Lastnight by Stephen Leather Read Free Book Online Page A

raincoats.’
    ‘That’s a bit harsh,’ said Nightingale. ‘I’m early thirties, that’s not even middle-aged.’
    ‘You look older,’ said the girl, squinting up at him.
    ‘My name’s Jack.’
    ‘Still don’t care.’ She looked at the dog. ‘Do we care?’ The dog woofed softly. She looked up at Nightingale again. ‘No, we don’t care.’
    Nightingale took out his cigarettes and lit one. ‘Jack Nightingale.’
    ‘Like the bird?’
    ‘I don’t know. Is Jack a bird’s name?’
    The girl laughed and held out her hand for a cigarette.
    ‘How old are you?’
    ‘Half your age, now give me a fag or piss off.’
    Nightingale held out the pack. She took out a cigarette and he lit it for her. ‘Mind if I sit down?’
    ‘Providing you stay at your end of the bench,’ she said.
    ‘I’m not a child molester,’ he said, putting the cigarettes away.
    ‘That’s what all the child molesters say.’
    Nightingale laughed as he sat down.
    ‘I’m serious,’ said the girl. ‘When was the last time a child molester sat down next to a kid and said, “Hello, little girl, I’m a child molester.” It doesn’t happen.’
    ‘Your parents taught you well,’ said Nightingale.
    ‘Mum did. Dad ran off when I was three.’
    ‘Ouch.’
    ‘Yeah. Ouch. What about your parents?’
    ‘I was brought up by foster parents. My father was a Satanist who sold my soul to the devil and my genetic mother killed herself in a lunatic asylum.’
    She looked over at him with narrowed eyes, blew smoke up at the sky, and nodded. ‘Respect,’ she said.
    Her dog jumped to its feet, startling them both, and seconds later another dog joined them and the two animals stood nose to nose, their tails thrashing about. The new arrival was a brown and white Jack Russell with a black leather collar. ‘Mojo, behave!’ shouted a girl who was walking over the grass towards them. She was wearing a long black leather coat that brushed the grass as she walked, and had jet-black hair that had been cut with a severe fringe that gave it the look of a glossy motorcycle helmet. In her right hand she was swinging a black leather lead. She stopped by the bench and looked at Nightingale with an amused smile. Like the girl on the bench she had thick mascara and black lipstick and there were half a dozen small silver rings piercing her left ear. ‘Is this the new boyfriend, then?’ she asked.
    ‘Ew,’ said the girl. ‘As if. I mean, seriously. His name’s Jack, he’s a child molester.’ She unclipped her lead from her dog’s collar and the two dogs ran off, barking excitedly.
    ‘See, that’s not funny,’ said Nightingale. ‘If someone hears that they could get the wrong end of the stick.’ He smiled at the girl who had just arrived. ‘The name’s Jack. I used to be a policeman but now I’m a private detective.’
    ‘He tells great stories,’ said the first girl. ‘His father’s the devil.’
    ‘That’s not actually what I said,’ protested Nightingale.
    ‘Becky was never very bright,’ said the girl. ‘My name’s Hannah. You’ve got cigarettes?’
    Nightingale took out his pack and offered her one. She motioned with her hand for him to scoot over so he shuffled next to Becky while she sat down on the edge of the bench.
    ‘No funny business,’ said Becky.
    ‘Scout’s honour,’ said Nightingale. ‘Now, forgive me for asking, but how old are you girls.’
    ‘I’m eighteen,’ said Hannah. ‘Becky’s seventeen.’
    ‘Eighteen in two weeks,’ said Becky.
    ‘Are you at school?’
    ‘Do we look like we’re at school?’ scowled Becky.
    ‘We’re sort of on a gap year,’ said Hannah.
    ‘Yeah, but all we’ve got to go on is Jobseeker’s Allowance,’ said Becky. ‘And that doesn’t go far.’
    ‘Ever been to the Crypt?’
    ‘Loads of times,’ said Becky.
    ‘I thought you had to be eighteen to get in?’
    ‘I’m almost eighteen.’
    ‘We’re going on Saturday, probably,’ said Hannah. ‘Why do you