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    Claws (A Jack Nightingale Short Story)
    Claws (A Jack Nightingale Short Story)
    Claws (A Jack Nightingale Short Story)
    Ebook84 pages2 hours

    Claws (A Jack Nightingale Short Story)

    By Stephen Leather

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    About this ebook

    Supernatural detective Jack Nightingale is called in to investigate when a man is ripped apart in his home. Is a big cat on the loose - or is it something more sinister?

    Stephen Leather is one of the UK's most successful thriller writers, an ebook and Sunday Times bestseller and author of the critically acclaimed Dan “Spider’ Shepherd series and the Jack Nightingale supernatural detective novels. Before becoming a novelist he was a journalist for more than ten years on newspapers such as The Times, the Daily Mirror, the Glasgow Herald, the Daily Mail and the South China Morning Post in Hong Kong. He is one of the country’s most successful ebook authors and his ebooks have topped the Amazon Kindle charts in the UK and the US. In 2011 alone he sold more than 500,000 eBooks and was voted by The Bookseller magazine as one of the 100 most influential people in the UK publishing world. Born in Manchester, he began writing full time in 1992. His bestsellers have been translated into fifteen languages. He has also written for television shows such as London's Burning, The Knock and the BBC's Murder in Mind series and two of his books, The Stretch and The Bombmaker, were filmed for TV. His book The Chinaman was filmed as The Foreigner starring Jackie Chan and Pierce Brosnan.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherStephen Leather
    Release dateApr 15, 2018
    ISBN9781370439362
    Claws (A Jack Nightingale Short Story)
    Author

    Stephen Leather

    Stephen Leather is one of the UK’s most successful thriller writers, an eBook and Sunday Times bestseller and author of the critically acclaimed Dan “Spider’ Shepherd series and the Jack Nightingale supernatural detective novels. Before becoming a novelist he was a journalist for more than ten years on newspapers such as The Times, the Daily Mirror, the Glasgow Herald, the Daily Mail and the South China Morning Post in Hong Kong. He is one of the country’s most successful eBook authors and his eBooks have topped the Amazon Kindle charts in the UK and the US. He has sold more than a million eBooks and was voted by The Bookseller magazine as one of the 100 most influential people in the UK publishing world. His bestsellers have been translated into fifteen languages. He has also written for television shows such as London’s Burning, The Knock and the BBC’s Murder in Mind series and two of his books, The Stretch and The Bombmaker, were filmed for TV. You can find out more from his website www.stephenleather.com

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      Book preview

      Claws (A Jack Nightingale Short Story) - Stephen Leather

      Food.

      The smell of food overcame everything else, even the stench of fear that radiated from the prey. The hunter stared unblinking at it, drew air in through flared nostrils, opened its mouth, showing the huge incisors and growled menacingly.

      The prey gaped, struggling to process what its pitiful small eyes saw before it, certain death standing just eight feet away, poised to strike. Its tiny mouth with its pathetic weak teeth opened and closed, and a whining noise came from it, wordless, yet eloquent testimony to the terror coursing through its veins.

      The hunter breathed deeply again, drinking in the fear, and once again the smell of fresh meat. The claws protracted, the shoulder muscles tensed and the powerful thighs eased backward, poised to spring. Hunger, and hatred, contempt and anticipation mingled in the coursing blood, as it waited for the moment of truth, relishing the helplessness of its quarry.

      The prey looked around helplessly for an escape route, a weapon, some forlorn hope, but there was none. Finally it seemed to accept its fate, staring submissively into the impassive and merciless eyes of its executioner, the eyes that would be the last thing it would ever see.

      The hunter’s muscles exploded in a frenzy of killing fury as it sprang.

      * * *

      ‘Mr Nightingale, they were the footprints of a giant cat. There is no doubt about that.’

      Jack Nightingale took a long drag on his Marlboro, blew smoke up at the ceiling, raised one eyebrow and pursed his lips. ‘Seems pretty unlikely,’ he said.

      ‘The police called in animal experts,’ said the woman. ‘The marks on the floor were definitely from giant feline paws. And the claw marks on the body fitted the same pattern.’

      Nightingale looked closely at her while he thought of his next question. In her mid-thirties, obviously took good care of herself. The blonde hair was immaculately cut and colored, the black suit looked expensive, as did the open-necked white shirt. And her pearls could be real, for all he knew. If she’d been crying over her husband’s death, she’d either gotten over it quickly, or hidden it very skilfully with high quality make-up.

      ‘But how could a big cat manage to find its way up to a third-floor apartment?’ asked Nightingale. ‘And then got out again? You told me the front door was shut, and tigers don’t do doorknobs, as far as I know.’

      Her nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed. ‘If that’s English humor, I don’t need it or appreciate it, Mr Nightingale. My husband is dead, remember?’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ said Nightingale. ‘I wasn’t really trying to be funny, just pointing out the facts. But the windows don’t open, so how could a big cat have gotten in and out of here? And without any of the other tenants seeing anything. It makes no sense, Mrs Cresswell.’

      ‘I never said it did. All I know is what the police told me. I was up here the whole time. Dan worked in Florida during the week and stayed in a rented apartment. I’ve never been near the place. I couldn’t even find Gladesville on a map.’

      Nightingale frowned. ‘So what are the police doing about it?’

      ‘Pretty much nothing, as far as I know. They seem to have no witnesses, no suspects, no motive and no idea how he was killed. That’s why I called you.’

      ‘Yes, you did,’ said Nightingale, taking another drag on his cigarette. Vivienne Cresswell had given him permission to smoke in her home, but the slight pursing of her lips as he smoked suggested that she wasn’t really all that happy about it. ‘Though you haven’t explained exactly how you knew where to contact me. I don’t tend to advertise.’

      ‘The person who told me about you didn’t want their name mentioned, but said you’d helped them in the past. Helped with something else for which there seemed to be no rational explanation.’

      Nightingale gave that one some thought. There were quite a few people who might fit that description, though several of them were dead now. Still, it seemed Vivienne Cresswell wasn’t going to be satisfying his curiosity. He exhaled more smoke. ‘So why would anyone want your husband dead, Mrs Cresswell?’ he asked. ‘Did he have any enemies?’

      ‘Of course not, he was a businessman,’ she said, frostily. ‘He was CEO of Cresswell Explorations, he was down there looking for gas, he wasn’t the kind of man who made enemies.’

      Nightingale tried again. ‘Any ex-girlfriends who might have borne a grudge?’ Her eyes flashed, and he held up his hands in surrender. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But I have to start somewhere, and sometimes the obvious answers are the right ones. So, no exes, no current affairs, no jealous husbands?’

      She pursed her lips, but gave the question a few moments thought. Finally she shook her head. ‘No, not to my knowledge,’ she said, her voice quieter now, and she seemed to be choosing her words more carefully. ‘We never had any problems in the bedroom, but then I have a lot of friends who thought their husbands could be trusted, and were proved wrong. All I can say is that I never had any reason to doubt Dan’s fidelity. On the other hand, he was a very attractive man, so I can’t dismiss the possibility.’

      Nightingale nodded.

      ‘OK,’ he said. ’While we’re at it, I’ll assume no threatening letters or e-mails, no strange phone calls, no business rivals with a grudge?’

      ‘Again, none that I know of,’ she said. ’You know, the police asked all the same questions.’

      ‘They would,’ said Nightingale. ‘There are only so many questions that can be asked, and if they were stumped, chances are I will be too, unless the answer is something that the average cop wouldn’t ever consider.’

      ‘Like what?’

      ‘I have no idea, and I won’t be getting one hanging around here. If you really want me to look into it, you’ll need to hire me, give me a letter of authority to act on your behalf, and I’ll be needing to go down there for a while. That could work out expensive, and there’s no guarantee I’d find out more than the cops. I don’t want to waste your money.’

      ‘Money’s not an issue, Mr Nightingale. My husband was a very wealthy man, and my father was Webster Danforth.’

      There was a silence, while Nightingale decided whether he should ask, or just look

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