talk to me. Is it possible that Proserpine sent them?’
‘I’m not being evasive, kid. I just don’t know. I suppose it’s possible.’ He didn’t want to tell her that he’d seen Proserpine just before the shooting. Or that she’d said they were coming for him. Maybe Jenny was right, though. Maybe they had been working for her and maybe she had been there to watch.
‘Suppose isn’t really good enough, is it? Not when your life’s on the line.’
‘What do you think I should have done? Interrogated them as the lead was flying?’
‘You make a joke of everything, don’t you? Look, you did a deal with a devil. She gave you the information you needed to find your sister and help get her out of prison. But for every question of yours that she answered she said she’d send someone to kill you.’
‘To try to kill me,’ corrected Nightingale. ‘She hasn’t had much luck so far.’
‘Yes, well, maybe she’s saving the best until last. Men with guns shooting at you in broad daylight? That sounds like she’s getting desperate. Like she’s annoyed that the first two failed and this time she wanted to make sure.’
‘But doesn’t the fact that they made such a mess of it show that it wasn’t her behind it?’
‘I don’t know, Jack. That’s why I’m asking you. You’re the one who summons her, not me.’
‘I don’t know, kid, I really don’t know. I can’t help thinking that Proserpine’s minions would be more creative. This just seemed like a gang thing.’
‘So it’s connected with the drug dealer you’re supposed to have shot?’
Nightingale slid a cigarette out and slipped it between his lips. ‘That seems more likely,’ he said as he took his lighter from his pocket.
‘You need to find out for sure,’ said Jenny.
‘I will,’ said Nightingale. He lit his cigarette. ‘And I know just the person to ask.’
‘Please don’t tell me you’re going to start summoning up devils again,’ said Jenny. ‘You know that always ends in tears.’
‘I was thinking of someone closer at hand, actually,’ said Nightingale. He handed her his empty coffee mug. ‘Couldn’t have a refill, could I?’
12
Nightingale pushed open the door to the pub, stepped inside and looked around. Evans was standing at the corner of the bar from where he could watch the door and the flatscreen television that was showing a Chelsea–Liverpool game. Evans nodded when he saw Nightingale, then raised his glass to his lips as he watched the football. It was stiflingly hot in the pub and Nightingale took off his raincoat and slipped it over his arm on his way to the bar.
‘If Chalmers finds out that I’m drinking with you, he’ll blow a fuse,’ said Evans as Nightingale joined him.
‘That ship has already sailed, I think.’ He waved over at the barmaid, a redhead with shoulder-length hair and a sprinkling of freckles across her upturned nose. ‘What are you on, lager?’ he asked.
Evans nodded and Nightingale ordered a pint of Fosters and a bottle of Corona.
‘So what do you want, Jack?’ asked Evans, putting down his glass. ‘I’m assuming you’re not going to confess to shooting Dwayne Robinson.’
‘You know full well that what happened to Dwayne Robinson has got nothing to do with me. Chalmers is clutching at straws.’
‘He’s got you in his sights, that’s for sure,’ said Evans. ‘He’s trying to get funding to put together a full Tango team and really put you under the microscope.’
‘Great,’ said Nightingale. The drinks arrived and Nightingale paid for them. There was a group of Chelsea fans within earshot so Nightingale nodded at the fruit machine and the two of them went over to stand by it. ‘I need a favour,’ said Nightingale.
Evans chuckled. ‘And in the whole of the Metropolitan Police I’m the only cop you can ask? You really don’t have any friends, do you?’ He sipped his lager.
‘You’re the only one that can help me, Dan.’
‘You mean everyone
‘I’m not being evasive, kid. I just don’t know. I suppose it’s possible.’ He didn’t want to tell her that he’d seen Proserpine just before the shooting. Or that she’d said they were coming for him. Maybe Jenny was right, though. Maybe they had been working for her and maybe she had been there to watch.
‘Suppose isn’t really good enough, is it? Not when your life’s on the line.’
‘What do you think I should have done? Interrogated them as the lead was flying?’
‘You make a joke of everything, don’t you? Look, you did a deal with a devil. She gave you the information you needed to find your sister and help get her out of prison. But for every question of yours that she answered she said she’d send someone to kill you.’
‘To try to kill me,’ corrected Nightingale. ‘She hasn’t had much luck so far.’
‘Yes, well, maybe she’s saving the best until last. Men with guns shooting at you in broad daylight? That sounds like she’s getting desperate. Like she’s annoyed that the first two failed and this time she wanted to make sure.’
‘But doesn’t the fact that they made such a mess of it show that it wasn’t her behind it?’
‘I don’t know, Jack. That’s why I’m asking you. You’re the one who summons her, not me.’
‘I don’t know, kid, I really don’t know. I can’t help thinking that Proserpine’s minions would be more creative. This just seemed like a gang thing.’
‘So it’s connected with the drug dealer you’re supposed to have shot?’
Nightingale slid a cigarette out and slipped it between his lips. ‘That seems more likely,’ he said as he took his lighter from his pocket.
‘You need to find out for sure,’ said Jenny.
‘I will,’ said Nightingale. He lit his cigarette. ‘And I know just the person to ask.’
‘Please don’t tell me you’re going to start summoning up devils again,’ said Jenny. ‘You know that always ends in tears.’
‘I was thinking of someone closer at hand, actually,’ said Nightingale. He handed her his empty coffee mug. ‘Couldn’t have a refill, could I?’
12
Nightingale pushed open the door to the pub, stepped inside and looked around. Evans was standing at the corner of the bar from where he could watch the door and the flatscreen television that was showing a Chelsea–Liverpool game. Evans nodded when he saw Nightingale, then raised his glass to his lips as he watched the football. It was stiflingly hot in the pub and Nightingale took off his raincoat and slipped it over his arm on his way to the bar.
‘If Chalmers finds out that I’m drinking with you, he’ll blow a fuse,’ said Evans as Nightingale joined him.
‘That ship has already sailed, I think.’ He waved over at the barmaid, a redhead with shoulder-length hair and a sprinkling of freckles across her upturned nose. ‘What are you on, lager?’ he asked.
Evans nodded and Nightingale ordered a pint of Fosters and a bottle of Corona.
‘So what do you want, Jack?’ asked Evans, putting down his glass. ‘I’m assuming you’re not going to confess to shooting Dwayne Robinson.’
‘You know full well that what happened to Dwayne Robinson has got nothing to do with me. Chalmers is clutching at straws.’
‘He’s got you in his sights, that’s for sure,’ said Evans. ‘He’s trying to get funding to put together a full Tango team and really put you under the microscope.’
‘Great,’ said Nightingale. The drinks arrived and Nightingale paid for them. There was a group of Chelsea fans within earshot so Nightingale nodded at the fruit machine and the two of them went over to stand by it. ‘I need a favour,’ said Nightingale.
Evans chuckled. ‘And in the whole of the Metropolitan Police I’m the only cop you can ask? You really don’t have any friends, do you?’ He sipped his lager.
‘You’re the only one that can help me, Dan.’
‘You mean everyone
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