Midnight: The Second Jack Nightingale Supernatural Thriller Read Free Page A

right?’
    Nightingale flicked ash onto the tarmac. ‘Allegedly,’ he said.
    ‘Don’t give me that allegedly bullshit,’ said the superintendent. ‘If you did do it, I’d sympathise. I’ve got three kids, and even though they’re fully grown God help anyone who even thought about causing them grief. What about you, Nightingale? Kids?’
    ‘Never been married,’ said Nightingale. ‘Never met a woman who could stand me long enough to get pregnant.’
    ‘Yeah, I could see you’d be an acquired taste.’ He chuckled and inhaled smoke.
    ‘When can I get my clothes back?’ asked Nightingale. ‘I feel a right twat in this paper suit.’
    ‘If your clothing is evidence, you’ll never get it back,’ said the superintendent. He grinned. ‘I don’t see what the problem is – white suits you.’ He jabbed his cigarette at Nightingale’s chest. ‘Wonder if those things are flameproof?’
    Nightingale jumped back. ‘That’s not funny,’ he said, brushing off the ash.
    The superintendent dropped what was left of his cigarette onto the ground and squashed it with his foot. ‘This tip about Connie being your sister. Where did that come from?’
    ‘A friend,’ said Nightingale.
    ‘How could he have got it so wrong?’
    Nightingale shook his head. ‘I’ve been asking myself the same question.’
    ‘Who is this friend? Is he in the Job?’
    ‘Robbie Hoyle. An inspector with the TSG.’
    ‘One of the heavy mob, yeah?’
    ‘Yeah. You could say that. But he was a negotiator too. Same as me.’
    ‘I’ll need Inspector Hoyle’s number.’
    Nightingale’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’
    ‘To check out your story,’ said the superintendent. ‘If he confirms that he sent you here on a wild goose chase, it helps your case.’
    ‘There is no case,’ said Nightingale. ‘I found her hanging there when I went into the house.’
    ‘And if Inspector Hoyle says that he sent you to the house that gives you the reason for being there. Without confirmation from him you’re still in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
    Nightingale pulled on his cigarette. ‘I’m not sure that Robbie would back me up.’
    ‘Abusing the CRO database, was he?’
    Nightingale flicked away his cigarette butt. ‘Robbie’s dead,’ he said.
    ‘What happened?’
    ‘RTA,’ said Nightingale. ‘A stupid, senseless accident. He was on his mobile and he stepped out in front of a taxi.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ said the superintendent. ‘Did you tell anyone else that you were coming to Abersoch to see Connie Miller?’
    Nightingale nodded. ‘My assistant. Jenny McLean.’
    ‘And where is she at the moment?’
    ‘London. Holding the fort.’
    ‘And if I were to telephone this Jenny McLean she would confirm your story, would she?’
    ‘She knew I was coming to Abersoch and why, yes. She helped me track down her address.’
    The superintendent frowned. ‘Why would she do that?’
    ‘All I had was a first name. Constance. And the town. Abersoch. Jenny helped me track down the address. She’s good with databases.’
    ‘And she’ll confirm this, will she?’
    ‘I hope so,’ said Nightingale. ‘I really, really hope so.’
    Thomas gestured at the door. ‘Okay, let’s get back to it.’

4
    M ia sipped her caramel latte and stared longingly at the packet of Rothmans on the table. Coffee and cigarettes went together like fish and chips, and coffee never tasted right if she wasn’t smoking. She looked out through the window at the three metal tables and chairs that had been set up on the pavement. She desperately wanted a cigarette but it was freezing cold outside and the weather forecast had been for snow. She hated winter, especially an English winter. She shivered and looked over at the customers queuing up to buy coffee. The door opened and as a cold wind blew into the shop a man joined the end of the queue. He was in his early thirties, maybe five years older than her, tall with jet-black hair and pale white skin. He was wearing a