Lastnight (27 page)

‘And this is all that Sergeant Hoyle gave you? When we get the records from the phone company, there are going to be no nasty surprises? Because if there are, I’ll have your guts for garters.’

‘That’s all, swear to God.’ Nightingale closed his notebook and took another drink of whisky.

Chalmers studied the piece of paper that Nightingale had given him. His eyes narrowed. ‘This Billy McDowell, he drives a white van it says here.’

‘The plumber? Yeah. A white Transit.’

‘Sergeant Hoyle was killed by a white van.’

Nightingale tried to look unconcerned. He shrugged carelessly. ‘There are thousands of white vans in London,’ he said.

Chalmers held up the sheet. ‘You don’t think it’s a coincidence that you asked Sergeant Hoyle to check up on a white van and it’s a white van that runs him over?’

‘If it had been a yellow Rolls-Royce then maybe, but a white van?’ He took another drink of whisky. ‘You’re saying you think the hit-and-run wasn’t an accident?’

‘I’m not saying anything, Nightingale,’ said Chalmers. He folded up the piece of paper, took a small black notebook from his jacket pocket and slipped the paper between its pages. ‘But as I told you yesterday there were no tyre marks at the scene which suggests that the vehicle didn’t brake.’ He put the notebook into his pocket and stood up. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing else that you want to share with me?’

Nightingale looked up at the superintendent. He had a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. Chalmers clearly wasn’t satisfied and would probably make a point of checking all the houses near where Stella Walsh lived, looking for an elderly woman in the Neighbourhood Watch who collected car numbers. If that did happen and if Chalmers came back to him, Nightingale’s fallback position would be that he had been confused about the victim and that the witness had been outside another house, but even that would only be playing for time. The best way of getting Chalmers off his back would be to give him something else to concentrate on.

‘I’m making progress on the Goths case,’ he said.

Chalmers cocked his head on one side. ‘You don’t say.’

‘Two of the victims had the same tattoo.’

Chalmers frowned. ‘How would you know that, the bodies were all butchered to buggery?’ He sat down.

‘I managed to get some video from the Ink Pit.’

‘There was no CCTV in the shop.’

‘It was a video that Ricky Nail made. Anyway we’ve found two of the victims with the same tattoo so far. Daryl Heaton and Gabe Patterson. The tattoo was based on a horned goat.’

‘A horned goat?’

‘A Satanic thing. A goat with big curly horns. And superimposed on it is a logo of a devil-worshipping group. The Order of Nine Angles.’

‘And why are you only telling me this now?’

‘I’ve only just confirmed it. I knew they went to the Ink Pit. But I’ve only just found out that they had the same tattoo.’

‘We’ve spoken to the staff at the Ink Pit and got as many client names as we could. We’ve been working our way through it.’

‘Looking for serial killers?’

‘Looking for anyone with a history of violence, or who can’t account for their whereabouts at the times of the murders.’ He tilted his head to one side. ‘Don’t take the piss, Nightingale. It’s basic police work, that’s how we catch ninety per cent of criminals. We’re working on the assumption that the victims met the killer at the tattoo parlour.’

‘It could be more complicated than that.’ Nightingale reached for his cigarettes and lit one. ‘I think it’s the tattoo that they have in common. That’s why they died. The Order of Nine Angles are a group of Satanists, I think they’re the ones who killed your Goths.’

Chalmers took a deep breath as he glared across at Nightingale. ‘I’ve half a mind to arrest you for hindering an investigation,’ he said.

‘Chalmers, I’m the one helping you here.’

‘Except that this is the first you’ve told me about any of this. Didn’t I make it clear to you that the moment you had any information you were to give it to me? Immediately?’

‘I had to wait until I had something concrete,’ said Nightingale. ‘I’d just be wasting your time if I ran every scrap of intel by you. It’s only come together in the last day or two.’

‘You should have told me straight away, as soon as you walked through the door.’

‘You didn’t give me a chance, you started on about the text messages and this is the first chance I’ve had to open my mouth.’

Chalmers rubbed his chin as he stared at Nightingale. ‘I’m assuming you have a theory,’ he said eventually.

Nightingale unscrewed the top off the bottle of whisky and refilled the two glasses. ‘I do,’ he said. ‘But you’ll think I’m crazy.’

‘Nightingale, that ship has already sailed,’ said Chalmers.

40

N
ightingale flicked ash into the ashtray and swung his feet up on to the desk. ‘The Order of Nine Angles was formed sometime in the Swinging Sixties,’ he said. ‘They were originally an ad-hoc group of pagans and white witches based in Herefordshire and Shropshire, but they moved over to black magic and Satanism. They operate in small cells, a bit like the IRA used to, with very little in the way of connections between the various groups. These days they’re everywhere, right across Europe and the United States and they’re spreading fast in Russia. The Order is linked with some pretty nasty far-right groups, but they’re not political.’

‘Then what the hell are they?’ asked Chalmers.

‘They’re devil worshippers. They believe by serving devils they get power on earth and even more power in the afterlife.’

‘Now you’re losing me, Nightingale,’ said Chalmers. ‘You don’t seriously believe this crap, do you?’

‘It doesn’t matter what I believe or don’t believe,’ said Nightingale. ‘What matters is what
they
believe. A lot of so-called black magic practitioners do it for fun, for a bit of a laugh, and because there’s a fair bit of free sex involved. You’ll find older men pretending to be Satanists and telling impressionable young girls that sex is part of the process. The Order is different. They believe they have to prove themselves. So they carry out human sacrifices, they kill children, and they do whatever is asked of them by the ones they serve.’

‘The Devil?’

‘Devils, plural,’ said Nightingale. ‘Satanist is a catch-all term, they don’t just serve Satan. They serve a whole range of devils and demons.’ He sipped his whisky. ‘The members of the Order see us normal people as sheep. “Mundanes”, they call us. And they see nothing wrong with sacrificing a Mundane for their beliefs. The opposite, in fact. They see it as culling, getting rid of worthless parts of the population.’

Chalmers looked at Nightingale scornfully. ‘Are you telling me that a group of Satanists have been carrying out human sacrifices since the sixties and no one is aware of it?’

‘A lot of people are aware of it, it’s just that it’s not spoken about in public. Every year people go missing and are never heard of again. A fair number of them are children. These people are experts at what they do, Chalmers. The bodies are never found, and more often than not they sacrifice people who won’t be missed.’

Chalmers shook his head. ‘I’m not buying this.’

‘I’m not selling it,’ said Nightingale. ‘I’m just telling you how it is. Kids do go missing every year and unless they’re pretty and blonde generally the media doesn’t pay much attention. And the Order have members in the media, the cops, the government. They’re like the Masons, they’re everywhere, and they help each other.’

‘Oh, come on, now you’re in the realms of conspiracy theories.’

‘Really? What about Jimmy Savile? He got away with systematic child abuse for decades. You think that wasn’t covered up? And at a high level, too. The man was given a knighthood and a papal knighthood. And we all know how close to the cops he was.’

‘So now you’re saying that Jimmy Savile was in this Order?’

‘No one knows who’s in it,’ said Nightingale. ‘Like I said, the whole Order is made up of individual cells. Communication between the cells is kept to a minimum, but they do help each other and they work together when needed. What I’m saying is that the reason you don’t hear about them is because they have members in very high places.’ He raised his glass to the superintendent. ‘For all I know, you could be a member.’

The superintendent’s eyes hardened. ‘That’s not funny, Nightingale.’

‘None of this is funny. You were suggesting that the idea of a bunch of child-killing Satanists was a figment of my imagination. I’m telling you that they exist and that they’re good at covering their tracks.’

Chalmers rubbed the back of his neck, then turned his head from side to side.

‘Problems with your neck?’ asked Nightingale.

‘Slipped discs,’ said Chalmers. ‘Too much tension, coupled with too much time sitting at a desk.’

‘You should walk more,’ said Nightingale.

‘Have you any idea how much paperwork I have to deal with?’ said Chalmers. ‘And how many meetings I have to sit in on?’ He sighed mournfully. ‘Okay, so let’s suppose that I buy the idea of child-killing Satanists. How do they tie in with the five murder victims? Were they members, is that what you’re saying?’

‘Members of the Order do sometimes have tattoos, but not always. There’s no point in having a secret society if every member has the logo tattooed on his body. And I’ve found no evidence that any of the five were members. They don’t fit the profile, either.’

‘Profile?’

‘Most of the members of the Order are male and middle-aged. And they join for money and power, remember. None of the five victims was either rich or powerful.’

‘But two of them had the same tattoo. A winged goat and the logo.’

‘A horned goat,’ corrected Nightingale.

‘Have you got a picture?’

Nightingale nodded. ‘Jenny?’ he shouted.

Jenny appeared at the doorway again. ‘You know that phone thing on your desk works as an intercom,’ she said.

‘I can never get it to work,’ said Nightingale. ‘Can you get print-outs of the goat tattoo that Daryl and Gabe had done.’

‘I hear and obey,’ she said, and disappeared back into his office. Nightingale shrugged apologetically. ‘Can’t get the staff these days,’ he said.

Chalmers chuckled. ‘You should see what we have to deal with in the way of civilian staff,’ he said. ‘Half of them can barely read and write.’ He took another sip of whisky. ‘So, what about the tattooist? Nail? How is he involved?’

‘I don’t know for sure,’ said Nightingale. ‘But if he didn’t have the tattoo, maybe that’s why his body wasn’t mutilated.’

‘You’re assuming he was murdered,’ said Chalmers. ‘We still have it down as a sex game gone wrong. Or a suicide.’

‘I’m more inclined to think he was murdered by the same people who killed the Goths.’

‘Hunches don’t count for anything, Nightingale. You know that. Now, could Nail have been a member of this group? Is that possible?’

‘I can’t answer that,’ said Nightingale. ‘It’s not as if they keep a mailing list.’

‘The cell thing?’

‘That’s why they do it. Even if you tracked down one member, you’d only be able to find out who was in his cell.’

Chalmers nodded. ‘Okay, so we have five Goths, two with the same tattoo. A tattoo that somehow symbolises a group of Satanic child-killers. The Goths are butchered, presumably to hide the fact that they had this tattoo. And the man who gave them the tattoos is also dead. I guess the question is: were they killed because of the tattoo?’

‘It looks like it,’ said Nightingale.

‘There you go with your hunches again,’ said Chalmers.

‘I’m wondering if Nail saw this design somewhere. And he decided to do it as a tattoo. He put the tattoo on a few of his clients and the Order found out. They killed him to get his client list and tracked down the Goths and butchered them to destroy the tattoo so that no one would see it.’ He saw the look of disbelief on the superintendent’s face and shrugged. ‘It’s just a theory.’

Chalmers sighed. ‘Okay, so what we need to find out is whether or not any of the shop’s clients had the tattoo but haven’t been killed.’

‘Agreed,’ said Nightingale. ‘You need to check every client. Though there’s a problem.’

‘Why am I not surprised?’

‘Nail did a lot of clients late at night, off the books. I think those names were on the computer in his flat. The missing computer. And the one stolen from the shop.’

Chalmers nodded. ‘We’re talking to the Internet server Nail uses and there’s a good chance we can get a back up copy of his files and the shop files too but that’s taking time.’

Jenny reappeared in the doorway, holding a couple of print-outs. She handed them to Chalmers. Nightingale smiled and winked and she went back to her desk.

‘Why would anyone want this tattooed on their skin?’ asked Chalmers. He looked up from the print-outs. ‘My daughter wants a tattoo. A bloody dolphin on her ankle. I’ve told her over my dead body.’

‘How old is she?’

‘Fifteen.’

‘Problem solved: they can’t get it done until they’re eighteen.’

‘The age isn’t the point,’ said Chalmers. ‘The point is that she wants to mutilate her body.’

‘I’m not sure a cute dolphin counts as mutilation,’ said Nightingale.

‘Doesn’t matter what it is, tattoos mean trouble. Especially on a woman. We’ve got guys in the job with tattoos, most of them ex-army, but when a woman has a tattoo …’

‘A tramp stamp.’

‘Exactly. Kids, huh?’ He sipped his whisky. ‘Is it possible that all five of the dead Goths had this tattoo?’

‘That’s what we’re checking now. We’ve a lot of CCTV footage to get through. What about Nail? Did you see a tattoo like that on him?’

‘I haven’t seen the body. But it’s in the care of the coroner so I’ll get it checked.’ He folded up the print-outs and slipped them into his pocket before standing up. ‘Next time you get any information on this case, you let me know straight away.’

‘Sure. Not a problem.’

‘I’m serious, Nightingale. You should have told me about these Satanists before.’ He patted his jacket pocket. ‘And this tattoo is important, you should have got that to me earlier.’