Free I Know Who Did It (A Jack Nightingale Short Story) by Stephen Leather Page A

shrugged, not wanting to finish the sentence.
    ‘That’s what the
nurse said. And I understand that. But it was the way he said it, Mr
Nightingale. It was as if he had solved a mystery.’ She leaned forward, closer
to him, and he could see that she was about to cry. ‘The thing is, there is a
mystery in our family. My sister, Emily. She died forty years ago. We never
found out what had happened.’
    Nightingale
frowned, not understanding.
    Jenny pushed a
box of tissues towards Mary Campbell and she took one and dabbed her eyes.
‘There was an inquest, surely, there’s always an inquest when someone dies
suddenly and unexpectedly,’ said Jenny.
    ‘They said Emily
had killed herself, but my parents never believed that.’ She dabbed her eyes
again. ‘Emily was their first child. I was born two years after she died.’ She
forced a smile. ‘Mum was nearly forty then and they weren’t expecting to have
any more children.’ She sighed, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. She
exhaled slowly before opening her eyes again. ‘Emily was at boarding school, in
Hampshire. She cut her wrists, they said. But my father never believed that. He
always thought that someone had killed her. But the police insisted that she
was found in a locked room, locked from the inside, and the coroner called it a
suicide.’ She took another deep breath to compose herself before continuing.
    ‘My father hadn’t
mentioned it for years. And then three days ago, as he was dying, he sat up and
said that he knew who’d done it. I can’t think of anything else he could have
been talking about.’
    ‘But what is it
you want me to do?’ asked Nightingale.
    ‘If my father
knew who did it, if he’d remembered something, then I want to know too. I want
to know who killed my sister.’
    ‘But it was forty
years ago.’
    ‘My father was so
sure. I could see it in his eyes. He knew, Mr Nightingale. Without a shadow of
a doubt, he knew.’ She fumbled in her bag and brought out a cheque book. ‘I’ll
pay whatever you want, just find out what happened to Emily all those years
ago.’
    Nightingale
looked over at Jenny. Business had been quiet for the last few weeks and it
wasn’t as if he had any pressing cases. Jenny nodded at him. ‘I’ll do what I
can,’ promised Nightingale.

 
    * * *

 
    Mary Campbell
left the office after signing a cheque for a thousand pounds on account, and
Nightingale phoned his friend Robbie Hoyle. He’d known Hoyle for more than a
decade. He was a sergeant with the Territorial Support Group but was also a
skilled negotiator. ‘Jack, I’m a bit busy right now,’ said Hoyle. ‘I’m on my
way to a jumper.’
    ‘I need a quick
favour when you’ve got the time,’ said Nightingale.
    ‘I assumed that’s
why you called,’ said Hoyle. ‘The only time I hear from you these days is when
you want something.’
    ‘That’s harsh,
Robbie.’
    ‘Harsh but true. What
do you need?’
    ‘I need the name
of an investigating officer in Hampshire. Forty-year-old case. A schoolgirl
died at Rushworth School near Winchester. Her name was Emily Campbell.’
    ‘A forty-year-old
case, Jack? Seriously?’
    ‘The client wants
information, that’s all. Can you get me a name?’
    ‘I’ll try. Call
you later.’ Nightingale put down the phone. Jenny was looking at him and
shaking her head. ‘What?’ he said.
    ‘You might have
asked him about his wife. His kids. How he was getting on.’
    ‘He was busy. He
has a suicide to talk down. Anyway, Robbie and I go back a long way.’
    ‘You use him,
Jack. Like you use everybody.’
    ‘I’ll buy him a
drink when I see him.’ He held up his hands when he saw the look of contempt
flash across her face. ‘Fine, you’re right, I’m sorry, I’ll phone him back and
ask him about his wife and kids.’ He reached for the phone but she had already
turned and walked out of his office. He sat back and lit a cigarette.

 
    * * *

 
    Hoyle didn’t ring
back that morning so