Read Online Nightfall: The First Jack Nightingale Supernatural Thriller by Stephen Leather - Free Book Online Page B

of course – the house fell in value, as did his stock portfolio.’
    ‘There was no furniture in the house, did you know that?’
    ‘It was fully furnished the last time I visited. Beautiful things, mostly antiques. And a very valuable collection of paintings.’
    ‘Well, it’s all gone now,’ said Nightingale. ‘How much money did he have with you before he started withdrawing it?’
    ‘I wouldn’t be able to get the figure without looking at his file,’ said the bank manager. ‘I’m not sure I can do that, even with you being his heir.’
    ‘Approximately,’ said Nightingale. ‘A ballpark figure.’
    ‘Ballpark?’ Collinson stared up at the ceiling as if the numbers were written there. ‘I’d say twelve million pounds in cash. A million or so in Krugerrands and gold bullion. A stock portfolio amounting to some fifteen million pounds, give or take.’ He looked back at Nightingale. ‘I’d say somewhere in the region of twenty-eight million pounds.’
    ‘And the mortgage?’
    ‘Two million,’ said Collinson.
    ‘So you’re saying that in just a few years Ainsley Gosling went through thirty million pounds and you’ve no idea what he spent it on?’
    ‘More than that, I’m afraid,’ said the bank manager. ‘We only handled his UK assets. My understanding is that there were funds in the United States, Central Europe and Asia, notably Hong Kong and Singapore.’
    ‘Amounting to how much exactly?’
    Collinson shrugged. ‘I don’t have exact figures for his overseas assets, but it would certainly be in excess of one hundred million pounds.’
    Nightingale sat stunned. ‘A hundred million?’
    ‘In excess of.’
    ‘And it’s all gone?’
    ‘I’m afraid so, yes.’
    ‘There’s no suggestion that he was being blackmailed or had a drug or gambling problem?’
    ‘We don’t make a habit of prying into the private lives of our clients, Mr Nightingale,’ said Collinson, disdainfully, as if Nightingale had just accused him of shop-lifting.
    ‘Just so long as you have their money?’
    ‘Exactly,’ said the bank manager, missing the sarcasm.

10
    N ightingale wanted a drink and time to think. He drove back to London, left the MGB in the multi-storey car park close to his office, then slipped into one of his favourite local pubs. It was a gloomy place that had yet to be given a corporate makeover – no fruit machine, no olde-worlde menu with microwaved lamb shanks and chilli con carne, just a long bar and a few tables and a grizzled old barman who didn’t look at him or try to start a conversation. As he walked to the bar he called Jenny on his mobile. ‘I’m in the Nag’s Head,’ he said. ‘I need some thinking time.’
    ‘Yeah, alcohol is renowned for helping the thought process,’ she said acidly.
    ‘Come and join me.’
    ‘I’m trying to sort out our accounts due,’ said Jenny. ‘If we don’t get the cash-flow sorted we won’t be able to pay our VAT.’
    ‘Now you’re making me feel guilty,’ said Nightingale.
    ‘I doubt that,’ she said. ‘Keep your mobile on. If anything crops up I’ll give you a call.’
    Nightingale ordered a bottle of Corona and sat at the bar. If what Gosling had said was true, his parents had lied to him virtually from the day he was born. There had never been so much as a hint from them that he wasn’t their child. Two boys in his class at primary school had been adopted, and he had talked to his mother about it, but she had never given any indication that she wasn’t his biological mother. Nightingale couldn’t understand why they hadn’t told him he was adopted. There was no shame in it, and he wouldn’t have loved them any the less, but now the truth had come out and he wasn’t able to ask them why they had lied because they were dead and gone. Or was it all a massive confidence trick? Was Turtledove part of it? Was the idea to convince Nightingale that the house was his, then ask him to put money up front? He smiled to himself. If it