Hoyle bled out quickly as he lay on the Tarmac and he was dead before the paramedics arrived. The contents of the file were scattered across the road. The wind picked them up and blew them in all directions. The invoice from the paediatrician was caught in an updraught, spun into the air, then slapped against a lamppost. The wind snatched it again and it swirled back into the road. It blew under a parked car and settled in a puddle of oily water.
The girl and the dog watched as Hoyle’s life ebbed away, then disappeared into the crowds pouring out of nearby shops, some staring in horror, others reaching for their mobile phones to photograph and video Hoyle as he lay dying in the road.
33
The male nurse straightened the quilt over Rebecca Keeley and took the thermometer from her mouth. ‘I’m not sure you should still be here,’ he said to Nightingale. He put the thermometer into the top pocket of his tunic. ‘I think it’d be better if you left now.’
‘It wasn’t anything I did,’ said Nightingale. The woman had only screamed once, but the mournful wail had gone on for more than a minute and it was only when she ran out of breath that she had stopped. Her hands had tensed into fists and she had grabbed her crucifix and held it in front of her as if she was warding off a vampire.
The nurse had burst into the room expecting the worst, but the woman had remained in her chair even when she was screaming. When she quietened he had helped her onto the bed and draped the quilt over her. Nightingale tried to help but the nurse pushed him away. His mobile phone had rung while the nurse was comforting Rebecca Keeley, but he had reached into his pocket and switched it off.
The nurse took his stethoscope from around his neck and listened to her chest, then took her pulse. ‘I really think you should go,’ he said to Nightingale.
‘We were just talking and she started to scream,’ said Nightingale. ‘I didn’t do anything.’
‘Miss Keeley doesn’t talk,’ said the nurse. ‘I’ve been here eighteen months and she’s not said one word to me.’ He stood up and faced Nightingale with his hands on his hips. ‘It would be best if you left now.’
‘She’s never done that before? Screamed like that?’
The nurse shook his head. ‘She’s normally as good as gold. What did you say to her?’
‘Nothing,’ lied Nightingale. ‘I just told her who I was and showed her the flowers. Are you sure she isn’t in pain or something?’
‘No, she’s fine.’
‘Look, I’d really like to sit with her for a while,’ said Nightingale.
‘She needs rest,’ said the nurse. ‘She’d be better off sleeping.’
‘If it’s a question of money…’ said Nightingale, taking out his wallet.
The nurse held up a hand. ‘It isn’t,’ he said. ‘It’s a question of my patient’s wellbeing. She needs her rest, Mr Nightingale. You can come and see her tomorrow.’
He was adamant, so Nightingale thanked the man for his help and left. As he went out of the room he picked up a hairbrush from the dressing-table and slipped it into his pocket.
34
Jenny smiled as Nightingale walked into the office. ‘How did it go?’ she asked.
‘Difficult to say.’
‘Was she pleased to see you?’
‘Not really,’ said Nightingale. He went over and made himself a coffee. ‘Want one?’ he asked.
‘I’m okay,’ she said. ‘Come on, Jack, tell me what happened. Is she your mother or not? What did she say?’
‘Not much,’ said Nightingale. ‘She’s been on all sorts of anti-depressants for years. She’s in a hell of a state.’
‘But she’s your mother. There’s no doubt?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Nightingale. ‘She screamed like a banshee when I mentioned Gosling but all in all I couldn’t get much sense out of her.’ He pulled a Ziploc bag from the pocket of his coat. Inside was the hairbrush. ‘But I did get a DNA sample.’
‘You stole her brush?’
‘I borrowed it,’ said Nightingale. ‘She can have it back when I’m done with it. You remember that private forensics laboratory we used on the paternity case? The one out by the airport?’
‘Applied Forensics,’ she said, taking the bag from him.
‘Courier the brush over. I’ll give you a few of my hairs, too. Get them to run a comparison on the DNA to see if we’re related. Ask them to do a rush job.’
‘You have to pay double for their forty-eight hour service,’ said Jenny.
‘Then let’s do it,’ he said. ‘The sooner I know, the better.’
‘Okay, but remember that it’s Friday. Even if I get it to them today, it’ll be Tuesday at the earliest before we have the results.’
‘I need to know quickly,’ said Nightingale. He perched on the corner of her desk. ‘If she really is my mother then I have to go back to her.’
‘Was she pleased to see you?’
‘Horrified, more like.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘Screamed the place down, actually. They threw me out.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, they were quite nice about it, but I had to leave.’ The door opened. Two men in raincoats came in and even before they opened their mouths Nightingale knew they were cops.
‘Jack Nightingale?’ said the older of the two.
‘That’s what it says on the door.’
The one who had spoken produced his warrant card. ‘I’m Inspector Dan Evans. This is DC Neil Derbyshire.’
‘Is this about my aunt and uncle?’ asked Nightingale, putting down his coffee and getting up.
Evans frowned. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’
‘Tommy Nightingale. And Linda. Up in Altrincham.’
‘It’s a Jack Nightingale we’re here to see,’ said Evans.
‘That’s me,’ said Nightingale. ‘What’s it about?’
‘Do you know Inspector Robert Hoyle?’ asked Evans.
‘Robbie? Sure.’
‘In what capacity?’
‘He’s a friend and a former colleague. What’s happened?’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Nightingale. Inspector Hoyle died this morning.’
The news hit Nightingale like a punch to the solar plexus. ‘He what?’
‘RTA, just after eleven o’clock. He was crossing the road, got hit by a taxi.’
Nightingale sat down heavily. ‘My God. Oh, my God.’
‘It was an accident,’ said Derbyshire. ‘He stepped off the pavement and the taxi ploughed into him.’
‘We got your name and number off his mobile,’ said Evans, frowning at the detective constable. ‘Yours was the last number he called.’
‘Had the driver been drinking?’ asked Nightingale.
‘Stone-cold sober. Says he was distracted by something in the cab but that Inspector Hoyle had just stopped in the middle of the road.’
Nightingale fumbled for a cigarette.
‘Can I get you coffee or tea?’ Jenny asked the detectives. She moved across the room to Nightingale and put a hand on his shoulder.
‘We’re fine, thank you,’ said Evans.
‘What’s happening about Anna? Who’s telling her?’ said Nightingale.
‘Superintendent Chalmers is with her now,’ said Evans.
‘Chalmers?’ said Nightingale. ‘She hates him.’
‘You used to work in hostage negotiation, right?’ asked Derbyshire.
‘In another life.’
‘You’re the one who killed the paedophile, right? The banker who was molesting his daughter?’
‘Allegedly,’ said Nightingale.
‘They said you threw him out of a ten-storey window,’ said Derbyshire.
‘They?’ echoed Nightingale.
‘I’d have done the same in your place,’ said Derbyshire.
‘Most of us would,’ agreed Evans. ‘If we had the balls. I’m a dad myself. Two girls. If anyone touched them…’
Nightingale straightened. ‘Is there anything else, guys? Anything you need from me?’
‘We’re just clearing up loose ends,’ said Evans.