‘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.’
‘That’s annoying. What about the day shift?’
‘I figured night would be easier because they’re quiet,’ said Duggan. ‘I can give it a go during the day but I’m not taking any risks. Any chance of me being caught and I’m out of there.’
‘I understand, mate.’
‘Do you?’ said Duggan. ‘I’m risking my job and my pension to steal a child’s doll and you won’t even tell me what’s going on.’
‘I can’t. I’m sorry. But it’s not stealing because you’ll have it back. I promise.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said the policeman, and he ended the call.
Nightingale rang Jenny and told her that he wouldn’t be in the office.
‘Car trouble?’ she said.
‘Oh ye of little faith,’ he said. ‘The car’s fine now, I’m heading up to Milton Keynes.’
‘Home of the concrete cows,’ she said.
‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘That’s what Milton Keynes is famous for, isn’t it? Concrete cows and roundabouts. Is it a job?’
‘I’m going to see the guy that Joshua recommended.’
‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’
‘I want to give it a try,’ said Nightingale.
‘If you want my opinion, I think you’d be better off talking to a therapist rather than talking to these charlatans,’ said Jenny.
‘Charlatans?’
‘You know what I mean,’ she said. ‘Just be careful.’
47
Nightingale didn’t see any concrete cows when he got to Milton Keynes but he did have to go around half a dozen roundabouts before he pulled up in front of Adrian Miller’s house. It was a small semi-detached with a tiny front garden behind a neatly clipped hedge. Two rose bushes were growing under a bay window. It definitely didn’t look like the home of a devil-worshipper and Nightingale checked the text message with the address. He lit a cigarette and smoked it down to the butt before getting out of the car and walking over to the front door. He pressed the doorbell. It was answered by a man with a shaved head and tattoos down his left forearm. He was wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up and black trousers. He grinned and offered his hand.
‘Are you Jack?’ Nightingale nodded and shook his hand, and Miller ushered him inside the house. ‘Come far?’ asked Miller as he closed the front door.
‘London.’
‘I’m just making a coffee — do you want one?’