Nightmare (40 page)

The double garage had been filled with metal trunks, dozens and dozens of them, and Nightingale knew immediately what they contained. He went over to the nearest trunk and saw it had catches on either side of the lid and a lock in the middle. Selecting a hammer from the rows of tools hanging on one of the walls, he used it to smash the lock, then he undid the catches. He pulled open the lid to find the trunk filled with leather-bound books. The first one he picked up and opened had a woodcut of a devil holding a pitchfork and standing in front of a woman with long hair; above it was the title
Spells To Repel A Curse And Other Magiks
. Nightingale flicked through the book. It had been handwritten in copperplate script, the ink fading in places. Nightingale put the book back into the trunk. ‘Got you, you bastard,’ he muttered under his breath.

He jumped as his phone rang. It was Jenny.

‘Where are you?’ she asked.

‘Fairchild’s house,’ he said. ‘The books are here. All of them. In dozens of metal trunks. He must have had a small army helping him.’

‘What are you going to do? Call the police?’

‘The police won’t do anything, kid. I can’t even prove that the books are mine and anyway I’d have to explain how I got into the house.’

‘Did you break in?’

‘No, he left a key under the mat.’ He laughed. ‘Of course I broke in.’

‘So are you coming back now?’

‘Soon,’ he said. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m tired,’ she said. ‘I’m going to lie down. Don’t be too late.’

Nightingale ended the call and went back to the sitting room. He put the gun on the coffee table and sat down on one of the chrome and leather chairs. It wasn’t comfortable but that was a good thing because he didn’t want to fall asleep.

64

Jenny woke up to the sound of buzzing and she groped for her alarm clock. As she fumbled for the off switch she realised that it wasn’t her clock; it was the door intercom, buzzing in the kitchen. She blinked as she stared at the clock. It was just after nine. She pulled on her robe and hurried downstairs. As she reached the bottom she remembered that she hadn’t checked the intercom. She turned to go back upstairs but then the buzzer rang again, longer this time. It was probably Nightingale. ‘Okay, okay,’ she said, hurrying across the hall to the front door. She opened it but froze when she saw who was standing on her doorstep. It was Marcus Fairchild. He was wearing a double-breasted blazer, beige slacks and shiny brown shoes. He smiled and his eyes sparkled.

‘Good evening, darling,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realise you went to bed so early.’

Jenny took a step back, clutching her robe around her neck. ‘What do you want?’ she asked.

His smile broadened. ‘Don’t worry, darling,’ he said, stepping towards her. ‘There’s absolutely nothing to worry about.’ Jenny backed down the hallway. She could feel the strength draining from her legs. ‘Now listen to me, darling, listen to me very carefully.’

65

Nightingale groaned and stretched and slapped his right cheek a couple of times, trying to wake himself up. He was sitting on one of Fairchild’s sofas, his feet on a glass coffee table that was balanced on three large marble spheres. At just after ten o’clock he’d raided the fridge and found some cheese, tomatoes and celery and he’d eaten them with a couple of slices of bread and butter, and a can of Carlsberg. By his feet was a crystal ashtray with half a dozen cigarette butts in it. Once he’d found all the books in the trunks in Fairchild’s garage he’d decided that there was no point in keeping a low profile. One way or another it would all be over by morning, so he’d sat and he’d smoked and he’d waited.

Every book from the basement of Gosling Manor had been packed into the trunks and transported to Epping. It would have needed a huge truck and quite a bit of manpower. Nightingale hadn’t even considered calling the police. He wasn’t sitting there in the dark because he wanted to talk to Fairchild about stolen books. He wanted to talk to Fairchild, that much was true. But Nightingale wanted to know exactly what the man had done to Jenny, and why. And he was sure that Fairchild would tell him, not because of the gun that Nightingale would be pointing at his chest but because the lawyer was arrogant, one of life’s boasters. He’d want to tell Nightingale everything, to revel in his superiority. Nightingale would listen to Fairchild, he’d hear everything that the man had to say, and then he’d pull the trigger.

He reached for his pack of Marlboro. There were only three cigarettes left. He cursed under his breath. Why hadn’t Fairchild come home? When ten o’clock had come and gone Nightingale had assumed that Fairchild had gone for dinner in London, but now it was starting to look as if he wasn’t coming home at all.

Standing up, he paced around the room as he smoked, then he stood at the window and looked out over the garden towards the road. He looked at his watch. It was just after midnight. He had no choice now: he had to wait until Fairchild came home because when he did he’d smell the smoke and he’d notice the missing food and he’d realise that someone had been in the house.

Nightingale flinched as his mobile burst into life. He went over to the coffee table, picked up the phone and looked at the screen. It was Jenny. He pressed the green button to take the call. ‘Hi, kid, are you okay? I thought you were going to sleep.’

‘Where are you, Jack?’

‘I’m still in Epping. Fairchild hasn’t come back yet.’

‘Jack, I want you to come back. Now.’

‘I want to wait until Fairchild comes home.’

‘And then what?’

‘Best you don’t know, kid. But I’ll take care of it. He’ll never hurt you again; I’ll make sure of that.’

Jenny sniffed. ‘Please come back, Jack.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’m scared. I need you.’

‘Jenny, just a few more hours.’

‘Please, Jack.’ She began to cry.

‘Jenny, honey, let me do this and then I’ll be straight back.’

Jenny said nothing but he could hear her sobs.

‘What’s wrong, Jenny?’

‘I don’t want to be on my own. I’m scared.’

‘Did something happen?’

‘I just need you here. Now.’

The line went dead.

66

Nightingale parked outside Jenny’s house. He climbed out of the MGB and pressed the buzzer on the intercom. There was a chill in the air and his breath feathered around his mouth as he stamped his feet to warm them up. He pressed the buzzer a second time. He stood back and looked up at the upper windows of the mews house. There was a light on in the front bedroom. He reached out to knock on the door but realised that it was ajar. He pushed it open. The light was on in the kitchen at the end of the hallway. Nightingale looked back at the MGB. He’d left the gun in the glove compartment because he knew that if Jenny saw it she wouldn’t be happy.

‘Jack, is that you?’

Nightingale peered down the hallway. ‘Jenny? The door’s open.’ There was no answer. ‘Jenny, are you okay?’

‘I’m in the kitchen.’

Nightingale stepped inside the hall and closed the door. ‘How are you feeling?’ he called. There was still no answer. ‘Jenny?’

He heard what sounded like a sob and he hurried down the hallway. She was sitting at the kitchen table wearing her pink bathrobe. He walked towards her.

‘Jenny?’ he said.

She was trembling and then she looked to her left and Marcus Fairchild stepped from behind the kitchen door. He was holding a carving knife.

Nightingale froze.

‘Don’t be shy, Jack,’ said Fairchild. ‘Come and join us.’

Nightingale took out his mobile phone.

‘Don’t even think about making a call,’ said Fairchild, walking behind Jenny and thrusting the knife against her neck. He grabbed her hair with his left hand and pulled her head back, exposing her neck.

‘There’s no need for that, Marcus,’ said Nightingale. He put the phone away and raised his hands. ‘We can sort this out. There’s no need for anyone to get hurt.’

Fairchild laughed harshly. ‘You think you can negotiate with me, Jack? Big mistake.’ He pressed the knife harder against Jenny’s throat. Jenny stared at Nightingale, her eyes wide with fear but she didn’t put up any resistance.

‘What is it you want, Marcus? The books? You can have the books. All of them. Just leave Jenny alone.’

‘This isn’t about the books, Jack. It’s not about Jenny either.’

‘What, then? What’s the point of all this?’

Fairchild laughed again. ‘Don’t you get it, Jack? You’re the point. It always has been you.’

Nightingale started to walk towards the kitchen, keeping his hands up. ‘We can sort this out, Marcus. It doesn’t have to end badly.’

As he passed the door that led to the garage, it opened. Nightingale began to turn but he stopped when something hard pressed against the small of his back. It was the barrel of a gun. The gun was being held by a short man with rat-like eyes and a receding chin. His hair was slicked back with oil that glistened in the overhead lights.

‘Just keep walking, nice and slowly,’ said Marcus. ‘It’ll soon be over.’

67

Nightingale held up his hands as he walked into the kitchen. The gunman was close behind him, keeping the barrel pressed into the small of Nightingale’s back. That was a mistake, Nightingale knew. If he turned quickly enough there was a good chance that he’d be able to push the weapon to the side before the man could pull the trigger. But it wasn’t the man with the gun that Nightingale was worried about; it was Marcus Fairchild and the knife that he was holding to Jenny’s neck.

‘What do you want?’ asked Nightingale. ‘Whatever you want, you can have it, Marcus. Just let Jenny go.’

‘What I want? This isn’t about what I want.’

Nightingale frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You really are stupid, aren’t you? Have you forgotten what you did? You cheated Proserpine out of your soul. Then you cheated Lucifuge Rofocale. You think you can play around with the Fallen without there being repercussions?’

‘I didn’t cheat anybody. I did deals. I gave Proserpine what she wanted and Lucifuge Rofocale did what he had to do to keep the peace.’

Fairchild sneered at Nightingale and pressed the knife harder against Jenny’s throat. ‘They don’t see it that way, Nightingale, and now it’s time for you to pay the piper.’

‘Okay, but this has nothing to do with Jenny. Let her go, Marcus. Let her go and you can do whatever you want to me. You’ve won. Okay? Just let her go.’

‘This isn’t about me. This isn’t about what I want.’

‘Just let Jenny go. Please. I’m begging you.’

Fairchild shook his head. ‘That’s not going to happen,’ he said. ‘That’s not how this is going to play out. That’s not what they want.’

‘What do they want, Marcus? Tell me.’

‘They want you to suffer, Nightingale. They want you to suffer in this world and the next. And that suffering starts here.’

‘What have they told you to do?’

Fairchild sneered at him. ‘They want you to kill her.’

‘What?’ A chill ran down Nightingale’s spine.

‘They want her dead and you to take the blame. They want you behind bars. Locked away. For the rest of your life.’

‘Marcus, this is crazy talk. You know that.’

‘You had sex with her. Your sperm is inside her. They’ll find you with the knife in your hands and her blood all over you. You were a cop, Nightingale. You know how they can put two and two together.’ He chuckled. ‘That’s pretty much all they can do. But it’s enough. Your sperm. Your prints on the knife. Your options are pretty limited.’

‘I haven’t touched the knife.’

‘Not yet,’ said Fairchild.

Nightingale realised that Fairchild was wearing black leather gloves. ‘Don’t do this, Marcus. Please.’

Fairchild laughed out loud. ‘Is that the best you can do? You were a police negotiator, right? And that’s your best shot? To say “please”? That’s it?’

‘She’s your god-daughter,’ said Nightingale. ‘She’s loved you her whole life.’

‘You think I care? She’s nothing to me. A quick shag when I wanted one, that’s all.’

Nightingale stared at Fairchild in horror.

‘Hadn’t you worked that out already? I’ve been fucking her since she was ten years old.’

‘No . . .’ Jenny gasped, and for the first time she began to struggle. Fairchild yanked her hair savagely and she grunted in pain.

‘Lost a lot of attraction once she was legal, but I’d revisit her every few months, just for old time’s sake. She doesn’t remember a thing, of course. But she enjoys it, Nightingale. She could screw for England, this one.’

Nightingale took a step towards him but Fairchild pushed the knife harder against Jenny’s throat. ‘Don’t even think about it. You take one more step and she’s dead.’

‘Uncle Marcus,’ moaned Jenny.

‘Shut up, whore!’ he hissed. ‘This is nothing to do with you.’ He glared at Nightingale. ‘You still haven’t worked it out, have you? Last night, she was doing what I told her to do. What I programmed her to do. Everything the two of you did, last night and this morning, was down to me, Nightingale. She screwed you because I told her to screw you.’ He laughed. ‘How does that make you feel, Nightingale? Angry? Angry enough to kill?’

‘You bastard.’

‘Yes, I am a bastard. An evil bastard. Now do you know how this ends? Have you worked it out yet?’

‘Don’t do this,’ said Nightingale.

‘Do what? This?’ Fairchild drew the knife across Jenny’s throat and her blood sprayed across the floor.

Nightingale opened his mouth to scream but then the butt of the gun slammed against his temple and he fell to his knees. He saw blood pumping from the gaping wound in Jenny’s neck. She was still alive, just, and he could see the fear and panic in her eyes and then everything went black and he slumped to the floor.

68

‘Jack, you have to get up.’ Nightingale groaned. ‘Jack, come on. Wake up.’ Nightingale’s eyes fluttered open. He was lying on his front, his face turned towards the oven. ‘Jack!’

‘Jenny?’ he moaned.

‘Wake up, Jack.’

He pushed himself up onto his knees, struggling to clear his head. ‘Jenny?’

‘Jenny’s dead, Jack. You know that.’