Nightfall: The First Jack Nightingale Supernatural Thriller Read Online Free PDF Page A

private investigator, that she could type and knew her way around Microsoft Office. He’d wondered at first if she was an undercover agent for the Inland Revenue, checking on his tax returns, but she’d worked for him for more than a year and now he didn’t know how he’d manage without her. She smiled brightly and nodded at the door to his office. ‘Mrs Brierley’s already here,’ she said.
    ‘Can’t wait to hear the bad news, huh?’ said Nightingale. He didn’t like divorce work. He didn’t like following unfaithful husbands or wayward wives, and he didn’t like breaking bad news to women who cried or men who threatened violence. He didn’t like it, but it paid the bills and he had a lot of bills to pay.
    ‘Can I get you a coffee or a tea, Mrs Brierley?’ he asked, as he walked into his office.
    Joan Brierley was in her early fifties, a heavy-set woman with dyed blonde hair, too much makeup and lines around her mouth from years of smoking. She declined and held up a packet of Benson & Hedges. ‘Do you mind if I . . . ?’ she said.
    Nightingale showed her his Marlboro. ‘I’m a smoker too,’ he said.
    ‘There aren’t many of us left,’ she said.
    ‘Strictly speaking, this is my workplace so I should fine myself a thousand pounds every time I light up,’ said Nightingale. ‘I’m lucky that my secretary doesn’t mind or she’d sue me for all I’m worth.’ He reached over to light her cigarette, then his own.
    ‘On the phone you said you had bad news,’ said Mrs Brierley. ‘He’s been cheating, has he?’
    ‘I’m afraid so,’ said Nightingale.
    ‘I knew it,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘When money started disappearing from our joint account, I knew it.’
    ‘I filmed them,’ said Nightingale, ‘so you could see for yourself. I followed them to a hotel but he’s also visited her house when her husband was away.’
    ‘She’s married?’
    Nightingale nodded.
    ‘Why would a married woman want to steal another woman’s husband?’ said Mrs Brierley.
    It was a question Nightingale couldn’t answer. ‘I’ve got his mobile-phone records. He calls her three or four times a day and sends her text messages.’ He slid over a stack of photocopies. ‘The messages say it all, pretty much.’
    Mrs Brierley picked them up. ‘How did you get these?’
    ‘Trade secret, I’m afraid,’ said Nightingale. He had contacts working for most of the mobile-phone companies; they would give him anything he wanted, at a price.
    She scanned them. ‘He loves her?’ she hissed. ‘He’s been married to me for twenty-four years and he loves her?’
    Nightingale went to his DVD player and slotted in a disk. He sat down again as Mrs Brierley eyed the screen. The camerawork wasn’t great but Nightingale had been hired to do surveillance, not produce a Hollywood movie. He’d taken the first shot from behind a tree. Brierley arrived in his dark blue Toyota, a nondescript man in a nondescript car. He had a spring in his step as he walked to the hotel’s reception desk, holding a carrier-bag from a local off-licence. Nightingale had managed to get closer to the hotel entrance and had filmed Brierley signing in and being given a key.
    The next shot was of the woman arriving. He’d got a good shot of her parking her BMW and had followed her to the entrance. Like Brierley, she didn’t look around and clearly wasn’t worried that she might have been followed.
    Mrs Brierley stared at the screen, her mouth a tight line.
    The final shot was of Mr Brierley and the woman leaving the hotel together. He walked her to her car, kissed her, then went to his Toyota.
    Nightingale pressed the remote control to switch off the DVD player. ‘Your husband paid in cash but I have a copy of the receipt.’ He slid it across the desk towards his client, but she was still staring at the blank television screen, the cigarette burning between her fingers. ‘The woman’s name is Brenda Lynch. She’s—’
    ‘I know who