‘God bless,’ said the medium. He smiled benevolently at Nightingale, then looked over to the other side of his audience. ‘I’m seeing a woman with grey hair,’ he said. ‘She’s wearing reading glasses.’ Three men in the audience raised their hands tentatively. ‘I’m getting the name Alice. Or Anne. Does that mean anything to anyone? Anne? Or Alice? Or Amy, perhaps. She’s very faint.’
One of the men lowered his hand and bit down on his lower lip.
‘She says she has a message for David.’
‘That’s me,’ said one of the men, waving his hand in the air. ‘I’m David. Alice was my wife. She died last year.’
‘She died unexpectedly?’ said the medium.
The man frowned. ‘It was cancer,’ she said. ‘She had chemo and radiation therapy. She fought.’
‘But the end, when it came, was quick?’
The man forced a smile. ‘Yes. She was taken quickly.’
‘And you haven’t thrown out her clothes, have you?’
The man shook his head.
‘Alice has a message for you, David. She says it’s time for you to clear out her things. It’s time for you to let go. Do you understand?’
The man nodded and forced a smile. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I understand.’
‘Alice is happy and she wants you to be happy. You have to move on with your life and part of that process is to get rid of her things. In the wardrobe. Does that make sense to you?’
The man wiped his nose with the back of his hand. His eyes were welling up with tears. ‘Yes,’ he said, and sniffed.
‘You know that was nonsense, don’t you?’ Nightingale whispered to Jenny.
‘What do you mean?’
‘He was reading you. Picking up on the cues you were giving him.’
The woman in the fur coat turned around in her seat and flashed Nightingale a withering look. He smiled apologetically.
The medium was pointing at a middle-aged woman in a cheap cloth coat and asking her if she knew a man called George. She took out a handkerchief, wiped her eyes, and then said that yes, George was her husband. The medium rubbed his chest. ‘I feel something here,’ he said. ‘A dull ache.’
‘His heart,’ she said.
‘Yes, his heart wasn’t good,’ said the medium. ‘But he is feeling no pain and says that he is waiting for you. He says you’re not to worry about him.’
The medium continued for another thirty minutes, throwing out names and initials and offering comfort and advice. It was, Nightingale realised, a sham. He’d seen magicians do a far better job of cold reading without any pretence of talking to the dead. Eventually Morgan complained that he was tired and the woman in the fur coat joined him at the lectern. She thanked him, announced that the medium would be available for private consult-ations when he returned from the States, and then led the audience in another prayer.
The two men in suits escorted Morgan out of the room, followed by the woman in the fur coat.
Nightingale stood up and stretched. ‘Sorry,’ he said to Jenny.
Jenny stood up. ‘For what?’
‘For bringing you here,’ he said.
‘It was fascinating,’ she said.
‘You don’t believe it, do you?’
‘That Lachie was trying to contact me?’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Jenny, he didn’t say Lachie. You did. Morgan said it was Larry.’
‘That’s pretty close, don’t you think? And he got the beard right.’
‘He was taking cues from you. He picked up from you that I was there when Lachie died. He was good, but he was still conning you.’
‘How can it be a con? He didn’t want anything from us.’
‘Maybe he just likes to play God. Maybe he hopes you’ll pay him for a private consultation. Who knows? But I know one thing for sure and that’s that he wasn’t talking to spirits.’
Nightingale jumped as a hand touched his shoulder. He looked round and saw a short man standing behind him; he had dark curly hair and was wearing a green anorak. Nightingale recognised him from the audience.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ the man said. ‘But you came to contact somebody, didn’t you?’
‘Isn’t that why people come to a meeting like this?’ said Nightingale. The last members of the audience filed out of the room, leaving the three of them alone.
The man laughed softly. ‘I suppose that’s so,’ he said. ‘Though some are curious to know what if anything lies beyond this life. Sorry, you are.?.?.?’ He waited expectantly for Nightingale’s name.
‘We’re just on our way home,’ said Nightingale. He started to walk to the door.
‘Is your name Jack?’
Nightingale stopped and slowly turned to look at the man.
He held up his hands as if he feared that Nightingale was going to get aggressive. ‘I’m just interested, that’s all. Are you Jack?’
‘Yes,’ said Nightingale. He frowned. ‘Do you know me?’
‘Did you come to see a girl? A young girl?’
‘Who are you?’ asked Nightingale, taking a step towards him.
The man reached inside his jacket. Nightingale grabbed him by his lapels and threw him up against the wall.
‘Jack!’ shouted Jenny.
The man’s hand was still inside his jacket and Nightingale groped for whatever it was that he was reaching for.
‘My wallet,’ gasped the man. ‘I just want to give you my card.’
Jenny put a hand on Jack’s arm. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ she hissed.
Nightingale released his grip on the man’s jacket and stepped back. The man opened his wallet with trembling hands and took out a business card. He held it out to Nightingale. ‘My name’s Graham Lord,’ he said.
Nightingale looked at the simple white card. Underneath the man’s name were the words ‘Spiritual Connections — Private Readings Available’ and a mobile phone number.
‘What do you want from me?’ said Nightingale. ‘How do you know my name?’
‘You came to contact a young girl. With blonde hair? Long blonde hair?’
‘What’s your game?’ asked Nightingale.
‘She was standing behind you,’ said Lord. ‘I couldn’t hear her but I could see her mouth moving and I thought she was saying “Jack”.’
Nightingale frowned. ‘You could see her?’
‘That’s what I do. I talk to spirits.’
‘Like the guy we came to see tonight? The medium?’
Lord sneered. ‘Neil Morgan? He’s a charlatan. Cold reading, that’s what he does. Picks up on physical and verbal cues and plays the percentages.’ He looked across at Jenny. ‘Larry, Lachie. Father, friend of father. Then you effectively told him that Lachie had killed himself.’
Nightingale looked at Jenny. ‘Told you,’ he said.
‘There are very few genuine mediums around and they don’t tend to go to places like this. The real ones don’t bother with shows like we’ve just seen.’
‘What about you, then, Graham? Why were you here?’
‘Lordy,’ said Lord. ‘Everyone calls me Lordy.’
‘So answer my question, Lordy. Why were you here?’
Lord sighed. ‘Because, unlike Morgan, I’m the real thing. I come to places like this because I can see the spirits. There were spirits here tonight trying to communicate, but Morgan can’t see them. He’s too busy playing his games. Remember the young couple with the baby?’
‘The woman whose mum had died? Sure.’
‘Her mum was standing next to Morgan. She was so angry at him because she knew that he was lying.’
‘You really saw her?’ said Jenny.
‘I see spirits all the time,’ said Lord. ‘It’s harder for me to talk to them. To hear what they say. I do that best at home. But tonight I saw the little girl standing behind you. Holding a doll.’
Nightingale felt his head spin.
‘I think she was saying your name,’ said Lord. ‘“Jack” she said.’
‘And what was her name?’ said Nightingale. ‘Do you know?’
Lord nodded earnestly. ‘Sophie,’ he said. ‘She said her name was Sophie.’