‘She killed herself,’ said Nightingale. ‘Surely you must have seen that. She tied a washing line around her neck and jumped.’
‘That’s not what women normally do,’ said the superintendent. ‘Female suicides, I mean. They tend to swallow sleeping pills or cut their wrists in a warm bath. Hanging is a very male thing. Like death by car.’
‘I bow to your superior knowledge, but I think I’d rather go now.’
‘You’re not going anywhere until you’ve answered some questions.’
‘Does that mean I’m under arrest?’
‘At the moment you’re helping us with our enquiries,’ said the superintendent.
‘So I’m free to go whenever I want?’
‘I would prefer that you answer my questions first. If you’ve done nothing wrong then you shouldn’t have any problems talking to us.’ Thomas leaned forward and looked at Nightingale over the top of his spectacles. ‘You’re not one of those Englishmen who think the Welsh are stupid, are you?’
‘What?’
‘You know what I’m talking about,’ said the superintendent. ‘Us and the Irish, you English do like to take the piss, don’t you? Calling us sheep-shaggers and the like.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘I’m talking about you coming into our small town and causing mayhem,’ said the superintendent. ‘And acting as if it’s no big thing.’ He linked his fingers and took a deep breath. ‘Because it is a big thing, Nightingale. It’s a very big thing.’
‘She was dead when I got there.’
‘So you say.’
‘What does the coroner say?’
‘We’re still waiting on the exact time of death, but it looks as if it’s going to be too close to call.’
‘She was swinging from the banister when I got there.’
‘And her DNA is all over your clothes.’
‘Because I cut her down. Trying to save her.’
‘You said she was dead. Why were you trying to save a dead woman?’
‘I didn’t know she was dead. I just saw her hanging there. Then she moved.’
‘Moved?’
‘She was shaking and she was making sounds.’
‘So she wasn’t dead?’
‘No, she was dead. Some sort of autonomic reaction. I got a knife from the kitchen and cut her down. I checked for life signs and there were none. That’s when your guys arrived.’
‘Which raises two questions, doesn’t it?’ said the superintendent. ‘Why didn’t you call the police? And what were you doing in the house?’
‘I didn’t have time to phone anyone,’ said Nightingale. ‘I’d just finished checking for a pulse when your men stormed in and beat me unconscious.’
‘I’m told that you were resisting arrest,’ said the superintendent. ‘A neighbour called nine-nine-nine to say that a stranger had just entered Miss Miller’s house. When they arrived they found you crouched over her, holding a knife.’
‘They didn’t say anything, just clubbed me to the ground.’
‘You shouldn’t have been in the house,’ said the superintendent. ‘It’s not as if she invited you, is it?’
‘The back door was open,’ said Nightingale.
‘Even so,’ said the superintendent. ‘You committed trespass at best, and at worst…’
‘What?’
‘A woman is dead, Nightingale. And you still haven’t explained why you were in the house.’
‘I wanted to talk to her.’
‘About?’
‘It’s complicated,’ said Nightingale.
‘There you are again, suggesting that the Welsh are stupid.’ He banged the flat of his hand down hard on the table and Nightingale flinched. ‘Start talking, Nightingale. I’m getting fed up with your games.’
Nightingale sighed. ‘I think she’s my sister.’
‘You think?’
‘Like I said, it’s complicated.’
‘Complicated as the fact that her name is Miller and yours is Nightingale?’
‘She never married?’
‘Miller is the name she was born with. So how can you be her brother?’
‘Stepbrother. Or half-brother. We’ve got the same father.’
‘And would the father’s name be Nightingale or Miller?’
‘Neither. Gosling. Ainsley Gosling.’
‘So you’re telling me that Gosling was your father and hers and yet all three of you have different names?’
‘I was adopted. So was my sister. We were both adopted at birth.’
‘And so what were you doing at her house today? Surprise visit, was it?’
‘I wanted to talk to her.’
‘About what?’
Nightingale bit down on his lower lip. There was no way on earth the superintendent would believe Nightingale if he answered that question honestly. In the cold light of day he wasn’t even sure if he believed it himself. ‘I’d just found out that she was my sister. I wanted to meet her.’
‘Did you call her first?’
Nightingale shook his head.
‘For the tape please, Mr Nightingale.’
‘No, I didn’t call her.’
‘You just thought you’d pop round? From London?’
‘I wanted to see her.’
‘So you drove all the way from London for a surprise visit?’
‘I wouldn’t exactly put it that way,’ said Nightingale. ‘It wasn’t about surprising her. I just wanted to…’ He shrugged. ‘It’s difficult to explain.’
‘You see, any normal person would have phoned first. Made contact that way and then arranged a convenient time to meet. Not turned up unannounced.’
‘I’m a very spontaneous person,’ said Nightingale. He wanted a cigarette, badly.
‘And what made you think that Connie Miller is your sister? Or half-sister?’
‘I got a tip.’
‘What sort of tip?’
‘I was given her first name. And the name of the town.’
‘And that was enough to find her?’
‘I knew how old she is. Was. She was the only thirty-one-year-old woman called Constance in Abersoch.’
‘Is that right?’
‘You can check the electoral roll yourself. It’s all computerised these days.’
‘Well, I can tell you for a fact that Connie Miller isn’t related to you. I know her parents. I’ve known them for years. And they’ve just been to identify her body.’
Nightingale rubbed his face with his hands. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I was misinformed.’
‘Yes,’ said the superintendent. ‘You most definitely were. Connie was born in Bryn Beryl Hospital in Pwllheli, and I can assure you that there was no adoption involved.’
‘If that’s true then I was given a bum tip. It happens.’
‘If it wasn’t true then I wouldn’t be saying it,’ said the superintendent. ‘I’m not in the habit of lying. So you’re based in London?’
Nightingale nodded. The superintendent pointed at the tape recorder and opened his mouth to speak but Nightingale beat him to it. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That’s right.’
‘And before that you were a policeman?’
‘For my sins, yes.’
‘You were with SO19, right?’
‘CO19. It used to be SO19 but they changed it to CO19 a few years back. The firearms unit. Yeah.’
‘You were an inspector?’
It was clear that the superintendent had already seen his file. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I was an inspector.’
‘Until that incident at Canary Wharf?’
Nightingale smiled sarcastically and nodded again.
‘People have a habit of dying around you, don’t they, Nightingale?’
‘She had already hanged herself by the time I got there. I had never met the woman, never set eyes on her before today.’
‘Let’s leave Connie where she is for the time being,’ said the superintendent. ‘For now let’s talk about Simon Underwood.’
‘With respect, that’s out of your jurisdiction,’ said Nightingale. ‘Way out.’
‘Paedophile, wasn’t he? Interfering with his daughter, according to the Press. She killed herself while you were talking to her?’
‘Where are you going with this, Superintendent? I’d hate to think that you were opening old wounds just for the hell of it.’
‘I’m simply pointing out that you have a track record as far as dead bodies are concerned. Simon Underwood went through the window of his office while he was talking to you. Sophie Underwood jumped off a balcony. Your uncle took an axe to his wife and then killed himself not long before you went around to their house. Bodies do have a tendency to pile up around you.’