Midnight: The Second Jack Nightingale Supernatural Thriller (25 page)

56

J
enny was sitting on a stool at the bar and talking into her mobile phone when Nightingale walked in. The wine bar was just off the King’s Road, close to her mews house. She put her phone away and waved at him as he went over to her. ‘What was so important it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?’ she asked.

‘Can’t I see my favourite assistant for a social drink?’ he said, sliding onto the stool next to her and putting a Tesco carrier bag on the bar.

‘Your only assistant,’ she corrected. ‘So you’re not after anything?’

‘Well, maybe just a little something,’ he said. ‘But we can chit-chat as well.’ He smiled at the barmaid, a plump blonde girl in her early twenties wearing a Bristol University sweatshirt, and ordered a vodka and Coke. ‘What do you want?’ Nightingale asked Jenny.

‘I want you not to drink,’ she said. ‘You’re driving, remember?’

‘How do you know?’

‘I saw your car on the way here. It’s a green MGB, Jack. Pretty distinctive.’

‘Okay, it’s a fair cop. So what do you want to drink?’

‘My usual.’

Nightingale winked at the barmaid.

‘Make the vodka a double,’ he said. ‘And a glass of your finest Pinot Grigio for my date. Shaken not stirred.’

‘I’m not his date,’ Jenny said to the barmaid. ‘I’m so not his date. And make his vodka a single. He’s driving.’

‘A single it is,’ said the barmaid. ‘And on the date front, you could do worse.’ She went to get their drinks.

‘Did you pay her to say that?’ asked Jenny.

‘Let’s just say she’s a member of my fan club, shall we?’

‘Let’s not,’ said Jenny. ‘Do you want to eat?’

‘I can eat,’ said Nightingale. ‘I could even buy you dinner.’

‘You’re definitely going to ask me a favour,’ she said. ‘You’re as transparent as a Harvey Nicks shop window. I’ll grab us a table.’

Nightingale nodded at the carrier bag. ‘Take that for me, will you? I’ll bring the drinks.’

Nightingale joined her with their drinks a couple of minutes later and dropped his raincoat over the back of his chair. ‘She’s got a degree in chemical engineering,’ he said as he sat down.

‘And very large breasts,’ said Jenny.

‘Didn’t notice,’ said Nightingale.

‘Has she joined your fan club?’

‘Is there one?’

‘Probably not.’ She raised her glass of wine to him. ‘Cheers,’ she said.

Nightingale clinked his glass against hers. ‘Down the hatch.’

‘When did you start drinking vodka and Coke? You always drink Corona.’

‘Not always.’ He patted his stomach. ‘It’s better for the waistline.’

‘I think you’ll find there’re more calories in a vodka and Coke, especially a double vodka and Coke, than a bottle of beer.’ She flashed him a tight smile. ‘It’s not about the calories, is it?’

He grinned and took a long pull on his drink, then smacked his lips. ‘Okay, it tastes good, and it’s a quicker way of getting alcohol into the system.’

‘What’s wrong, Jack?’

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Or everything. I’m not sure.’ He opened the carrier bag and took out Mitchell’s diary.

‘Where did you get that from?’ she asked.

‘Best you don’t know,’ he said.

‘You went back to the house? Jack, please don’t tell me that you’ve been breaking and entering?’

‘Strictly speaking, it wasn’t me that did the breaking but I did help with the entering.’

Jenny shook her head reproachfully. ‘You’re going to end up in prison if you carry on like this.’

‘I hardly think Sebastian Mitchell is going to press charges,’ he said. He grinned. ‘Mind you, Hell is probably full of lawyers. What do you think?’

‘I think you need to get a grip,’ she said. ‘You can’t keep going into people’s houses like this.’

‘We need that diary,’ said Nightingale. ‘And I couldn’t see any other way of getting it.’

‘The end justifies the means? That’s no excuse, Jack.’ She held up the diary. ‘And now you’ve passed it on to me, which makes me in receipt of stolen goods. That’s a criminal offence, Jack.’

‘Jenny, sweetheart . . .’

‘Don’t “sweetheart” me, Jack Nightingale. It’s one thing for you to go around breaking the law, but it’s something else when you drag me into it.’

Nightingale put up his hands in surrender. ‘Okay, okay, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But let’s not forget that Mitchell sent his goons to get it from you. At gunpoint. We found it in Gosling’s basement, remember? And possession is nine-tenths of the law.’

‘That’s a fallacy,’ she said. ‘Possession has nothing to do with ownership. Your father stole it from Mitchell.’

‘That’s what Mitchell said. We don’t know that it’s true.’ He reached over and squeezed her hand. ‘I’m just saying it’s a grey area. Sebastian Mitchell and Ainsley Gosling were as bad as each other. All I want is a look-see at that diary to know if there’s anything in it that can help my sister. You can’t blame me for that. Besides, they’re both dead anyway.’

She held his look for several seconds, then nodded slowly. ‘Okay,’ she said.

‘Are you sure? I don’t want you angry at me.’

She took her hand away. ‘I’m not angry, Jack,’ she said. ‘I’m just a bit . . . apprehensive. About what’s happening to you.’

‘You and me both, kid,’ said Nightingale. He sat back and ran a hand over his face. ‘It’s been a funny few weeks.’ He sipped his drink. ‘You do believe me, don’t you?’

‘About what?’

‘What happened at Mitchell’s house. On my birthday.’

‘Of course I believe you. Why would you lie about something like that?’

‘I wasn’t lying,’ he said. ‘But there’s something strange going on.’

‘Spit it out, Jack. What’s wrong?’

Nightingale sighed. ‘I told you what happened. How Proserpine appeared at midnight and Mitchell left his pentagram and she killed him?’

‘Dragged him kicking and screaming into the bowels of Hell is how you described it.’

‘And that’s exactly how I remember it,’ said Nightingale. ‘Except . . .’

‘Except what?’

Nightingale picked up his vodka and Coke and finished it. ‘Let me get another drink and I’ll tell you,’ he said.

57

W
hen Nightingale had finished telling her what he’d seen on the CCTV footage in Mitchell’s house, he picked up his glass and toasted her. ‘So what do you think?’

She ran her fingertip around the rim of her glass. ‘How am I supposed to answer that?’ she said. ‘Nothing that’s happened over the past few weeks makes any sense, not really. It’s like the whole world has turned upside down for us but for everyone else life just carries on as normal.’ Jenny sipped her wine, then put down her glass. ‘I don’t think you imagined it,’ she said. ‘I know that’s what you think I’m thinking.’

‘I wouldn’t blame you.’

‘Just because the CCTV didn’t show Proserpine, doesn’t mean that she wasn’t there.’ She leaned towards him. ‘I believe you, Jack.’

‘I know you do. But there was a hell of a lot of video of me just standing there with a blank look on my face.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe it was all in my head. Maybe I imagined the whole thing.’

‘You’re not a man given to making things up, Jack. I know that much about you.’

‘You didn’t see the video, Jenny. There was just me, standing on the patio. But that’s not what happened. At least, it’s not what I remember happening. She was there. Mitchell came out through the French windows and she . . . she did something. He was frozen to the ground and then she sent him to Hell. Mitchell’s people tried to stop her. And her dog, it became this . . . this thing. This three-headed dog-thing.’

Jenny chuckled. ‘You see, if you were making it up you’d come up with something better than that.’

‘The dog-thing killed Mitchell’s men. But there were no bodies. No nothing.’

‘You don’t take drugs, do you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘And you’re not prone to hallucinations, are you?’

Nightingale shook his head.

‘So no, I don’t think you made it up and I don’t think you imagined it. I think it’s more likely that something was done to the video. Either by Mitchell’s people or by Proserpine. Someone who didn’t want people to know what happened.’

Nightingale swirled the ice cubes around his glass. ‘Just so long as you don’t think I’m going mad.’ He drained his glass. ‘Another?’

‘You said one drink, Jack. You’ve had two already.’

‘One more won’t hurt. It’s not as if I’m driving far, is it?’

‘Jack . . .’

‘Okay, okay. I’ll have a Coke.’ He stood up and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

‘Carry on like this and pretty soon you’ll be finding out,’ she said.

Nightingale winked at her and headed for the bar.

58

N
ightingale walked Jenny home and then went to get his MGB, which he’d parked in a side road not far from her house. When he reached his car he cursed as he saw that the nearside rear tyre was flat. He opened the boot, dropped in the carrier bag, and started unscrewing the spare tyre. Headlights illuminated the rear of the MGB and Nightingale turned to see a black Range Rover coming down the road towards him.

The car slowed and then stopped. Nightingale shielded his eyes against the blinding lights. He heard a door open and close and then saw a figure walk in front of the Range Rover. ‘Flat tyre, yeah?’ said a voice.

‘Yeah,’ said Nightingale.

‘Do you need a hand?’

‘I’m okay,’ said Nightingale. ‘It’s not my first flat.’

The man was tall, a little over six feet. He was about Nightingale’s age with jet-black hair and skin that was ghostly pale. He was wearing a long black overcoat and had a bright red scarf around his neck.

The man stuck out a gloved hand. ‘The name’s Chance,’ he said.

‘Jack,’ said Nightingale, shaking the hand.

Chance nodded at the flat tyre. ‘Happened to me last week. Bloody nail. Still don’t know if it was an accident or if someone did it deliberately. Come on, I’ll help. You get out the spare and I’ll start getting the wheel off. Have you got a torque wrench and a jack, Jack?’ He grinned. ‘That’s funny. A jack, Jack.’

‘Former boy scout, always prepared,’ said Nightingale. He took a wrench from the tool kit in the boot and gave it to Chance. ‘Loosen the nuts first,’ said Nightingale. ‘Then I’ll raise her up.’

‘No problem,’ said Chance.

As Nightingale pulled the wheel out of the boot, Chance put the torque wrench on one of the nuts and forced it counter-clockwise. He grunted but then grinned as it moved. ‘I don’t know my own strength,’ he said. He loosened the rest of the nuts then stood up, swinging the wrench. ‘There you go,’ he said.

He moved out of the way to give Nightingale room to work. Nightingale continued to turn the handle of the jack. As he concentrated on the task at hand he hardly noticed Chance step closer. Something slammed against the side of his head and Nightingale slumped to the road. He groaned and rolled over onto his back. Chance dropped the wrench and it clattered on the ground next to Nightingale. Nightingale blinked as he tried to focus, but the man standing above him was a blur. He tried to speak but his mouth refused to work.

Chance reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cut-throat razor. He flicked out the blade and it glinted in the Range Rover’s headlights. He drew back his hand but then hesitated. He put the razor on the roof of the MGB and put his hand in his pocket.

‘Proserpine sent you?’ croaked Nightingale.

Chance put his foot on the middle of Nightingale’s chest. ‘Hush,’ he said. He tossed a coin into the air, caught it and slapped it down onto the back of his left hand. He removed his right hand and his forehead creased into a frown. ‘No way,’ he said. He glared down at Nightingale. ‘You are one lucky son of a bitch,’ he said. His face hardened. ‘Best out of three? Why not?’ He tossed the coin up into the air again.

Nightingale groped for the wrench. He was still dazed from the blow but his fingers found the cold metal and he picked it up. Chance was looking at the spinning coin, his eyes wide, and he didn’t see Nightingale draw back his hand and smash the wrench against his knee. He screamed in pain as the kneecap cracked.

Nightingale rolled over and came up on all fours as Chance howled. Chance grabbed the razor and lashed out with it but Nightingale managed to block it with the wrench. He got to his feet as Chance raised the razor again but Nightingale caught him with a quick kick to the groin. Chance yelped like a dog and Nightingale smashed the wrench down on his wrist. He heard bones break and the razor fell from Chance’s nerveless fingers. Nightingale lifted the wrench and backhanded it across Chance’s face. Blood spurted from his nose and he fell backwards, unconscious before he hit the ground.

The blip of a police siren made Nightingale look round. He hadn’t heard the police car drive down the road behind him. He slowly raised his hands as the car doors opened and two heavily built uniformed officers climbed out.

‘Put down the weapon!’ one of them shouted.

‘It’s a torque wrench,’ said Nightingale.

‘I don’t care if it’s a bloody cotton bud, drop it now,’ said the officer, taking his baton from its holster and flicking it open.

Nightingale dropped the wrench, keeping his hands high in the air. He nodded at Chance, who was lying motionless in the road. ‘He started it,’ he said.