Free San Francisco Night by Stephen Leather

did it?”
    “Joshua, I could hardly march him back at gunpoint.”
    “You should have persuaded him. But that’s water under the bridge. Looks like they had questions for him and my guess would be he answered them. Which means they know all about you. And me. I’m pretty safe, you, not so much. I doubt they’ll welcome interference, so watch yourself.  Find yourself a new hotel.”
    “Joshua, I might have a problem. I gave Mitchell one of my credit cards.”
    “Shit. A skilled Adept could track you through that pretty easily, no matter what name is on it. Jack, you’re going have to watch your back. These people don’t fool around and you’re in their sights now.”
    “I hear you,” said Nightingale, ending the call. The light turned to green and he drove off in search of a place to stay.
     
     

CHAPTER 16
     
    Nightingale booked himself into a cheap hotel just off Market Street. He shoved a chair under the door handle before undressing and climbing into bed. But he slept fitfully and woke up every time he heard footsteps outside. He climbed out of bed at eight o’clock the next morning, showered and shaved and grabbed a coffee and a Danish before heading back to the hotel car park. He walked around for a good ten minutes before he was sure the car wasn’t being watched but his heart was still pounding like a jackhammer as he unlocked the door and climbed in. He switched on the
GPS
, tapped in the location of Mitchell’s house and took a bite of his Danish as he waited for directions.  It was less than thirty minutes before he pulled up in front of Mitchell’s house. It was modern and large, painted pink with white window-frames. There was a black Porsche 911 in the graveled driveway.  Nightingale drove slowly by and found a place to park a short walk away, by the side of a pizza restaurant. He locked the SUV and walked slowly back to the house. It was a nice enough neighborhood, the houses were well-maintained and there were several dog-walkers on the sidewalk. A woman in a pink tracksuit with her dyed blonde hair pinned back in a ponytail flashed him a smile as she jogged by.
    He walked by the Porsche and saw that the driver’s door was ajar.  The front door of the house was firmly shut though and he rang the bell twice, before walking around the side of the house. There were French doors that opened onto a small terrace. Nightingale tried the handles and the doors opened. He stood and listened for a full minute before stepping inside.
    “Anyone in here?’ he shouted, just to cover himself. His voice echoed but there was no reply and he stepped into the living room. He quickly went through the house. It was expensively furnished with plenty of black leather furniture, thick cream carpets, high ceilings and top-end appliances. Mitchell had an extensive collection of books, but none of them dealt with the occult. Nightingale had no real idea what he might be looking for, which always made a search more difficult. There was no sign of a computer or a laptop, but there was space on a the desk in the study where one might have been. There was no iPad or smart phone but there was a PlayStation 4 plugged into a massive TV and a collection of games scattered across a coffee table.
    There was a dining room with a long black wooden table and eight matching chairs.  A pair of silver candelabras stood at either end, but there was no tablecloth or places laid. There were another two candelabras on a black sideboard, either side of an ebony case containing solid silver cutlery. He pulled open the sideboard doors but there was only expensive crockery inside.
    He went upstairs. Mitchell’s master bedroom also came with cream carpet. There was a huge bed with black sheets and quilt cover. A giant TV hung on the wall opposite. Nightingale opened the closets on a large selection of designer suits, hand made shoes and shelves full of shirts, many still in their wrapping. He rummaged in pockets, looked under shirts,