girl.’
‘Her name is Sophie and she killed herself just over two years ago. Jumped from an apartment block in Chelsea Harbour. Her father had been abusing her and her mother didn’t do anything about it.’
‘You were there when it happened?’
Nightingale nodded. ‘I told you I was a policeman. I was with CO19, the armed police. But I was also a negotiator, part of the team that talks to people in crisis. That could be a hostage situation or a self-harmer or a domestic. Any situation where someone might get hurt.’ His mouth felt suddenly dry and he took a sip of his tea. ‘When I got the call I didn’t know it was a kid. She was up on the thirteenth floor, talking to her doll. She’d locked the door to the balcony and the au pair had called the police. I was the first negotiator on the scene.’
‘And this Sophie, why was she on the balcony?’
Nightingale leaned forward and put his head in his hands. ‘She wanted to die, Mrs Steadman. There was nothing I could do that was going to stop that. I know that now.’
Mrs Steadman stood up and walked around to stand behind Nightingale. She put her hands on his shoulders. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly.
‘She was talking to me and then she just slipped under the railing and fell.’ Nightingale shuddered. ‘I don’t know what I should have done differently. I’ve gone over it again and again but I can’t think . . .’ He shuddered again. ‘She was just a kid, Mrs Steadman. Her life hadn’t even started, not really.’
‘Is that why you want to talk to her?’ asked Mrs Steadman.
‘She’s the one who’s been trying to contact me,’ said Nightingale.
Mrs Steadman let go of his shoulders and took a step back. ‘What do you mean?’
Nightingale explained what had happened at the hospital and at the nursing home.
Mrs Steadman sat down again and looked at Nightingale, clearly concerned. Nightingale folded his arms and shrugged. ‘I’m not imagining things,’ he said.
‘I wasn’t going to suggest that you were.’
‘I just feel that Sophie wants to talk to me and I want to make it easier for her, if that’s possible.’
‘You have to be careful,’ said Mrs Steadman. ‘It could be something else pretending to be the girl, have you thought of that? It could be an evil spirit that wants to do you harm.’
‘Why go to the trouble of pretending to be Sophie?’
‘So that you’ll let your guard down. And by the time you realise what’s happened, it’ll be too late.’
Nightingale rubbed the back of his neck. He wanted a cigarette, badly.
‘I don’t like to ask, but would you help me? Would you show me what to do?’
‘I’m not a medium, Mr Nightingale. It’s not my field.’ She tapped the handle of her mug thoughtfully. ‘You should try a spiritualist association. There are several very good ones in London. You’ll meet experienced mediums there and you’ll be in a safe environment. If Sophie does want to come through she’ll be in the care of people who know what they’re doing. You’ll do the talking through the medium, so you’ll be one step removed. The medium will act as a fuse in a plug, if you like. If there’s a problem the medium will break contact and no damage is done.’
‘I thought that most mediums were charlatans? Con artists.’
‘Some are. But people aren’t stupid, Mr Nightingale. If they are being conned they’ll realise it sooner rather than later. And the true mediums don’t ask for money.’
‘What about doing it myself ?’
‘You, Mr Nightingale?’ She chuckled softly. ‘You can do it yourself, if you have the talent. There are summoning spells that are said to work, but they’re not for amateurs.’
‘Have you ever done it?’
‘Summoned a spirit? I have, yes.’
‘And it worked?’
Mrs Steadman smiled. ‘Magic works, Mr Nightingale. If it didn’t my shop and website wouldn’t be as popular as they are.’
‘Could I try? To summon a spirit?’
‘I really
‘Her name is Sophie and she killed herself just over two years ago. Jumped from an apartment block in Chelsea Harbour. Her father had been abusing her and her mother didn’t do anything about it.’
‘You were there when it happened?’
Nightingale nodded. ‘I told you I was a policeman. I was with CO19, the armed police. But I was also a negotiator, part of the team that talks to people in crisis. That could be a hostage situation or a self-harmer or a domestic. Any situation where someone might get hurt.’ His mouth felt suddenly dry and he took a sip of his tea. ‘When I got the call I didn’t know it was a kid. She was up on the thirteenth floor, talking to her doll. She’d locked the door to the balcony and the au pair had called the police. I was the first negotiator on the scene.’
‘And this Sophie, why was she on the balcony?’
Nightingale leaned forward and put his head in his hands. ‘She wanted to die, Mrs Steadman. There was nothing I could do that was going to stop that. I know that now.’
Mrs Steadman stood up and walked around to stand behind Nightingale. She put her hands on his shoulders. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly.
‘She was talking to me and then she just slipped under the railing and fell.’ Nightingale shuddered. ‘I don’t know what I should have done differently. I’ve gone over it again and again but I can’t think . . .’ He shuddered again. ‘She was just a kid, Mrs Steadman. Her life hadn’t even started, not really.’
‘Is that why you want to talk to her?’ asked Mrs Steadman.
‘She’s the one who’s been trying to contact me,’ said Nightingale.
Mrs Steadman let go of his shoulders and took a step back. ‘What do you mean?’
Nightingale explained what had happened at the hospital and at the nursing home.
Mrs Steadman sat down again and looked at Nightingale, clearly concerned. Nightingale folded his arms and shrugged. ‘I’m not imagining things,’ he said.
‘I wasn’t going to suggest that you were.’
‘I just feel that Sophie wants to talk to me and I want to make it easier for her, if that’s possible.’
‘You have to be careful,’ said Mrs Steadman. ‘It could be something else pretending to be the girl, have you thought of that? It could be an evil spirit that wants to do you harm.’
‘Why go to the trouble of pretending to be Sophie?’
‘So that you’ll let your guard down. And by the time you realise what’s happened, it’ll be too late.’
Nightingale rubbed the back of his neck. He wanted a cigarette, badly.
‘I don’t like to ask, but would you help me? Would you show me what to do?’
‘I’m not a medium, Mr Nightingale. It’s not my field.’ She tapped the handle of her mug thoughtfully. ‘You should try a spiritualist association. There are several very good ones in London. You’ll meet experienced mediums there and you’ll be in a safe environment. If Sophie does want to come through she’ll be in the care of people who know what they’re doing. You’ll do the talking through the medium, so you’ll be one step removed. The medium will act as a fuse in a plug, if you like. If there’s a problem the medium will break contact and no damage is done.’
‘I thought that most mediums were charlatans? Con artists.’
‘Some are. But people aren’t stupid, Mr Nightingale. If they are being conned they’ll realise it sooner rather than later. And the true mediums don’t ask for money.’
‘What about doing it myself ?’
‘You, Mr Nightingale?’ She chuckled softly. ‘You can do it yourself, if you have the talent. There are summoning spells that are said to work, but they’re not for amateurs.’
‘Have you ever done it?’
‘Summoned a spirit? I have, yes.’
‘And it worked?’
Mrs Steadman smiled. ‘Magic works, Mr Nightingale. If it didn’t my shop and website wouldn’t be as popular as they are.’
‘Could I try? To summon a spirit?’
‘I really
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