Free Lastnight by Stephen Leather

reply. More often than not, men lashed out when they were in crisis, women tended to strike inwards. Nightingale could see that Zoe wasn’t far off hurting herself. And the fact that she had articulated her desire to end her life didn’t make it less likely that it would happen. It was a fallacy that people who talked about suicide didn’t carry it out. Nightingale knew from experience that the opposite was true. Those serious about killing themselves often tried several times before they succeeded and they would often tell those around them what they intended to do.
    ‘I’m fine, Jack. Really.’ She held a tissue to her face and her hand trembled.
    ‘Just let me talk to your uncle,’ he said quietly.
    Zoe sighed theatrically, then picked up her iPhone off the coffee table. She scrolled through her numbers and then passed the phone to Nightingale.
    ‘You know what, I could do with a cup of tea,’ he said. ‘Do you mind?’
    She smiled and stood up. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I could do with tea myself. Milk? Sugar?’
    ‘Milk and one sugar,’ he said. He waited until she had disappeared into the kitchen before calling the uncle. He answered quickly. ‘Zoe, love, I’m up to my eyes,’ he snapped.
    ‘This isn’t Zoe, this is Jack Nightingale, I’m with the Metropolitan Police,’ said Nightingale, which wasn’t strictly speaking a lie because Superintendent Chalmers had authorised him to help with the investigation. Nightingale quickly explained where he was, and why, and that he needed Murray to come over immediately.
    ‘That’s not going to happen,’ said the man brusquely. ‘I’ve got back-to-back meetings, then I’m due at a marketing lunch, then I’m involved in a major presentation that is potentially worth eight figures to my firm. I could perhaps get there later tonight, but it would be late.’
    Nightingale stood up and walked over to the window. The balcony ran the length of the apartment. There were sun-loungers and a barbecue and large ceramic pots filled with plants. There was a metal railing that ran above waist-high panels of tempered glass that surrounded the balcony, but other than that there was nothing to stop anyone going over. ‘Now listen to me, Murray. I’m with your niece in her flat, which I’m sure you know is on the ninth floor. She keeps looking out at the balcony and telling me that she wishes she was with Abbie. I’ve seen people like this before and I can tell you that it doesn’t end well. What she needs right now is for someone to hold her and to tell her that she’s loved, and with the best will in the world I can’t do that. You’re her uncle and her godfather. That has got to count for something. From what she tells me you’re the only person left that she cares about so you’re going to have to decide right now which is more important to you: your job or your niece. And I’d think long and hard about that if I were you because if I leave her on her own and something happens, it’ll be on your conscience for the rest of your life.’
    Murray said nothing for several seconds and neither did Nightingale. Nightingale had said all that he had to say. There were times when it was best to stay quiet and wait for the other person to fill the silence.
    ‘I’ll leave now,’ Murray said eventually. ‘Can you stay with her until I get there?’
    ‘Sure,’ said Nightingale.
    ‘Thank you,’ said Murray, and it was clear from his voice that he meant it.
    Nightingale ended the call and went through to the kitchen. It was about the same size as his entire flat, with a marble floor, a massive two-door stainless steel fridge and a range of equipment that wouldn’t have been out of place in a Michelin-starred restaurant. Zoe was sitting on a stool next to a square marble-topped island below which were wine racks holding hundreds of bottles. Above her head dozens of cast iron pots and pans were hanging from a metal rack. He slid on to a stool next to her and slid