56
Nightingale pushed open the office door with his shoulder. He was holding two cups of Costa coffee and had a copy of the Sun under his arm. As he stepped into the office he realised that there was a man standing by Jenny’s desk. He had a mane of grey hair combed back and was wearing a dark blue pinstripe suit. Even before the man turned around, Nightingale knew who it was. Marcus Fairchild. One of the coffee cups fell from his nerveless fingers and splattered over the floor.
‘Jack!’ said Jenny. She sprang from her chair and picked up the cup.
‘Sorry,’ mumbled Nightingale.
Fairchild was grinning at him. He had a pug nose flecked with broken blood vessels, several tubular chins and a paunch that strained at his waistcoat and watch chain.
‘It’s all down your trousers,’ said Jenny, putting the cup on her desk. ‘I’ll get you a paper towel.’ She hurried out, heading for the bathroom that was shared by the three offices on their floor.
Fairchild extended a pudgy hand with perfectly manicured nails. ‘Marcus Fairchild,’ he said. ‘We’ve never met, but Jenny talks about you all the time.’
Nightingale shook. A large gold cufflink in the shape of a lion’s head peeped out from under Fairchild’s sleeve and he was wearing a chunky gold watch. ‘Ditto,’ he said. ‘Are you just passing by?’
‘I wanted a word, actually. About your Berwick case.’
Nightingale frowned. ‘How are you involved?’
Fairchild chuckled. ‘Good Lord, I’m not involved. I just thought I might be of some help, that’s all. Jenny said that the case involves systematic child abuse and I’ve dealt with a number of such cases over the years.’
‘I thought you were mainly commercial law?’
‘That’s my bread and butter, of course, but I’ve covered the full range of legal work over the years. Jack of all trades.’
‘And master of none?’
He chuckled again. ‘Actually master of all of them.’ He adjusted the cuffs of his jacket.
Jenny returned with a handful of paper towels. She gave them to Nightingale and he dabbed at the wet patches.
‘Sit down, Uncle Marcus,’ she said, waving him to a chair. She pulled up another chair and sat down next to him. ‘I was mentioning to Uncle Marcus about our case,’ she said.
‘Yes, so he said.’
‘He’s worked on a few similar cases and thought he might be able to help.’
‘I’m not sure that we need any help, to be honest,’ said Nightingale. He screwed up the paper towel and tossed it into the bin.
‘It was the Satanic aspect that interested me,’ said Fairchild. ‘I was on a case a few years ago where a paedophile claimed that the Devil made him do it.’
‘You represented him?’ asked Nightingale, sitting down on the chair behind Jenny’s desk.
‘Good lord no. I was working with the CPS. I know that everyone is entitled to the best possible defence but there are limits.’
‘I thought barristers worked like taxis and had to take the next case no matter what it is.’
‘That’s the theory, but in practice there’s some leeway. I certainly wouldn’t want to represent a paedophile.’ Fairchild steepled his fingers under his chin and smiled at Nightingale. ‘So, you’ve been looking at this James McBride case?’
Nightingale shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He didn’t want to discuss the case with Fairchild. In fact he didn’t want to say anything to him, he just wanted the man out of the office. But with Jenny there, Nightingale’s options were limited. ‘We’ve pretty much finished,’ he lied. ‘Jenny probably told you that our client killed himself.’
‘But we’re still looking at it,’ said Jenny.
Nightingale forced himself to smile. ‘Well, not really …’
Jenny frowned in confusion.
‘It wouldn’t be the first time that a defendant has tried to use Satanic possession to avoid a guilty verdict,’ said Fairchild.
‘McBride is dead,’ said Nightingale. ‘So the difference between guilty of murder or clinically insane is moot, really.’
Fairchild smiled, but his eyes lacked warmth. ‘Jenny mentioned the Order of Nine Angles.’
‘Did she now?’
‘The paedophile in the case I looked at claimed he was a member and we did a lot of research into it. It doesn’t exist. Not as a credible organisation, anyway.’
‘That’s good to know,’ said Nightingale. ‘Because aren’t they involved in black magic and child sacrifice?’
Fairchild threw back his head and laughed, but it came out like a hollow death rattle. ‘Come now, Jack. You don’t believe in black magic, do you?’
Nightingale shrugged but didn’t reply.
‘And child sacrifice? Do you think a group could kill children and get away with it?’
‘A lot of children go missing every year and are never found,’ said Nightingale.
‘It’s a big jump from that to saying that there is a group of Satanic child-killers out there.’ Fairchild leaned forward. ‘I had researchers on it for several months and they came to the conclusion that the Order of Nine Angles doesn’t exist. It’s an urban legend.’
‘Good to know,’ said Nightingale.
‘I just thought you might like to know, save you wasting your time.’
‘I appreciate that,’ said Nightingale. He looked at his watch. ‘To be honest, Marcus, I’ve got a busy morning.’
‘I understand,’ said Fairchild. ‘I have a meeting myself over at the Inns of Court. But if there’s any guidance you need on the McBride case, don’t hesitate to give me a call.’ He took out his wallet and gave Nightingale an embossed business card.
‘Thanks, but like I said, we’re pretty much done with it.’
‘Do you have any idea why he killed those children?’
‘He just snapped,’ said Nightingale. ‘It happens.’ He stood up and held out his hand. ‘Thanks for dropping by.’
Fairchild pushed himself up out of his chair and shook Nightingale’s hand, then hugged Jenny and kissed her on both cheeks. She took him to the door, patted him on the back as he left, then closed the door and glared at Nightingale. ‘What the hell was that about?’
‘What?’
‘You were so rude. You practically kicked him out. And we’re not finished with the case. Not by a long way.’
‘You didn’t tell me you’d seen him.’
‘Didn’t I? He was at Mummy and Daddy’s at the weekend, doing some shooting.’
‘And you told him about the case? Why would you do that?’
‘Is something wrong?’
Nightingale sighed. ‘It’s just, you know, our business. Client confidentiality.’
‘Our client’s dead.’
‘That’s not the point. When people come to us for help they expect a modicum of privacy, don’t they?’
‘Well, yes, but Mr McBride’s dead. And Uncle Marcus was really interested.’
‘I bet he was,’ muttered Nightingale.
‘Jack, what’s wrong? Why are you being like this?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like you’ve taken a real dislike to Uncle Marcus. He’s a lovely man, he just wants to help.’
‘He’s not a lovely man, Jenny.’
She stiffened and looked at him with narrowed eyes. ‘What do you mean by that?’
Nightingale looked at her, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘I don’t mean anything.’
‘What is your problem with him, Jack?’
He held up his hands. ‘Forget I said anything.’
‘He’s never done you any harm. He just wanted to help.’
Nightingale picked up his coffee and stood up. ‘Okay, let’s just leave it.’
‘Jack!’
Nightingale ignored her and strode into his office before kicking the door shut behind him.