouded as he realised what Nightingale had said. ‘Someone grassed us up?’

‘The cops have a CI, someone on your crew or close to it. Whoever the CI is he told the cops that one of your guys got rid of the gun.’

T-Bone nodded thoughtfully. ‘You can’t trust anyone these days.’

‘Tell me about it,’ said Nightingale.

‘So what are you saying?’

‘It sure as hell wasn’t a gang hit. I doubt it was a robbery because they would have used guns and not knives. It all felt very personal.’

‘Revenge?’

Nightingale nodded. ‘It was well planned and executed. Using the girls to get in and then killing everyone before they had a chance to fire a shot. Then getting clean away.’

‘Not quite clean away,’ said T-Bone. He stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out a smartphone. He tapped on the screen and showed it to Nightingale. ‘I got the numbers of the Lexus and the white van. Thought you might be able to trace them.’ T-Bone had photographed the two vehicles as they drove away.

‘You don’t want to give the numbers to the cops?’

‘You get me the names and I’ll take care of it,’ said T-Bone. ‘Besides, if it was revenge for that lawyer, you’d wonder how they knew it was Perry what done it.’

‘The cops gave the information to the killers? Is that what you think?’

‘Why not? Grassing works both ways. Give me your number and I’ll send you the pics.’

Nightingale gave T-Bone the number and T-Bone sent the pictures. Nightingale’s phone beeped twice as the messages arrived. ‘What about you, T-Bone? What are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to do to them what they did to Perry.’ He raised his glass in salute. ‘And some.’

‘I meant about Perry’s organisation. Who takes over?’

‘Who do you think, Bird-man?’

‘You, right?’

‘I don’t see anyone else ready to take up the reins, do you? We’ve plenty of foot soldiers and our supply lines are still in place. Business-wise, we won’t miss a beat. Not unless some of our rivals decide to try and muscle in. But I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. I’ve already made a few calls.’

‘Sounds like you know what you’re doing.’

‘I’m not a virgin at this, Bird-man,’ said T-Bone. He drained his glass and got to his feet. ‘I’m going to love you and leave you,’ he said. ‘Mountains to climb, rivers to cross and all that jazz.’ He grabbed Nightingale’s free hand and bumped shoulders with him. ‘You be careful, hear?’

‘Can you do me a favour on that front?’

‘A gun?’

‘You read my mind. Something small and concealable.’

‘I’ll get you sorted,’ promised T-Bone as he pulled on his Puffa jacket. ‘I’ll send someone round.’

‘Let me know how much I owe you.’

‘Fuck that, Bird-man. It’s on the house. And get me those names, soon as you can.’

21

A
s soon as T-Bone had left, Nightingale phoned Robbie Hoyle, his former colleague on the Met. ‘Where are you, mate?’ he asked.

‘In front of the TV with my lovely wife,’ said Robbie.

‘I need a favour,’ said Nightingale.

‘Of course you do, that’s the only reason you call me.’ Nightingale heard a muffled voice and then Robbie laughed. ‘My darling wife asks if you’d like to come to dinner on Saturday.’

‘Love to,’ said Nightingale.

‘And she said you should bring Jenny.’

‘Tell her that I’m happy enough to ask her but she’s wasting her time if she’s planning on matchmaking.’

‘I’m with Anna on this – Jenny’s lovely.’

‘No arguments there, but I don’t want to spoil a perfectly good working environment.’

‘You can always hire another assistant.’

Nightingale laughed. ‘Not on the money I pay,’ he said. ‘Seriously, I’ll ask her. And you know how much I love Anna’s cooking. But this favour, it can’t really wait. What shift are you on tomorrow?’

‘I’m in at ten.’

‘Can I buy you a coffee at nine thirty? That place on the corner, close to the factory.’

Factory was slang for the police station, in Robbie’s case Lavender Hill in South London.

‘Coffee and a chocolate muffin.’ Nightingale heard a muffled comment from Anna and Robbie laughed. ‘Anna says no to the muffin.’

‘She’s got your best interests at heart. See you at nine thirty.’

22

N
ightingale woke up to the sound of his intercom buzzing. He grabbed a bathrobe and padded over to it and picked up the receiver. ‘Delivery for Jack Nightingale,’ said a voice.

Half asleep, Nightingale pressed the button to open the door downstairs and immediately regretted it. He had no idea who it was and images of the carnage at the Clapham house flashed through his mind. He cursed under his breath, ran into the kitchen and rifled through the drawers until he found a large yellow-handled carving knife. He hurried back to the front door and stood with his eye to the peephole, the knife clutched in his right hand. He was panting heavily and he took a deep breath and held it, trying to calm himself down. He realised his phone was on the bedside table and he cursed under his breath. He considered rushing to get it but then decided it was more important to see who the visitor was. If it was the men who’d killed Perry Smith then the locked door would hold them long enough for him to get to the bedroom and phone for the police. Though considering London response times he might be better off going out of the kitchen window and down the drainpipe to the rear of the flats.

He heard footsteps on the stairs and a figure appeared, its face shrouded in a hoodie that gave the appearance of a monk. Then the man lifted his head as he pressed the doorbell and Nightingale caught a glimpse of a young black teenager with acne-scarred skin. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen and he looked left and right before pressing the bell. Even though he was expecting it, the sound made Nightingale jump. He shoved the knife into the drawer of the hall table, unlocked the security chain and opened the door. The teenager eyed Nightingale suspiciously. ‘You the Bird-man?’ he asked.

‘Nightingale. Yeah.’

The teenager reached inside his hoodie and pulled out a yellow padded envelope, which he thrust at Nightingale. ‘T-Bone says you’re to have this.’

Nightingale took it. It was heavy.

‘T-Bone says it’s untraceable but he doesn’t want to see it again, no matter what you do with it.’

‘Understood.’

‘And he says he wants the names. As soon as.’

‘Tell T-Bone I’m on the case.’ He hefted the package. ‘And tell him thanks for this.’

The teenager nodded then hurried back down the stairs. Nightingale closed the door, put on the security chain, and carried the package through into the kitchen. He switched on the kettle and then opened the package. Inside was a matte black Glock 27 and two clips filled with rounds. He checked the weapon and smelled it. If it had ever been fired it had been scrupulously cleaned. He picked up one of the clips and ejected half a dozen rounds. They were all in as-new condition. He slotted them back into place. He immediately felt a lot safer with the gun in the flat, especially knowing that the men who had killed Perry Smith and his crew favoured knives.

He padded through to his bedroom, knelt down by the side of the bed and pulled out his old Metropolitan Police kitbag. The black nylon was covered with dust and he took it through to the bathroom and wiped it down with a damp flannel before unzipping it. Inside was a stab-proof jacket, knee and elbow protectors, a couple of T-shirts and a collapsible baton. Under the jacket was a nylon shoulder holster and a leather holster that could be clipped to a belt. He zipped up the bag, shoved it back under the bed and took the holsters to the kitchen. The kettle had boiled so he put them down next to the gun and made himself a coffee.

He sat down and tried the holsters for size. The Glock 27 fitted them both perfectly. The shoulder holster was the easiest to use and there was less chance of the gun getting caught in his clothing. But it was also the most likely to be spotted. If he was wearing a regular jacket it only had to open a few inches to reveal the holstered weapon. And it would only take one concerned member of the public to call the cops and he’d find himself staring down the wrong end of a half a dozen CO19 carbines.

The belt holster would keep the weapon concealed in the small of his back and away from prying eyes, but reaching for it was awkward and there was always the chance that it would get snagged on his shirt or jacket.

He slotted in a clip but didn’t put a round in the chamber. The Glock’s in-built safety trigger meant that it was almost impossible to fire the weapon by accident but he doubted that he’d need the fraction of a second it would take to slot a round home before firing.

He flinched as the alarm clock went off in his bedroom. He had half an hour to get ready before heading to his meeting with Robbie close to Lavender Hill police station so he gulped down his coffee and headed to the bathroom.

23

N
ightingale was sitting at a corner table with two coffees and two chocolate muffins in front of him when Robbie walked in. The detective laughed when he saw the muffins. ‘Anna will have your guts for garters,’ he said. He dropped down on to the seat opposite Nightingale. ‘So to what do I owe the pleasure?’

Nightingale leaned across the table and lowered his voice. ‘Can you check out two cars for me?’

Robbie looked pained. ‘Jack, you know those days are long gone. Anyone caught accessing the PNC without just cause is out on his ear. You know that, Jack.’

‘I know that you always give me this speech whenever I ask.’

‘If I lose my job, who looks after Anna and the kids?’

‘I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important,’ said Nightingale. ‘And you know the drill: put them through at the same time as you’re doing others. Or better still, sit down at a terminal where someone has forgotten to log off.’

‘It’s a sackable offence, don’t you get that?’ He picked up one of the muffins and bit into it before sighing with pleasure. ‘Anna’s cutting down my carbs,’ he said.

‘Just so long as she doesn’t cut off your nuts.’

Robbie laughed and took a sip off his coffee. ‘What’s the story?’

‘Do you really want to know?’

‘Don’t be a prick, Jack. If I’m going to put my job on the line for you, the least you can do is to tell me why.’

Nightingale reached into his inside pocket and took out a folded piece of paper. ‘There are two numbers there – a white van and a BMW SUV. Did you hear about the killings here yesterday?’

‘Station was buzzing with it.’

‘You involved?’

Robbie shook his head. ‘Bloodbath by the sound of it. Group of gang-bangers, right? Operation Trident are on it so it’s black on black, they think.’

‘Yeah, well, they’re wrong,’ said Nightingale. ‘The killers were white.’

‘Says who?’

Nightingale put the piece of paper down in front of his friend. ‘Says the guy who gave me those numbers.’

‘Hell’s bells, Jack. A witness?’

‘He’s a gang-banger, there’s no way he’s going to talk to the cops.’

Robbie picked up the piece of paper and looked at the two registration numbers. ‘This witness, he saw the killers.’

‘He saw a group of men leaving the house. He was close enough to see the vehicles but not close enough to see their faces.’