Read Lastnight for Free Online Page A

that was the last anyone ever saw of him. He didn’t come home, there’s no CCTV footage of him getting on a train, he wasn’t picked up by a taxi. He just vanished. Until …’ She closed her eyes, unable to finish the sentence.
    ‘I know you’ll have already been asked this, but did you ever see any of these people with Gabe?’ Nightingale asked. He reached into his jacket pocket and took out photographs of Luke Aitken, Daryl Heaton, Stella Walsh and Abbie Greene.
    Mrs Patterson looked at the four photographs and shuddered again. ‘They were the other four victims, weren’t they?’
    Nightingale nodded. ‘Yes. I’m sorry.’
    She shook her head sadly. ‘Why would anyone kill people just because of what they look like?’ She looked as if she was about to cry again but the baby lost its grip on the bottle and she concentrated on getting him to feed again.
    ‘There are some very sick people in the world, Mrs Patterson,’ said Nightingale quietly. ‘Did you ever see Gabe with any of them?’ he pressed gently.
    She shook her head. ‘The detectives asked me that already. I’m positive that Gabe didn’t know any of them. I know all his friends.’ She wiped her eyes again. ‘You see, that’s what I don’t understand. Why would anyone do that to someone just because they were different? Why does being different inspire such hatred?’
    ‘Sometimes it’s jealousy,’ said Nightingale.
    ‘Do you think they’ll catch them?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Nightingale emphatically. ‘I do.’
    ‘How can you be so sure?’ she asked.
    Nightingale forced a smile as he wondered how he should answer that question. The simple fact was that most serial killers carried on killing until they got caught. Eventually they made a mistake or, more likely, they were unlucky. If the killers were skilled and careful, then regular police work wouldn’t catch them. It wasn’t like it was portrayed on television and in the movies. Dogged detectives didn’t use intuition to solve crimes, they asked questions, filled out forms and fed information into computers. Sometimes it paid off, but more often than not they were going through the motions. Forensic evidence could prove guilt, but outside of television drama scientists and technicians didn’t solve crimes. The true answer to her question was that at some point the killers would be spotted near a body, or walk by a CCTV camera, or more likely would be interviewed by the police about something totally unrelated. Peter Sutcliffe, the serial killer they called the Yorkshire Ripper, was interviewed nine times by murder squad detectives but he was only caught after being pulled over by police who spotted he had false plates on his car. But that wasn’t what Mrs Patterson wanted to hear so Nightingale smiled and lied. ‘The police will do whatever it takes to arrest the people responsible,’ he said. ‘They won’t rest until they’re behind bars.’
    ‘They should hang them,’ said Mrs Patterson. ‘Scum like that, they should hang.’
    Nightingale nodded but didn’t say anything. Her eyes were blazing and the colour had returned to her cheek. In a way the hatred and anger would help her because at least they were emotions that were aimed externally, rather than the sadness that was eating her up from the inside.
    Mrs Patterson took a deep breath, then nodded at her baby. ‘I’m going to have to put him in his cot,’ she said.
    ‘I understand,’ said Nightingale, standing up. ‘I’ve taken up enough of your time.’
    ‘Just find them, that’s all I ask,’ she said, looking down at the baby. ‘And when you find them, ask them why. Ask them why they killed my Gabe.’

5
    N ightingale lit a cigarette as he walked back to his MGB. He’d managed to find a parking space down a side street but when he got back to the car he found that the vehicles he’d parked in between had moved and he was now hemmed in front and back. He stood at the front of his car and stared at the