‘We’re all human beings trying to get through life as best we can, Jack,’ said Robyn. She blew a perfect smoke ring up at the ceiling. ‘What about your parents?’ she asked.
‘Dead,’ said Nightingale. ‘Car crash while I was at university.’
‘University? You a smart guy, Jack?’
He grinned. ‘Allegedly.’ He took a long drag on his cigarette. ‘Was it because of the court case that your parents cut you off?’
Robyn shook her said. ‘The rot had set in long before then,’ she said.
‘What was the problem? Were you a difficult kid?’
‘I wasn’t the problem,’ she said, and shook her head again. ‘My mum was all right; my dad was a bastard.’
‘Bastard in what way?’
She scowled. ‘Screwed me on my sixteenth birthday — does that count?’
‘Yeah, that counts.’
‘At least he waited until I was legal,’ said Robyn. ‘Did me on my sixteenth birthday while Mum was at the shops, and tried again two days later. I stuck a knife in him and got on a train to London.’ She shivered and took a long pull on her cigarette. ‘I guess me being adopted explains a lot. Wasn’t incest, wasn’t paedophilia; it was plain old rape.’
‘You never suspected they weren’t your real parents?’
She shook her head fiercely. ‘I used to dream that I was really a princess and that my parents were the king and queen of some faraway country and that one day they would come for me, but that’s not how it turned out.’ She flicked ash onto the floor. ‘I don’t suppose my genetic father was a king, was he?’
‘Not exactly, no,’ said Nightingale.
‘So who was he, this Ainsley Gosling?’
‘It’s a long story, Robyn.’
She laughed harshly. ‘Jack, time is the one thing I have plenty of right now.’
39
R obyn sat back, her hands on the table. ‘You are shitting me,’ she said. ‘You’re trying to run some sort of con on me.’ She looked over at the guard, who was still leaning against the drinks vending machine, out of earshot. ‘I can’t believe they let you in here.’
‘It’s God’s truth,’ said Nightingale, leaning towards her. ‘Though I guess that’s not exactly appropriate under the circumstances.’
‘Have you got any money on you? Any coins?’
‘Sure.’
She gestured at the vending machines. ‘Get me a coffee. Black. No sugar.’
‘That’s how I take mine,’ said Nightingale.
‘That’s how half the population drink it,’ she said scornfully. ‘It doesn’t mean we’re joined at the hip.’
She glared at him as he got up from the table. He slotted a pound coin into the machine and pressed the button for black coffee. He asked the guard if she wanted one but she shook her head.
‘I wouldn’t say no to a Kit-Kat, though.’
‘Who would?’ asked Nightingale. He gave her the Kit-Kat and then got a second coffee. Robyn was still glaring at him when he carried them back to the table.
‘You’re running some sort of long con,’ she said as he sat down. ‘You’re setting me up for something.’
‘Robyn, you’re serving five life sentences and everything you own would fit in a supermarket carrier bag. Why would I be conning you?’
She leaned forward and stared at him. ‘My biological father was a Satanist and he left you a huge mansion in Surrey?’
‘That’s the gist of it, yes.’
‘Why didn’t he leave me anything? I mean, a big house wouldn’t be much use to me in here but I could do with a few quid.’
‘He didn’t know where you were or who your adoptive parents were,’ said Nightingale. ‘He tried to find you but couldn’t. I only tracked you down because I had access to the national DNA database.’
‘And he worshipped the devil?’ She sneered and shook her head. ‘Maybe that’s where the crazy gene came from.’ She sipped her coffee and grimaced. ‘You know one of the things I miss most about being in here?’
Nightingale raised his plastic cup. ‘Decent coffee?’
She grinned. ‘Bloody right. It’s horrible, isn’t it?’
‘I’ve had better,’ agreed Nightingale. ‘A lot better.’
Robyn put her chin in her hands. ‘Why are you really here, Jack? Is there something else you want to tell me?’
Nightingale blew smoke up at the ceiling as he wondered how much he should tell her. She seemed rational enough but he wasn’t sure if that was an act or not. He shrugged. ‘I thought we should meet. That’s all.’
‘Are you worried that you might be crazy?’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because I’m in an asylum. And if you’re right and we share the same DNA then maybe you’re crazy, too. Because this whole Satanism devil-worship thing does suggest that you might have the odd screw loose.’
‘I hadn’t thought of it that way.’
‘Liar,’ she said. ‘I can see it in your eyes that you’re lying. How do I know the whole thing’s not a lie? How do I know this isn’t some stupid therapy that Keller wants to try on me?’
‘Like I said, I don’t gain anything by lying to you. Have you got a few million quid tucked away that no one knows about?’
‘I wish.’
‘So try to trust me on this. We’re siblings. Same father, different mothers.’
She rubbed her face. ‘Do you know who our mothers are? Our birth mothers?’
‘I met mine,’ said Nightingale. ‘I don’t know who yours was.’
‘How did you find her?’
‘Through Gosling’s records. I traced her to a nursing home.’
‘Can you do the same and track down my mother? My birth mother?’
‘I’ll try,’ said Nightingale. He sipped his coffee. It was bitter and tasted of chemicals. ‘Can I ask you something, Robyn?’
She shrugged. ‘I guess,’ she said. ‘Seeing as how you’re my long-lost brother.’
He looked at her with slightly narrowed eyes. ‘What they said you did… to those kids. Did you do it?’
‘I’m in here, aren’t I?’
‘There are plenty of innocent people in prison. That’s why they have appeals.’
‘What do you want me to say? That it’s all a terrible misunderstanding? That I’m innocent and there’s been a miscarriage of justice?’
‘Something like that, yeah.’
She grinned, jutting her chin up and wrinkling her nose. ‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ she said. ‘But yeah, I did it. Killed them, all five of them.’ She paused. ‘Allegedly.’
40
D r Keller slowly stirred his tea and nodded at the plate of biscuits in front of Nightingale. ‘Please, help yourself,’ he said.
Nightingale picked up a custard cream and dipped it into his tea. ‘She doesn’t seem like a killer,’ he said.
The doctor continued to stir his tea. ‘Sociopaths are adept at concealing their true natures,’ he said. ‘Every emotion they display is learned behaviour. They have no true emotions but if they are smart they learn to mimic them.’
‘They act, is that what you mean? They pretend to be happy or sad or angry?’
Dr Keller nodded. He put his spoon on the saucer so carefully that it made no sound. ‘In a nutshell, yes.’
‘She seems so normal. Even made a few jokes.’
‘Don’t get me wrong,’ said Dr Keller. ‘I’m not suggesting that she’s a danger to you or to anyone else in this institution. But she is insane. I can assure you of that.’
‘Why do you say that? She looks and sounds normal, so how do you, as a professional, come to the conclusion that she’s mad?’
Dr Keller chuckled quietly. ‘Mr Nightingale, we would never put it as crassly as that.’
‘But that’s what you mean, isn’t it? You’re saying she’s as mad as a hatter despite the outward appearance.’
‘She killed five children, Mr Nightingale. And she has expressed absolutely no remorse.’
Nightingale put his biscuit into his mouth, chewed and swallowed.
‘Did she talk to you about the killings?’ asked the doctor.
‘Only to admit that she’d done it.’
‘No explanation, no asking for understanding or forgiveness?’
Nightingale shook his head. ‘Just said that she’d killed them.’