Midnight jn-2

by Stephen Leather

  Nightingale leaned forward. ‘Did Dr Keller tell you who I am?’ he asked, his voice a low whisper.

  Robyn said nothing. She stared down at the table, breathing through her mouth.

  ‘He told you I’m your brother? My name’s Jack.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ she whispered.

  ‘It’s true. They wouldn’t have let me in otherwise.’

  She continued to stare at the table, breathing heavily. Her hands were still clasped together, the fingernails bitten to the quick.

  ‘Robyn?’

  She flinched as if she’d been struck but still refused to look at him.

  ‘I’m your brother, Robyn.’

  For several seconds she didn’t react and for a moment he thought she hadn’t heard him, then she slowly raised her head. ‘No way,’ she said.

  ‘Way. Big way.’

  She looked up. Her eyes were dark brown, so dark that the irises were almost black. Her eyebrows were thin, as if they’d been carefully plucked. ‘What do you mean, big way? That doesn’t mean anything.’

  ‘I’m guessing it means the opposite of no way. I’m your brother.’

  ‘I was an only child.’

  ‘We have the same father. There’s no doubt. I checked your DNA.’

  ‘How did you get my DNA?’

  ‘It’s on file. Everyone who’s been arrested is in the system. There’s no doubt, Robyn.’

  ‘If you’re my brother, why didn’t my parents tell me?’

  ‘Because they didn’t know.’

  She sat back in her chair, folded her arms and scowled at him. ‘You’re full of shit,’ she said. ‘How could they be your parents and not know?’

  ‘Because you were adopted, Robyn. You were adopted and so was I. Our father was a man called Ainsley Gosling. He killed himself a few weeks ago.’

  ‘I wasn’t adopted,’ she said flatly.

  ‘You were. On the day of your birth. That’s what happened to me. I was adopted by Bill and Irene Nightingale.’

  ‘So you’re Jack Nightingale?’

  Nightingale nodded.

  ‘And our father is Ainsley Gosling?’

  Nightingale nodded again.

  She sneered at him. ‘This is a joke, right?’

  ‘It’s deadly serious.’

  ‘No, you don’t get it,’ she said. ‘Our father was Gosling, you’re Nightingale and I’m Robyn. What’s with the bird thing?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Nightingale. ‘Coincidence maybe.’

  ‘There are no coincidences,’ said Robyn emphatically. ‘Everything is connected.’

  ‘That’s a philosophy all right,’ said Nightingale. ‘But I don’t think there’s a reason we’ve all ended up with birds’ names.’

  ‘I bet you’re wrong,’ she said. ‘And, if it’s true, why did this Gosling have us both adopted? And why did he put us with different families?’

  ‘That’s where it gets complicated,’ said Nightingale. ‘But can I ask you something first?’

  Robyn shrugged. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Your parents. Do you still see them?’

  ‘After what I did?’ She snorted contemptuously. ‘They wanted nothing to do with me.’

  ‘But they’re still alive?’

  ‘Allegedly.’

  Nightingale grinned.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ she snapped.

  ‘I say that a lot,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘Say what?’

  ‘Allegedly.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  Nightingale nodded and retrieved his pack of Marlboro from his raincoat pocket. ‘Can we smoke in here?’

  Robyn shook her head. ‘They say we’re a hospital and not a prison so we can’t smoke. Some of the inmates went to the High Court a few years ago to fight it but they lost.’ She smiled slyly. ‘But rules are meant to be broken, right?’ She looked over at the guard. ‘Miss Boyle, would it be all right if my brother and I have a cigarette?’

  The guard wagged a finger at her. ‘It’s against the rules, Robyn, you know that.’

  ‘Oh come on, Miss Boyle. You think we don’t know that you sneak into the Ladies for a quick smoke in the afternoon? Go one, one smoker to another. Pretty please.’

  The guard laughed and shook her head. ‘You’re a bad girl, Robyn. Go on, then, just the one. But if anyone comes in I’ll have to put you on report.’

  ‘Thanks, Miss Boyle,’ said Robyn. She winked at Nightingale. ‘They’re okay in here really,’ she said.

  Nightingale chuckled, tapped out a cigarette for her and one for himself. He took out his lighter and lit them both, then he offered the pack to the guard but she waved him away.

  ‘More than my job’s worth,’ she said. ‘But thanks anyway.’

  Nightingale put the packet away. ‘That was nice of her,’ he said quietly. ‘She didn’t have to do that.’

  ‘We’re all human beings trying to get through life as best we can, Jack,’ said Robyn. She blew a perfect smoke ring up at the ceiling. ‘What about your parents?’ she asked.

  ‘Dead,’ said Nightingale. ‘Car crash while I was at university.’

  ‘University? You a smart guy, Jack?’

  He grinned. ‘Allegedly.’ He took a long drag on his cigarette. ‘Was it because of the court case that your parents cut you off?’

  Robyn shook her said. ‘The rot had set in long before then,’ she said.

  ‘What was the problem? Were you a difficult kid?’

  ‘I wasn’t the problem,’ she said, and shook her head again. ‘My mum was all right; my dad was a bastard.’

  ‘Bastard in what way?’

  She scowled. ‘Screwed me on my sixteenth birthday — does that count?’

  ‘Yeah, that counts.’

  ‘At least he waited until I was legal,’ said Robyn. ‘Did me on my sixteenth birthday while Mum was at the shops, and tried again two days later. I stuck a knife in him and got on a train to London.’ She shivered and took a long pull on her cigarette. ‘I guess me being adopted explains a lot. Wasn’t incest, wasn’t paedophilia; it was plain old rape.’

  ‘You never suspected they weren’t your real parents?’

  She shook her head fiercely. ‘I used to dream that I was really a princess and that my parents were the king and queen of some faraway country and that one day they would come for me, but that’s not how it turned out.’ She flicked ash onto the floor. ‘I don’t suppose my genetic father was a king, was he?’

  ‘Not exactly, no,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘So who was he, this Ainsley Gosling?’

  ‘It’s a long story, Robyn.’

  She laughed harshly. ‘Jack, time is the one thing I have plenty of right now.’

  39

  R obyn sat back, her hands on the table. ‘You are shitting me,’ she said. ‘You’re trying to run some sort of con on me.’ She looked over at the guard, who was still leaning against the drinks vending machine, out of earshot. ‘I can’t believe they let you in here.’

  ‘It’s God’s truth,’ said Nightingale, leaning towards her. ‘Though I guess that’s not exactly appropriate under the circumstances.’

  ‘Have you got any money on you? Any coins?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She gestured at the vending machines. ‘Get me a coffee. Black. No sugar.’

  ‘That’s how I take mine,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘That’s how half the population drink it,’ she said scornfully. ‘It doesn’t mean we’re joined at the hip.’

  She glared at him as he got up from the table. He slotted a pound coin into the machine and pressed the button for black coffee. He asked the guard if she wanted one but she shook her head.

  ‘I wouldn’t say no to a Kit-Kat, though.’

  ‘Who would?’ asked Nightingale. He gave her the Kit-Kat and then got a second coffee. Robyn was still glaring at him when he carried them back to the table.

  ‘You’re running some sort of long con,’ she said as he sat down. ‘You’re setting
me up for something.’

  ‘Robyn, you’re serving five life sentences and everything you own would fit in a supermarket carrier bag. Why would I be conning you?’

  She leaned forward and stared at him. ‘My biological father was a Satanist and he left you a huge mansion in Surrey?’

  ‘That’s the gist of it, yes.’

  ‘Why didn’t he leave me anything? I mean, a big house wouldn’t be much use to me in here but I could do with a few quid.’

  ‘He didn’t know where you were or who your adoptive parents were,’ said Nightingale. ‘He tried to find you but couldn’t. I only tracked you down because I had access to the national DNA database.’

  ‘And he worshipped the devil?’ She sneered and shook her head. ‘Maybe that’s where the crazy gene came from.’ She sipped her coffee and grimaced. ‘You know one of the things I miss most about being in here?’

  Nightingale raised his plastic cup. ‘Decent coffee?’

  She grinned. ‘Bloody right. It’s horrible, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’ve had better,’ agreed Nightingale. ‘A lot better.’

  Robyn put her chin in her hands. ‘Why are you really here, Jack? Is there something else you want to tell me?’

  Nightingale blew smoke up at the ceiling as he wondered how much he should tell her. She seemed rational enough but he wasn’t sure if that was an act or not. He shrugged. ‘I thought we should meet. That’s all.’

  ‘Are you worried that you might be crazy?’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because I’m in an asylum. And if you’re right and we share the same DNA then maybe you’re crazy, too. Because this whole Satanism devil-worship thing does suggest that you might have the odd screw loose.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of it that way.’

  ‘Liar,’ she said. ‘I can see it in your eyes that you’re lying. How do I know the whole thing’s not a lie? How do I know this isn’t some stupid therapy that Keller wants to try on me?’

  ‘Like I said, I don’t gain anything by lying to you. Have you got a few million quid tucked away that no one knows about?’

  ‘I wish.’

  ‘So try to trust me on this. We’re siblings. Same father, different mothers.’

  She rubbed her face. ‘Do you know who our mothers are? Our birth mothers?’

  ‘I met mine,’ said Nightingale. ‘I don’t know who yours was.’

  ‘How did you find her?’

  ‘Through Gosling’s records. I traced her to a nursing home.’

  ‘Can you do the same and track down my mother? My birth mother?’

  ‘I’ll try,’ said Nightingale. He sipped his coffee. It was bitter and tasted of chemicals. ‘Can I ask you something, Robyn?’

  She shrugged. ‘I guess,’ she said. ‘Seeing as how you’re my long-lost brother.’

  He looked at her with slightly narrowed eyes. ‘What they said you did… to those kids. Did you do it?’

  ‘I’m in here, aren’t I?’

  ‘There are plenty of innocent people in prison. That’s why they have appeals.’

  ‘What do you want me to say? That it’s all a terrible misunderstanding? That I’m innocent and there’s been a miscarriage of justice?’

  ‘Something like that, yeah.’

  She grinned, jutting her chin up and wrinkling her nose. ‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ she said. ‘But yeah, I did it. Killed them, all five of them.’ She paused. ‘Allegedly.’

  40

  D r Keller slowly stirred his tea and nodded at the plate of biscuits in front of Nightingale. ‘Please, help yourself,’ he said.

  Nightingale picked up a custard cream and dipped it into his tea. ‘She doesn’t seem like a killer,’ he said.

  The doctor continued to stir his tea. ‘Sociopaths are adept at concealing their true natures,’ he said. ‘Every emotion they display is learned behaviour. They have no true emotions but if they are smart they learn to mimic them.’

  ‘They act, is that what you mean? They pretend to be happy or sad or angry?’

  Dr Keller nodded. He put his spoon on the saucer so carefully that it made no sound. ‘In a nutshell, yes.’

  ‘She seems so normal. Even made a few jokes.’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ said Dr Keller. ‘I’m not suggesting that she’s a danger to you or to anyone else in this institution. But she is insane. I can assure you of that.’

  ‘Why do you say that? She looks and sounds normal, so how do you, as a professional, come to the conclusion that she’s mad?’

  Dr Keller chuckled quietly. ‘Mr Nightingale, we would never put it as crassly as that.’

  ‘But that’s what you mean, isn’t it? You’re saying she’s as mad as a hatter despite the outward appearance.’

  ‘She killed five children, Mr Nightingale. And she has expressed absolutely no remorse.’

  Nightingale put his biscuit into his mouth, chewed and swallowed.

  ‘Did she talk to you about the killings?’ asked the doctor.

  ‘Only to admit that she’d done it.’

  ‘No explanation, no asking for understanding or forgiveness?’

  Nightingale shook his head. ‘Just said that she’d killed them.’

  ‘That, right there, is textbook sociopathic behaviour,’ said the doctor. ‘A normal person would be full of guilt and remorse. Or would at least offer up some sort of explanation for their actions. But Robyn tells us as little as she apparently told you. Yes, she did it, she killed those five children, but she won’t say one word about what drove her to it.’

  ‘And that’s par for the course?’

  ‘I’d say that it applies to a third of the inmates here, yes. She has therapy sessions, one on one with medical staff, and group sessions with other inmates present, and, while she’s pleasant and sociable, she never opens up.’

  ‘But it’s not denial, is it? If it was denial she would be saying that she didn’t do it, right?’

  ‘Correct,’ said Dr Keller. He sipped his tea, watching Nightingale over the top of his cup.

  ‘Earlier, you said there was no cure.’

  ‘That’s right. She’s hard-wired as a sociopath and nothing we can do can change that. There’s no operation that will alter the way she thinks, and there’s no miracle drug that we can use. She is what she is, I’m afraid.’

  ‘So she’ll never be released?’

  ‘I would think it highly doubtful,’ said the doctor.

  Nightingale picked up another custard cream and dunked it into his tea. ‘I know this is going to sound stupid, but there’s no doubt that she did it, is there?’

  Dr Keller’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, the thing is that, because she pleaded guilty, there wasn’t a lot of information released to the court. She pleaded guilty to five murders and received five life sentences. But there were no details of what she did or how she did it. Her legal team didn’t speak in mitigation, so the media only got the bare facts.’

  ‘And you think there might have been a miscarriage of justice?’ Dr Keller shook his head. ‘First of all, she pleaded guilty. Second of all, she continues to admit her guilt. And third of all…’ He leaned forward. ‘I’ve seen the files, Mr Nightingale. I know what she did and, considering the circumstances under which she was arrested, I can assure you there is no doubt as to her guilt.’

  ‘Red-handed?’

  ‘Literally. She was awash in the boy’s blood.’

  ‘She used a knife — that was in the papers.’

  ‘She gutted him like a pig,’ said the doctor. ‘But first she slit his throat so deeply that his head was almost severed.’

  ‘Fingerprints? DNA?’

  ‘The knife was in her hand when the police turned up. And as I said, she was covered in his blood.’

  ‘How did the cops know where she was?’ asked Nightingale.

  ‘That I don’t know,’ said the doctor. ‘But they found her with the body. Covered in blood, ho
lding the knife.’

  ‘And the other killings?’

  ‘All children. All gutted. And she confessed to the lot.’

  ‘But never said why she did it?’

  Dr Keller shook his head. ‘Not a word.’

  Nightingale took his pack of Marlboro out of his raincoat pocket, but put it away when he saw the look of disapproval on the doctor’s face. ‘This is going to sound a little off the wall, but was there any sort of occult slant to the killings?’

  Dr Keller frowned. ‘I don’t follow you.’

  Nightingale shrugged. ‘Pentagrams, Satanic ritual, witchcraft symbols.’

  ‘You’re wondering if the devil made her do it?’

  Nightingale shrugged again. ‘Killing five kids. It sort of sounds like human sacrifice, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It sounds like the actions of a serial killer.’

  ‘But it’s unusual for serial killers to kill kids, isn’t it? Especially female serial killers. If there are kids involved then there’s usually a sexual motive, right?’

  Dr Keller nodded hesitantly. ‘Well, yes, I suppose so. Child killers are generally middle-aged males and more often than not the killings follow on from sexual activity, either as a way of heightening sensations or through fear of being caught.’

  ‘And in my sister’s case there was no evidence of sexual assault?’

  ‘None at all,’ agreed Dr Keller.

  ‘So, if there was a reason, maybe in her mind she might have been sacrificing them. And the fact that she used a knife, that suggests a ritual, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I doubt that your sister would have had access to a firearm, so that really only leaves knives, strangulation or beating with a blunt object,’ said the doctor. ‘I’m not sure that the knife is significant.’

  ‘Knives are personal, and planned,’ said Nightingale. ‘She must have taken the knife in advance, which means she must have had a reason for killing the children. She wasn’t acting on impulse or out of anger. She planned it.’

  ‘You seem to know a lot about murder,’ said the doctor.

  ‘I was a policeman, in a former life.’

  ‘A detective?’

  Nightingale shook his head. ‘Firearms officer, but I was also a negotiator. I did a fair amount of psychology as part of my training.’