Still Bleeding (A Jack Nightingale Short Story) by Stephen Leather Read Free Book Online Page B

you
mean?’ Nightingale could hear the tension in the man’s voice.
    ‘Tomorrow
morning the whole family’s leaving London. They wouldn’t say where
they’re going. They say it’s because she’s still got the whole
stigmata thing and they don’t want it to become a media
circus.’
    ‘And you’ve no
idea where there’ll go?’
    ‘Like I said,
they won’t say. I managed to get to see Tracey, but they weren’t
happy. Anyway, I just thought you should know.’
    ‘I appreciate
that, Mr Nightingale. Thanks. Do you happen to have the address to
hand?’
    Nightingale
smiled to himself. ‘I do, yes, Do you have a pen?’
     
    * * *
     
    It was just
after three o’clock in the morning when Nightingale heard the sound
of breaking glass from the kitchen, He was sitting in the hallway
on a chair he’d taken from the kitchen, the loaded sawn-off shotgun
in his lap. From where he was sitting he had a clear view of the
front door and the open kitchen door, and he could see into the
living room. He had been fairly sure that Connolly would come in
the through the kitchen but he had wanted to keep his options
open.
    After a few
minutes he heard the kitchen door open and a soft footfall across
the tiled floor. He stood up and aimed the shotgun at the kitchen
doorway. Connolly was dressed all in black and was holding a small
torch in his left hand. He stiffened when he saw Nightingale.
‘Surprise!’ said Nightingale.
    ‘What the hell
are you doing here?’ asked Connolly. He was wearing a black ski
mask but Nightingale knew it was the priest.
    ‘Take off the
mask,’ said Nightingale. ‘And switch off the torch.’
    Connolly did as
he was told. He was wearing a black polo-neck sweater, black jeans
and black trainers. On his back was a black backpack.
    ‘Drop the torch
on the floor. And the mask. Then put your hands behind you
neck.’
    ‘What the hell
is going on?’ asked Connolly.
    Nightingale
gestured with the gun and Connolly followed the instructions that
Nightingale had given him.
    ‘Back into the
kitchen,’ said Nightingale. ‘If I end up shooting you it’ll be
easier to clean tiles than a carpet.’
    ‘This is
crazy,’ said Connolly. ‘I hired you, remember.’
    ‘Walk backwards
into the kitchen, slowly. Then kneel down.’
    Connolly did as
he was told. Nightingale kept the shotgun aimed at the priest’s
chest. A glass panel in the kitchen door had been shattered. ‘I see
you dumped the cassock but then I suppose it’s not the best thing
to wear when you’re breaking and entering,’ said Nightingale. ‘I
see you stuck with the black, though.’
    ‘What’s this
about, Nightingale? What’s going on?’
    ‘Kneel down.
Then put your hands behind your neck.’
    Connolly
obeyed. Nightingale switched on the lights.
    ‘How many are
with you?’
    ‘Two men.
They’re in a van outside.’
    ‘At the front
or the back?’
    ‘In the
alley.’
    ‘Are they
priests?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Are you?’
    Connolly
nodded. “I’m a priest, yes.’
    ‘And you work
for the Vatican?’
    ‘I told you all
this when I hired you. You seem to have forgotten who’s calling the
shots. I’m the client and you’re the hired help.’
    Nightingale
gestured with the shotgun. ‘So far as calling the shots are
concerned, I think the gun says it all. If you’re a priest then
what are you doing breaking into this house at this ungodly
hour?’
    Connolly took a
deep breath and then sighed. He didn’t answer.
    ‘Cat got your
tongue?’
    ‘What do you
want Nightingale? Are you going to call the cops? Are you going to
shoot me? Or bore me to death?’
    ‘I haven’t
decided yet,’ said Nightingale. He gestured with his shotgun. ‘Tell
me something. If I pull the trigger, do you think God would save
you?’
    The priest
shrugged. ‘Probably not.’
    ‘So God has
saved the little girl but thrown you to the wolves. What does that
tell you?’
    The priest
frowned. ‘How has God saved her? You’re the one with