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know?”
    “My name’s Lee Mitchell. I’ve just spoken to Joshua and he told me to call you.”
    “Yeah, he’s out of town.”
    “Joshua says you’ll help me.”
    “I’ll do my best. Where are you?”
    “I don’t know you, Jack. I don’t know you from Adam.”
    “I understand. But I work for Wainwright. And he’s told me to take care of you.”
    “They’re on to me. And if they get me, they’ll kill me. And worse.”
    “I’ve got your back, Lee. Now listen to me. The phone you’re calling me on? Is it yours?”
    “It’s a disposable cell with a new Sim card.”
    “Good job. But as soon as this call is over, dump it. Use landlines from now on. Public payphones are best. Where are you staying?”
    “A hotel. In Oakland.”
    “Did you register in your own name?”
    “Of course not. And I paid in cash.”
    ‘Where did you get the cash from?”
    “What?”
    “The cash. Where did you get it from?”
    “An ATM.”
    “Near the hotel?”
    “Shit. Yes.”
    “Don’t go back to that hotel, Lee.  Don’t go anywhere near the ATM. I’ll pick you up.”
    “They can track my phone? And my credit cards?”
    “It’s possible,” said Nightingale. “In my experience the sort of people you’re dealing with can do pretty much anything they want. What are you wearing?”
    “My regular clothes. Polo shirt. Chinos.”
    “Buy something else, something you wouldn’t normally wear. A hoodie would be good. And carry something.”
    “What?”
    “Anything. A carrier bag. A rucksack. Anything that stops you looking like a banker on the run. Now where can I pick you up?”
    “I’m scared, Jack.”
    “I know you are. But I can help you.”
    “When does Joshua get back?”
    “Tomorrow. The day after, maybe. He’s overseas. Give me a time and a place, Lee. I’ll take care of you.”
    “Okay, okay. How about Alcatraz? There are always lots of tourists around. Take the nine-ten boat tomorrow morning. What’ll you be wearing?”
    “Light raincoat, black Levis, brown shoes. I’ve got dark hair and a boyish smile.”
    “You think this is funny?”
    “I was trying to lighten the moment,” said Nightingale.
    “Yeah, well don’t. Just be at Alcatraz tomorrow.”
    “Why Alcatraz? Why not just come to my hotel?”
    “Because, like I said, I don’t know you and I don’t know who to trust. The only way to Alcatraz is by ferry so I’ll get there early and see everyone who arrives. If I see anything that doesn’t feel right then I’m canceling.” The line went dead.
     
     

CHAPTER 6
     
    Nightingale’s rental car came with a dashboard-mounted SatNav. He tapped in the location of the St Thomas More Assisted Living Facility and waited for directions. The voice was female, she sounded blonde and pretty but strict with no discernible sense of humor but she got him where he wanted to be in under thirty minutes. Nightingale parked opposite the facility, switched off the engine of his SUV and lit a cigarette. He opened the window and blew smoke. The building was larger than he’d expected, brighter too, with peach and cream walls and red Spanish-style roofs. The name of the facility was posted above a glass entrance in the center of the building. There were lawns in front, with wooden benches and large planters dotted around for decoration.
    His cigarette finished, he headed for the front door.  It was locked, so he pushed the bell. After a minute a tall bald man in a white jacket and black trousers appeared on the other side of the glass door and opened up. “Help you, sir?” he said.
    “I’m a reporter,” he said. “Is there someone I can speak to about Mr. O’Hara?”
    “It’d be Ms. Winthrop you’d want to see, but she’s busy.”
    “I’d only need a few minutes.” He flashed the man his most winning smile.
    The man stepped aside to let Nightingale in. “Have a seat and I’ll see if she can see you.”
    Nightingale sat on a straight-backed wooden chair. Leading off from the lobby were two