Free Nightshade: The Fourth Jack Nightingale Supernatural Thriller by Stephen Leather

says if I don’t look after Floppy he’ll send him back to the shop.’ Her eyes filled with tears.
    ‘Now don’t you start crying again, baby,’ said Candy. ‘You know Eric doesn’t like that.’
    ‘Don’t let him touch me again, Candy. Please.’
    ‘Now why do you say that, baby? You’re his girlfriend now. His little princess.’
    ‘I’m not his girlfriend. I’m not.’
    ‘Yes you are, baby. And you have to accept that. You’re his girlfriend until he says you’re not. Now sit up and eat your breakfast.’
    ‘Then can I go home?’
    ‘We’ll see, baby. Eat your breakfast and then we’ll talk about it.’

17
    N ightingale woke up at nine. He had a blinding headache, but he wasn’t sure if it was the result of all the beer he’d drunk or the blow to the back of his head. He had a small mirror in his washbag and he used it and the mirror above the sink to check out his scalp, but he couldn’t see any damage and there didn’t appear to be any blood. He showered and shaved, then dressed and had a bacon sandwich in the bar before calling McBride. The call went straight through to voicemail. Nightingale didn’t leave a message, waited fifteen minutes while he drank a second cup of coffee, then phoned McBride again. When he didn’t answer the second time, Nightingale left a brief message saying that he was going out to the school.
    He went back up to his room and packed his bag, then went downstairs and paid his bill. He threw his bag onto the back seat of his car and drove to the school. He parked some distance away before climbing out and lighting a cigarette. There was a lone policeman in a fluorescent jacket standing at the school gates, stamping his feet to keep the circulation going. Dozens of bunches of flowers had been laid along the pavement outside the school and the railings were dotted with handwritten notes, mainly from children. Nightingale walked over and nodded at the officer. ‘How’s it going?’ he asked.
    ‘You press?’ asked the policeman. ‘I’m not allowed to talk to journalists. You need to call the press office.’
    ‘I’m not press,’ said Nightingale. He blew smoke and saw the look in the officer’s eyes. He took out his pack and offered him a Marlboro.
    ‘Can’t, I’m on duty,’ said the officer.
    ‘I don’t see any senior officers around, and this being Sunday morning I’m pretty sure that you won’t. Most people are at the church service for the kids, so for the next hour or so I figure it’ll just be me and you.’ He held out the pack.
    The policeman looked around furtively, then took a cigarette. Nightingale lit it for him and the two men smoked for a while in silence.
    ‘You were in the job, yeah?’ said the policeman eventually.
    ‘What gave it away?’
    ‘You’ve got a copper’s eyes,’ he said. ‘London?’
    ‘Yeah. CO19.’
    ‘Armed cop, yeah? I thought it was SO19.’
    ‘They changed it. Around about the time it went from being a police force to a police service.’
    ‘Never wanted to carry a gun,’ said the policeman.
    ‘They’re an acquired taste,’ said Nightingale.
    ‘You ever shoot anyone?’
    ‘If you pull the trigger you’ve failed,’ said Nightingale. ‘It’s all about containment and resolution. If bullets start flying then you’ve done it wrong.’
    ‘Funny that. You spend all your time training with guns but you never pull the trigger in anger.’
    ‘It’s worse than that,’ said Nightingale. ‘You shoot someone and you’re on immediate suspension until Professional Standards give you the all clear. And if you’ve not done everything by the book you can end up being charged with murder.’ He shrugged. ‘But at least you’re part of a team.’
    The policeman looked up and down the empty street and chuckled. ‘Yeah, there is that,’ he said. ‘Why did you pack it in?’
    ‘Pastures new,’ said Nightingale.
    ‘You’re not living up here now, are you?’
    ‘Nah, I’m still in London. I’m a private