‘And tell me again why you’re giving this to me?’
‘Insurance, I guess. Just in case the paedophile unit drops the ball.’
‘Why do you think that might happen?’
‘Because this is big, Robbie. It’s bloody huge. There are some bloody big names on that thumb drive. And some of them are in the photographs and video. I don’t know who else is involved. There’s already at least one cop in on it, but for all I know there could be senior officers in the Met involved. I need you to keep your ear to the ground and if nothing happens over the next few days then at least you’ve got the information there. You’ve got all the pictures, videos and the list of email addresses that were getting the doctored pictures.’
‘Doctored? What do you mean?’
‘The guy who had them on his hard drive was taking the pictures and blurring the faces of the men involved and then emailing them. I’ve got the before and after pictures. Those pictures alone will send dozens of men to prison for a long, long time.’
‘And how did you get them?’
‘Best you don’t know, mate. But they’re one hundred per cent kosher.’
‘Well, I hope you covered your tracks.’
‘I’m pretty sure I did.’ Nightingale tried to blow a smoke ring but the wind ripped it apart. ‘Can you sniff around, see if you can confirm that the Met was about to investigate the Berwick paedophile ring?’
‘I’ll give it a go.’
‘And I need you to do me a favour, Robbie.’
‘That’s a first,’ said his friend sarcastically. He sipped his red wine.
‘Have you heard of a lawyer by the name of Marcus Fairchild?’
‘The QC?’
‘Yeah. He’s Jenny’s godfather.’
‘Is he now? He’s a big swinging dick, that much I know.’
‘I need you to check him out.’
‘In what way?’
‘I need to know if there’s anything known. That’s all.’
‘Of course he’s known. He’s a multi-millionaire lawyer. He works for the CPS from time to time. What specifically are you looking for?’
Nightingale sighed. ‘You’ll think I’m crazy.’
‘That horse bolted a long time ago,’ said Robbie. ‘Spit it out.’
‘He’s a child molester. A paedophile.’
Robbie was drinking his wine when Nightingale spoke and he almost choked. ‘What?’
‘I want to know if he’s ever been implicated in anything like that.’
‘Bloody hell, Jack. If he had, he’d hardly be working with the CPS, would he?’
‘If it was hushed up, maybe.’
‘If it was hushed up, it won’t be in the system.’
‘It might.’
‘What’s going on, Jack? Is Fairchild on the thumb drive? Is he one of the guys in the photographs?’
‘Not that I can see. And I don’t see his name on the email list either. Could be a disguised email address of course, but no, I’ve no evidence that he’s involved in the Berwick abuse. But he did tell me that he worked on a paedophile case a while back.’
‘So this is separate? Something else?’
‘I think so, yes.’
‘And what exactly do you think he’s been doing?
‘Okay, what I’m going to tell you is going to sound crazy. Hell, it is crazy. But it’s the absolute truth and you have to believe me.’
‘You’re starting to worry me now, mate.’
‘Marcus Fairchild has been abusing Jenny since she was a kid. And he still is.’
Robbie stared at him in amazement. ‘By abusing you mean what, exactly?’
‘Sexual abuse.’
‘Jenny told you this?’
Nightingale shook his head. ‘She doesn’t know.’
‘But you do?’
‘Yes. I know it for an absolute fact.’
‘So report him.’
‘I can’t prove it.’
‘You know it’s a fact but you don’t have any proof?’
‘That’s pretty much it, yes.’
‘You’re right.’
‘I’m right?’
‘You’re right. It sounds crazy.’
Nightingale drew smoke into his lungs and held it there.
‘What’s going on, Jack?’ asked Robbie.
‘I’m trying to protect Jenny.’
‘From abuse that she doesn’t know about?’
‘He’s been doing it for years,’ said Nightingale.
‘And she doesn’t know? That’s ridiculous.’
‘He uses hypnotism or suggestion or some drug or other. And he’s part of a group called the Order of Nine Angles that carries out human sacrifice. They kill children.’
‘Now you’re really starting to worry me, Jack. You’re talking about one of the most respected lawyers in the country.’
‘It’s true, Robbie. When Jenny told him that I was working the Berwick case he came rushing to my office to find out what I knew. There was stuff about the Order of Nine Angles in McBride’s barn and Fairchild was desperate to pour scorn on it. Said it was an urban myth.’
‘He didn’t want you looking at it?’
‘That’s what I figured. Look, I know he’s got powerful connections. But there’s a good chance that some of those connections are in it with him.’
‘And you think that a quick look at the Police National Computer is going to blow the whole thing wide open?’
‘Of course not.’
‘So what do you expect me to do?’
‘When you put it like that, I’m not sure.’ He took a final drag on his cigarette and flicked the butt away.
Robbie glared at him. ‘What are you doing?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What’s Anna going to say if she finds your old cigarette butts on the lawn? You pick it up, you soft bastard.’
Nightingale laughed and went to retrieve the butt. He slipped it into his pocket.
‘And even if by some miracle I do find something out, what then?’ said Robbie. ‘Who do you go to with something like that? He’s Establishment, through and through. It’ll have to be at Commissioner level to stand any chance of moving forward.’
‘I can’t just leave it, Robbie. I have to do something.’
‘And you can’t tell me why you’re so sure he’s a paedophile and child-killer?’
Nightingale shook his head.
‘It’s something to do with all that spooky stuff you’re always getting involved in?’
‘Pretty much, yes. The only way I can think of to prove it to Jenny is to have her undergo hypnosis, hypnotic regression or something. But if I do that, it’ll destroy her. She loves the guy. Trusts him totally. I don’t think I can do that to her. But I can’t let him continue to do what he’s doing.’ He shrugged. ‘I guess I had this crazy idea that you could come up with something that would open the whole thing up.’
‘That’s not going to happen,’ said Robbie. ‘I’m sorry. But if you want me to look at the PNC, I can do that. But I’ll have to do it under someone else’s log-in because there’s a good chance it’ll be red-flagged.’
‘No, you’re right. There’s no point. If I’m going to do something, it’ll have to be more decisive.’
Robbie turned to look at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Best you don’t know. Or at least best I don’t say.’
‘Don’t do anything stupid, Jack.’
‘Since when have I ever done anything stupid?’ said Nightingale, straight-faced. He managed to hold it for a few seconds before both men burst into laughter.
Anna appeared at the back door. ‘What are you two laughing at?’ she asked.
‘Nothing,’ said Robbie.
‘Well, come and get your coffee.’
Robbie patted Nightingale on the back as they headed into the kitchen. ‘Whatever you decide to do, be careful,’ he said.
‘Careful is my middle name.’
‘I thought danger was
your middle name.’
Nightingale grinned. ‘Changed it by deed poll.’
Anna appeared at the kitchen door. ‘Do you two guys want to stay out there all night or are you going to come in for coffee?’
‘Coffee sounds good,’ said Robbie. He patted Nightingale on the back. ‘Seriously, mate, you be careful.’ They walked back to the house together. Nightingale knew that his friend was right. He had to be careful. But he had to do something about Marcus Fairchild. Something drastic.
64
The telephone rang and Sandra Harper went to answer it. Bella was sitting next to her father on the sofa watching television. Will Harper was eating Kentucky Fried Chicken but Bella’s lay untouched on her plate.
Sandra picked up the phone, listened to whoever called and then said: ‘No, we’re not interested. And please don’t call again.’ She replaced the receiver and scowled at her husband. ‘Bloody journalists. That was the Mirror. They just won’t give up.’
‘I don’t know why you answer the phone,’ said her husband. ‘They’re just about the only people who call on the landline. I told you we should have gone ex-directory.’
‘We did go ex-directory, last week,’ said Sandra. She squeezed onto the sofa next to Bella. ‘Are you not hungry?’
Bella shook her head. ‘I had a big lunch at school.’
‘Yeah? What did you have?’
‘Pizza.’
‘Do you want pizza now? I can order one for you.’
‘Mum, I’m fine.’ Sandra leaned closer to her daughter and sniffed. Bella turned away. ‘Mum, don’t fuss.’
‘Are you cleaning your teeth?’
‘Of course.’
‘Your breath smells bad. Really bad.’
‘I’m cleaning my teeth, Mum.’
‘If your breath isn’t better in a day or two I’m going to take you to the dentist.’
‘Okay, okay.’
Sandra leaned over and took a drumstick off her husband’s plate and bit into it.
‘Mum, why don’t you want me to talk to the journalists?’
‘Because they want to talk about what happened to you and it’s best that we forget about it. We have to move on.’ She put her arm around her daughter and gave her a hug. ‘It’s in the past. You’re home now and we’re just going to enjoy that.’
‘But they said they’d pay, didn’t they?’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I heard you and Dad yesterday. You said that one of the papers had offered you ten thousand pounds for an interview and more if you’d agree to a photograph.’
‘You heard me say that? I thought you were upstairs.’ She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She was tired and finding it hard to think. ‘Your dad and I just decided it was best not to say anything to anybody.’
‘Your mum’s right,’ said Will, reaching for a piece of chicken. ‘You can’t trust journalists, everybody knows that.’
‘And we don’t want everyone knowing our business,’ said Sandra. ‘We don’t need to tell the world what you went through, honey.’ She gave her daughter another squeeze. ‘We just need to put it behind us, like it never happened.’
‘But I could tell them that I saw Michael. And Jesus.’
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea, honey,’ said Will. He bit into his chicken and chewed noisily.
‘But I could talk about that, and you and Mummy would get ten thousand pounds. Maybe more.’
‘We don’t need the money that badly, Bella,’ said Sandra.
‘You could put it towards my university fees,’ said Bella. ‘Put it in the bank to pay my tuition fees.’
‘University?’ said Sandra. ‘You want to go to university?” She exchanged a surprised look with her husband. He shrugged.
‘Of course,’ said Bella. ‘What harm could it do, Mum? I could tell them about Jesus and everything.’
‘What do you think?’ Sandra asked her husband.
Will swallowed and shrugged again. ‘She’s got a point. University’s expensive, we could put the money in an ISA or something. Save it for when she needs it. How many papers have asked for interviews?’
‘All of them,’ said Sandra. ‘And the magazines.’
‘Why don’t you talk to them, see how much they’d pay?’
‘You think?’
Will picked up another piece of chicken. ‘What harm could it do?’ he asked.
65
Nightingale took a black cab to Clapham and had it drop him a hundred yards or so from Smith’s house. It was late Saturday evening and the sky was threatening rain but he hadn’t wanted to risk driving in his MGB. Smith was a nasty piece of work and wouldn’t think twice about riddling the car – or Nightingale – with bullets if the conversation didn’t go well. Smith’s house was in a terrace, two storeys tall and fronted with black railings around steps that led down to the basement level. Most of the houses had been converted into flats and bedsitters but Perry had kept his house as a single unit. There were two large black men standing outside the front door, wearing matching Puffa jackets over tracksuits. Nightingale recognised one of the men. He lit a cigarette before walking over to talk to then.
There were deep booming vibrations coming from inside the house – rap music being played through an expensive sound system. Nightingale doubted that the neighbours would complain. Not more than once, anyway.
The heavy that Nightingale knew was big, close to seven feet tall. He had wraparound Oakley sunglasses pushed on to the top of his head. ‘Hi T-Bone, how’s it going?’
The heavy’s eyes narrowed. ‘I know you?’
‘In another life, maybe.’
‘Yeah? Well, I sure as hell don’t know you in this one, so keep on moving.’
‘I need to talk to Perry.’
‘He know you?’
Nightingale shrugged. ‘We’re back to that another life thing.’
‘You Five-0?’
Nightingale shook his head. ‘I’m a private dick, as they say.’
‘Well, if you don’t want your private dick shoved between your private lips, you’d better walk away right now.’
Nightingale put up his hands. ‘Look, I didn’t mean to get off on the wrong foot. I just want a word with Perry. You don’t know me, but I do know you. I know how you got your nickname, for a start.’
‘Everyone knows that,’ said T-Bone.
‘Do they all know that he was coming at you with a machete when you shoved the stake in him? And I know about the lock-up in Streatham where you keep the guns.’
T-Bone’s eyes narrowed. ‘You sure you’re not Five-0?’
‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’
‘Yeah, well, if you’re lying that could well happen.’
‘If I was Five-0, or if I wanted to screw you over, one phone call is all it’d take for that lock-up to be busted and you along with it.’
T-Bone’s forehead creased into deep furrows as he struggled to follow Nightingale’s logic.
‘Look, I want to put some business Perry’s way. To be honest I’d be happier just talking to you but I know how important the hierarchical thing is.’
‘What’s he talking about?’ asked T-Bone’s companion.
‘Stay there,’ said T-Bone. He opened the front door and disappeared into the house. Nightingale held out his pack of cigarettes to the second heavy but he shook his head.
‘Cigarettes kill you,’ he growled.
‘I think the jury’s still out on that.’
‘Evidence seems pretty compelling to me.’
‘I’ve met people who’ve smoked for thirty-odd years and they’ve never had a problem. And thousand of non-smokers die of cancer every year.’ Nightingale shrugged. ‘Each to his own, I guess.’
‘Makes your teeth go yellow,’ said the heavy.
‘Yeah, I was wondering about that. Do you think I should get them whitened?’ He bared his teeth at the heavy, but before the man could reply the door opened and T-Bone reappeared.
‘In,’ said T-Bone. ‘But lose the cigarette.’
Nightingale took a final drag on the cigarette and then flicked it into the gutter. He followed T-Bone into the hallway. It ran the full length of the house, with a kitchen at the far end. There were purple doors leading off to the right and a flight of stairs leading upstairs that had been painted purple. The hallway was throbbing with rap music that vibrated up through the floorboards and into the soles of his feet.
T-Bone turned and without saying a word pushed Nightingale up against the wall and professionally frisked him. ‘I’m not carrying, in fact that’s why I’m here,’ said Nightingale.
‘Yeah, well, forgive me for not taking your word for that,’ said T-Bone. He jerked his thumb at the door to Nightingale’s right. ‘In there.’
Nightingale opened the door. His ears were immediately assaulted by a sound system being played at full blast, so loud that it made him wince. The walls of the room were painted a pale purple and there was a huge white spherical lampshade hanging in the centre. There were three large leather sofas around a glass coffee table that was loaded with all sorts of drugs paraphernalia, including several multi-coloured bongs and a crystal bowl filled with white powder. There were half a dozen lines of the powder at one side of the table, along with two teaspoons and a cigarette lighter. There was a flat screen TV dominating the wall opposite the sofas, showing an episode of Family Guy. Nightingale couldn’t tell if the sound was muted or if it was just being drowned out by the sound system.
Perry Smith was sitting in the middle sofa with his feet up on the coffee table. He had a remote in his left hand and a gun in his right. He waved the remote at the sound system and the volume decreased markedly.
‘Who the fuck are you and how do you know about the Streatham lock-up?’ snarled Smith.
‘Name’s Nightingale. Jack Nightingale.’
‘Like the bird?’
‘Yeah. Like the bird.’
‘Well, you need to start singing, Bird-man.’ He stood up and dropped the remote, but kept the gun pointing at Nightingale’s chest. ‘You hear me?’ Smith was wearing a silver tracksuit and gold Nikes and had several heavy gold chains on both wrists.
Nightshade: The Fourth Jack Nightingale Supernatural Thriller Page 21
