Read Nightshade: The Fourth Jack Nightingale Supernatural Thriller for Free Online Page A

papers up and put them into his raincoat pocket. ‘It looks like it’s been here for a while.’
    ‘Well, I can assure you that it wasn’t here last Saturday.’
    ‘I believe you,’ said Nightingale. He took more photographs with his phone. ‘Which means that whoever did it went to a lot of trouble to make it look as if your brother set it up some time ago.’
    ‘Does it look like a Satanic altar to you?’
    Nightingale leaned over to get a closer look at a pentangle that had been drawn on a sheet of paper in what appeared to be dried blood. ‘It does, yes. But I’m going to get a professional’s opinion.’
    ‘A professional?’
    ‘Someone who’s a bit more familiar with this.’
    ‘I thought you were,’ said McBride.
    ‘The basics, yes. But I’m going to run it by someone who really knows her stuff.’
    McBride pointed at the lead crucible in front of Nightingale. ‘That’s blood, isn’t it?’
    ‘It might be,’ said Nightingale. He pulled two plastic evidence bags from his pocket. He put the crucible in one and the knife in the other. ‘I’ll get it checked out.’ He turned to look at McBride. ‘Your brother, was he religious?’
    ‘He went to church, but not regularly. Why?’
    ‘Does he have a Bible in the house?’
    ‘I’m not sure? Why?’
    ‘Because if he was a dyed-in-the-wool Satanist he wouldn’t have one. Can we have a look around?’
    ‘Not a problem,’ said McBride. ‘Are you done here?’
    ‘Just a few more pictures,’ said Nightingale. He took half a dozen more shots of the altar, then pocketed his phone. ‘I have to say, it’s weird that the police didn’t take this away. Or at least rope it off as a crime scene.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe they do things differently up here.’
    ‘They’ve done almost nothing in the way of an investigation so far as I can see,’ said McBride. ‘They haven’t even spoken to me.’
    ‘Are you serious?’
    ‘Well, I went to see them after they took away his computer because they’d smashed in the front door. But they weren’t interested in anything I had to say.’
    ‘They didn’t ask about the altar or what sort of person he was?’ McBride shook his head. ‘Or ask if anything was troubling him?’
    ‘Not a dicky-bird,’ said McBride. ‘They couldn’t wait to get me out of the station.’
    Nightingale rubbed the back of his neck. There was clearly something very wrong with the way the Northumbria police were handling the investigation.
    They went back down the stairs and out of the barn, then walked around the back of the farmhouse. There was a large, well-tended vegetable garden and beyond it a chicken house the size of a railway carriage. Nightingale winced as the acrid smell of the chickens hit his nostrils. The chickens inside began to cluck and squawk, as if they realised there were strangers around. McBride unlocked the back door of the farmhouse and took Nightingale into the kitchen. There was a large green Aga stove, a weathered pine table and chairs, and an overstuffed armchair next to which was a pile of farming magazines. There was a metal gun cabinet on one wall. The cabinet was open and empty. ‘How many guns did your brother have?’ asked Nightingale.
    ‘Three, I think,’ said McBride. ‘He took one to the school and the police took away the other two.’
    ‘He never had a problem with his licences?’
    ‘Not that I know of. But they’re pretty easy for farmers to get. There are foxes and crows and all sorts of vermin. I wouldn’t have a gun in the house, but for Jimmy it was just a tool.’
    ‘So they took the guns and the computer. Anything else?’
    ‘The ammunition. But that was about it. I’ve got a receipt somewhere.’
    There were two dog bowls by the back door, one half full of water. ‘He had dogs?’
    ‘Two,’ said McBride. ‘I’m taking care of them at the moment.’
    Nightingale walked out of the kitchen and along a stone-flagged hallway. On the walls were framed watercolours,