‘Yes, master.’
‘I’ll be in the Starbucks close to the Exhibition Centre. Give me a bell when you’re in the area and I’ll bring you a coffee.’
‘Make it a mocha,’ she said. ‘I could do with giving my blood sugar a boost.’
‘And a muffin?’
‘Banana choc-chip.’
‘You’re a sweetheart.’
Nightingale locked up the MGB and finished smoking his cigarette as he walked to Starbucks. Jenny phoned when she was ten minutes away and by the time she drove up in her Audi he was standing outside with a large mocha and a muffin in a paper bag.
‘Did you call the AA?’ she asked as he slotted her drink into a cup holder and put the muffin on the dashboard.
‘What’s my drink problem got to do with anything?’
She laughed as she pulled away from the kerb. ‘Idiot. The AA. For what you laughingly call a car.’
‘I’ll do it tomorrow,’ he said. He nodded at the Starbucks bag. ‘Do you want that now?’
‘I’ll save it for later,’ she said. ‘How did it go with Mr Deepak?’
‘Great. Nice guy, very professional. Says he can put a lot of work our way.’
‘Can I ask you something?’
Nightingale looked across at her, surprised by the question. ‘Sure.’
‘Wainwright’s going to buy the library, right?’
‘Fingers crossed.’
‘Probably for a lot of money?’
‘Fingers and toes crossed, sure.’
‘He paid you a stack for those books you sold him last year. Two million euros.’
‘Which went straight to the bank, if you’re thinking about a pay rise.’
‘What I’m thinking is that if he’s going to buy the entire library from you, he’s going to pay millions.’
‘That’s the plan.’
‘So you’ll be able to pay off the bank and have a small fortune left.’
‘Maybe a big fortune,’ said Nightingale.
‘And then what?’
Nightingale frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
She sighed and shook her head. ‘Sometimes you can be so obtuse.’
‘What?’ said Nightingale, genuinely confused.
‘What happens to Jack Nightingale Investigations?’
‘It’ll take the pressure off,’ he said.
‘Jack, you’ll be a very wealthy man. You’re not going to want to work, are you?’
‘I’m not old enough for a pipe and slippers.’
‘No, but you’ll be rich enough to buy a villa in Spain or a go-go bar in Bangkok, or pretty much anything you want.’
Nightingale grinned. ‘A go-go bar? Where did that come from?’
‘It’s an example of what guys do when they come into money,’ she said. ‘And you’re coming into a lot of money.’
‘And you think I’ll just up sticks and run off to the sun?’
‘I don’t know what to think,’ said Jenny. ‘But if that’s what you’re going to do I’d appreciate some advance notice so that I can make plans.’
‘You don’t want to help me run the go-go bar, then?’
Jenny flashed him an exasperated look. ‘I’m serious. I don’t want to turn up for work one day to find you’ve done a runner.’
‘Is that what you think’s going to happen?’
Jenny shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea what’s going to happen other than the fact that you’re about to come into a large sum of money.’
They stopped at a set of traffic lights and she picked up her mocha and took a sip.
‘I enjoy being a detective,’ said Nightingale. ‘I was a good cop and now I’m a good private eye. I know it sounds corny but I like the work. Even the seedy stuff, following errant husbands and the like. I don’t see me stopping work just because I’ve got a bit of cash.’
‘But it’s not going to be just a bit of cash, is it?’ She put the cup back in the holder. ‘You’ll be rich, Jack.’ The light turned green and she started driving again.
‘I’m not planning to retire, Jenny. Cross my heart.’
‘Okay.’
‘Are you worried about losing your job? Is that it?’
She sighed. ‘Yes, Jack, I’m worried about my wonderful job,’ she said, her voice loaded with sarcasm.
‘I tell you what, if Wainwright comes through, you’re definitely getting a pay rise.’
‘That makes it all worthwhile, really.’
‘You’re being ironic, right?’
‘Not much gets by you, does it?’
Nightingale pointed at the bag on the dashboard. ‘Do you mind if I have a piece of your muffin?’
‘Help yourself,’ she said.
44
Jenny brought the Audi to a stop in front of the gates that guarded the driveway of Gosling Manor. Nightingale looked at his watch. ‘We’re early,’ he said.
‘That’s the thing about German engineering,’ said Jenny. ‘It gets you to where you need to be.’
‘Is that a dig at my MGB?’
‘More a dig at someone who thinks an old banger is a classic,’ she said. ‘Is there any of my muffin left?’
Nightingale handed her the Starbucks bag and she peered inside. ‘You took the top,’ she said.
‘It’s the best bit.’
‘You took the best bit of my muffin,’ she said.
‘I was hungry.’
She shook her head in mock disgust. ‘Why are we waiting here?’
‘Because Wainwright’s people haven’t been here before so they might miss it.’
Jenny nibbled a piece of the muffin and drank her mocha. Nightingale took his cigarettes out and Jenny glared at him. ‘No,’ she said.
‘I’ll smoke outside,’ he said, opening the door.
‘Good idea,’ she said.
Nightingale climbed out and lit a cigarette. It was a cold afternoon and he shivered, then started pacing up and down behind the car as he smoked. From the gates there was no sign of the house, just the driveway winding off to the right between clumps of trees. He hadn’t thought about the difference that Wainwright’s money would make, but Jenny was right. Ainsley Gosling had spent a fortune on the books in the basement and Nightingale doubted that they would have gone down in value over the years. He had met Joshua Wainwright only a few times but he trusted the man and he was sure that he would pay him what they were worth. That could be tens of millions of pounds and maybe Jenny had a point: would he really want to do Mr Deepak’s legwork if he had that sort of money to play with?
The sky overhead was covered in grey and white clouds with not a shred of blue to be seen. Over to his left was a line of half a dozen towering trees stripped of all their leaves, the bare branches revealing two large nests. Sitting next to one of the nests was a magpie that must have been two feet from its beak to the tip of its tail. It was staring at Nightingale. Nightingale looked around for a second magpie, acting from a habit he’d picked up from his mother. She’d taught him the rhyme when he was still a toddler – ‘one for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl and four for a boy’ – and always made him look for a second bird whenever they came across a single magpie. He was still looking when he heard a vehicle coming down the road. He blew smoke and turned towards the sound. It was a silver Mercedes people carrier.
The vehicle came to a halt behind Jenny’s Audi. Nightingale dropped his cigarette butt, crushing it with the sole of his shoe, and went over to the Mercedes. The side door opened and a pretty Chinese girl stepped out. She had long black hair and round-lensed spectacles, and was wearing a blue parka over a green baggy polo-necked sweater and tight blue jeans.
‘Are you with Joshua?’ asked Nightingale.
The girl grinned. ‘Sure am,’ she said. ‘Are you Jack?’ She had a soft American accent.
Nightingale nodded and shook hands with her. She was tiny, under five feet tall, and she had to jut her chin up to maintain eye contact with him.
‘Amy Lee,’ she said.
>
She held open the door of the Mercedes and introduced her three colleagues sitting in the back: two middle-aged men in raincoats and a slight elderly woman who reminded Nightingale of Mrs Steadman in the Wicca Woman store in Camden. Nightingale shook hands with them and nodded at the driver, a grey-haired man in a dark suit.
‘Do you want to follow me to the house?’ said Nightingale.
‘Cool,’ said Amy, and she climbed back into the people carrier.
Nightingale opened the gates, and joined Jenny in the Audi. ‘That’s them,’ he said.
‘They don’t look like Satanists,’ she said, putting the car in gear and driving slowly towards the house.
‘What do Satanists look like, pray tell? Cloaks, sharp teeth, bloodshot eyes? They’re book experts, not devil-worshippers.’ He looked over his shoulder. The Mercedes was following them. ‘I guess. Actually, I didn’t ask Joshua. He just said they’d be able to value the books.’
‘And you trust him?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You met him only a few weeks ago, you don’t know him from Adam. Wouldn’t you be better off getting in your own experts?’
Nightingale looked across at her. ‘When did you get so suspicious?’
Jenny shrugged. The house was off to the right, expansive lawns to their left. ‘I’m just saying that there’s a lot of money involved and you might be better off getting a second opinion.’
‘He’s been fair so far.’
‘You don’t know that, Jack. He gave you a stack of money but you don’t know that someone else might not have given you more.’
‘Cash,’ said Nightingale. ‘Let’s not forget it was cash.’
‘Yeah, that says more about you than credit cards ever can,’ she said. She parked next to the massive stone fountain, switched off the engine and turned to look at him. ‘You’re not the best judge of character, that’s all I’m saying. I’ve never met this Wainwright and it’s none of my business but maybe he’s just being a bit too keen.’
‘I hear you, kid. Let’s see what they say. I don’t have to accept his first offer.’ He got out of the Audi and waved at the driver of the people carrier to park on the other side of the fountain.
Jenny got out of the Audi and shook hands with Amy and the rest of the book experts. They were all carrying aluminium briefcases.
‘Nice place,’ said Amy, looking up at the house.
‘The inside isn’t that great,’ said Nightingale. ‘We had a fire a few days ago. Watch your shoes because there’s still a fair bit of mud around. The firemen used a lot of water.’ He unlocked the front door and showed them inside. The driver stayed at the wheel of the Mercedes.
‘You weren’t lying,’ said Amy, peering at the thick mud covering the hall tiles. ‘How did the fire start?’
‘They’re not sure,’ lied Nightingale.
Amy sniffed the air. ‘Ugh,’ she said.
‘I know. Nightmare.’
‘Where are the books? They weren’t damaged, were they?’
‘Luckily no,’ said Nightingale. He went over to the hidden panel while Jenny closed the front door. Amy and the team followed him across the hall, stepping gingerly through the mud. Nightingale pulled open the panel and Amy giggled.
‘Are you serious?’ she asked. ‘A secret panel?’
‘Don’t blame me, it was my father’s house,’ he said.
‘Ainsley Gosling. I can’t believe you’re his son.’
Nightingale turned to look at her. ‘You knew him?’
Amy shook her head. ‘I know of him, of course. Mr Wainwright and Mr Gosling were often after the same books and Mr Gosling had a way of always persuading the vendor to sell to him.’
‘By offering more money, you mean?’
Amy shrugged. ‘Sometimes, but sometimes a book would be withdrawn from sale and later we’d find out that Mr Gosling had acquired it.’
‘Yeah, it’s one hell of a collection all right,’ said Nightingale. He reached for the light switch and flicked it on. ‘As you’ll see.’
He stepped through the panel and headed down the stairs. He got halfway down before he realised that the bookshelves were empty. He stopped and gripped the banister with both hands and stared down the full length of the basement. Every single book had gone. He rushed down the stairs and hurried to the far end of the basement where the CCTV monitors were. Before he reached the monitors he could see that the console had been smashed. Nightingale cursed.
‘Is there a problem?’ asked Amy.
Nightingale turned to look at her. She was standing next to one of the display cabinets and looking around, clearly confused.
‘You could say that,’ said Nightingale. He took his pack of Marlboro out of his pocket and slid a cigarette between his lips.
‘Where are the books, then?’
Nightingale lit his cigarette, inhaled, then blew a tight plume of smoke up at the ceiling. ‘That, Amy, is a very good question.’
45
Nightingale and Jenny stood and watched the people carrier drive back towards the gate. Nightingale waved. ‘Thanks for coming,’ he said. ‘Catch you later.’
‘They think you’re mad, you know,’ said Jenny.
‘They might be right.’
‘What the hell’s happened, Jack?’
‘I’ve been robbed,’ he said.
‘But who knew the books were down there?’
Nightingale flicked ash onto the ground. ‘Just you and me. And Joshua.’
‘You don’t think he stole them, do you?’
Nightingale looked at her. ‘Joshua?’
‘Basic detection, right? Motive, means, opportunity.’
Nightingale grinned. ‘You’ve been watching too much CSI.’
‘You think this is funny? You’ve no insurance, remember? And you need the money from those books to pay the bank.’
‘I don’t think it’s funny, no. But it can’t have been Joshua. Why would he have sent his team if he’d already taken the books?’
‘So that you wouldn’t suspect him.’
Nightingale nodded slowly. ‘Nice,’ he said. ‘But he’s out of the country, so how’s he going to arrange a robbery from the States?’
‘He knows people. You said that. With the sort of money he’s got he wouldn’t have any trouble getting professionals to clean you out.’
‘It’s certainly true that they were pros,’ said Nightingale. ‘No signs of entry, they took absolutely everything and they wrecked the surveillance equipment.’
‘Was the CCTV system on?’
‘No,’ said Nightingale. ‘But I guess they figured better safe than sorry.’
‘They knew what they were after, that’s for sure,’ said Jenny. ‘But no one else knew the basement was down there. The firemen, for example. There were lots of them tramping around but all they’d have seen was an empty house. Same with the cops. The only things of value in the house were in the basement and no one knew the basement was there.’
‘Except Joshua, is that what you’re saying? That’s just circumstantial.’
‘You took him down there. He saw what you had. How much were the books worth? We don’t know, but millions, right? Tens of millions? Don’t you think that he might have come to the conclusion that he’d be better off taking them rather than paying you?’
‘He’s not like that, Jenny,’ said Nightingale. He flicked away the remains of his cigarette. ‘He’s okay.’
‘A trustworthy Satanist? Isn’t that a contradiction in terms?’
‘You haven’t met him, kid. He’s a good guy.’
‘A good guy who worships the Devil?’
Nightingale chuckled. ‘It’s not like that. Mrs Steadman explained it to me some time ago. There’s no black magic or white magic, just magic. Like electricity. You can use electricity to save lives in an ICU or kill people in an electric chair. The power’s the same; it’s what you do with it that matters.’
‘That’s nonsense,’ said Jenny. �
�Mrs Steadman is a sweet old lady who uses herbs and crystals, and by your own admission Joshua Wainwright is a devil-worshipper.’
‘Satanist,’ corrected Nightingale.
‘You’re bisecting rabbits,’ said Jenny.
‘What?’
Jenny grinned at him. ‘Splitting hairs. It’s something my dad always says. A Satanist is a devil-worshipper, Jack. The clue is in the name.’
‘I can’t explain it but Joshua’s heart is in the right place. I trust him.’
‘I’m sure you do, but, as I keep telling you, you’re a lousy judge of character.’ She sighed. ‘What are you going to do, Jack?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You’re going to have to call the cops.’
‘Chalmers would laugh in my face.’
Jenny shook her head. ‘I can’t understand why you’re taking this so calmly.’
‘What do you want me to do? Break down and cry? At the moment, here and now, there’s nothing I can do. Whoever took the books has got clear away. The cops won’t help, so I’m just going to have to figure it out for myself. Plus, they’re specialist books. It’s not as if the thief can sell them on eBay. They can only have been stolen by another Satanist and they’re a pretty small group.’ He buttoned up his raincoat. ‘I need a drink.’
‘Drink’s not going to get the books back,’ said Jenny.
‘No, but it’ll make me feel better,’ said Nightingale. He walked over to the Audi. ‘Come on, let’s find the nearest pub. I’m buying.’
‘I’m the designated driver, remember?’
‘You can watch me drown my sorrows, then.’ He grinned. ‘I’m joking. Let’s go back to London.’
46
First thing on Tuesday morning Nightingale phoned the number that Wainwright had given him. The guy was called Adrian Miller and he lived in Milton Keynes. They arranged to meet later that afternoon. Miller asked Nightingale to bring with him any personal possessions that had belonged to the person they were trying to contact. As soon as the call was over, Nightingale phoned Colin Duggan and asked him if he’d had any luck getting Sophie’s doll from the evidence room.
‘Nag, nag, nag,’ said Duggan.
‘I’m sorry, mate, but it’s important.’
‘Yeah, well, softly softly catchee monkey as the Chinese say,’ said Duggan. ‘The guy who’s on nights this week is a real stickler and there’s no way I can get anything by him. I know where the box is but I can’t get near it while he’s around.’
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