Silence fell eventually.
Nightingale stayed prone for a further three minutes or so, his heart racing, his skin covered in sweat. Jenny seemed to have fainted, but he could feel her breathing. Finally he got up. The moon had gone behind a cloud, but he pulled a small torch from his pocket, and shone it around.
It took every ounce of his self control not to vomit.
The two women had been literally disembowelled, and pieces of flesh and entrails were everywhere. The large book had been reduced to ashes, and all that was left of the pink crystal was a lump of carbon. The small book had burned with such fury that it was just a mass of melted leather and plastic. Nightingale picked it up, put it back into the evidence bag and shoved it in his pocket. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing Chalmers tomorrow and telling him that he’d lost it.
Jenny was still pretty much out of it, but he managed to drag and carry her back to the MGB. He hoped she wouldn’t come around for a while. It might give him chance to think of exactly what he was going to tell her. He eased her into the passenger seat and then climbed in next to her. The car started first time, he pointed it at London and put his foot down.
He didn’t see the young girl in the black leather raincoat walk through the church ruins and gaze at the mess on the ground with her dark unblinking eyes.. The dog by her side was chewing enthusiastically on something. She looked down at the animal.
‘It’s so hard to get good help these days, isn’t it boy?’
The dog looked up at her with featureless black eyes and wagged its tail. She looked across the fields at the red tail-lights of the MGB as they disappeared into the night.
‘So, white wins this time, and the pawns go back into the box until the next round. But soon it will be black’s turn to win. I shall have your soul, I promise you.’
She bared her pointed teeth in a feral snarl.
‘You’re going to Hell, Jack Nightingale. And there’s nothing that bitch Steadman can do to stop it.’
CHAPTER 25
Nightingale drove Jenny home. By the time he pulled up in front of her mews house she was awake, but still drowsy and confused. He helped her out of the car and she fumbled in her pocket and pulled out the door keys. Nightingale unlocked the door and helped her inside. Her burglar alarm system began to beep but he knew the security code and tapped in the four digits to silence it.
He put her down on the sofa and went to the kitchen to get her a glass of water, which she gulped down. ‘What happened back there?’ she asked.
‘How much do you remember?’
She frowned. ‘Nothing since they grabbed me.’
‘To be honest, it’s better that we leave it that way.’
She forced a smile. ‘It was bad?’
Nightingale nodded. ‘Yeah, it was bad. You don’t remember anything?’
She shook her head. ‘There was a knock on the door, first thing. There was this woman there who said she was doing some sort of survey and then she plunged a hypodermic into my neck and that’s pretty much the last thing I remember.’
‘They took you to Norwich and summoned that bird thing.’
‘The bird thing being the eagle of death?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And you what? Killed it?’
‘No. I’m not sure how you’d go about killing it. But I managed to destroy the books that they were using.’ He reached into his raincoat pocket and took out the remains of the book in the evidence bag. He gave it to her and her eyes widened in astonishment.
‘As unlikely as that sounds, yes. Mrs Steadman had given me a crystal. The crystal was from the Light, the eagle was from the Dark.’
‘So they cancelled each other out? Like matter and anti-matter?’
Nightingale chuckled. ‘That’s exactly what I said. And yeah, that’s what happened.’ He took the remains of the book from her and put it back in his pocket.
‘Chalmers won’t be happy about that,’ said Jenny, nodding at his pocket.
Nightingale shrugged. ‘I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,’ he said. ‘The problem is, I can’t really tell him what happened because there’s no way he’d believe it.’
‘The crystal killed the eagle?’
Nightingale shook his head. ‘No, the crystal destroyed the books. But the eagle had to be told who or what to kill, and when that guidance wasn’t forthcoming it killed the people who summoned it. That was one of the rules – it couldn’t return to its nest until it has killed and tasted blood.’ He smiled. ‘It’s always the small print that catches you out in the end.’
‘But it won’t come back?’
‘It might if someone else summons it. But the books are destroyed so our names are no longer in the frame.’
He patted her on the shoulder and stood. ‘You need to rest,’ he said. ‘You might as well take tomorrow morning off. It’s not as if we’ve got much on at the moment.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, then frowned. ‘Wait a minute, tomorrow’s Saturday.’
‘All the better,’ he said. ‘You can have the whole day off, can’t you.’
‘It’s called the weekend, Jack.’
‘Well I’ve got things to do,’ said Nightingale. ‘I’m sure Chalmers will be chasing me for an update. And I need to go and see Lucy Clarke’s ex-husband.’
Jenny frowned. ‘Lucy Clarke?’
‘The woman who killed herself at the Tube station. She wants me to talk to her ex-husband and her daughter. She wants them to know that she didn’t kill herself and that she loves them.’
Jenny looked pained. ‘That’s going to be a difficult conversation to have.’
‘Another bridge I’ll have to cross. Are you going to be okay?’
She nodded. ‘I’m tired. But other than that I’m fine. You be careful out there, okay?’
Nightingale grinned. ‘Always,’ he said.
He let himself out of the house, climbed into his MGB and drove off. He didn’t see the good looking man with black hair and dark blue eyes standing in the shadows at the end of the mews. The man smiled as the MGB drove away. ‘Soon, Nightingale,’ whispered the man. ‘Sooner than you think.’
CHAPTER 26
Nightingale yawned and looked up at the sign announcing the arrival times of the Central line trains. Two minutes, seven minutes and eleven minutes. He wanted a cigarette but smoking was most definitely not allowed at Tube stations and the network of CCTV cameras meant that any transgression would be dealt with promptly and expensively. The last time he had checked, the fine was £1,000. He patted his pocket. His nicotine hit could wait.
He looked up at the electronic sign again. One minute. He still hadn’t worked out what he was going to say to Mr Clarke. Or to Charlie. He looked at his watch. He had just over half an hour to think of something. He could maybe pass himself off as a psychic or a spiritualist and say that he had a message for them, that Lucy had spoken to him from beyond the grave. It wasn’t the truth, of course, but would they believe the truth, that he had spoken to her in a dark mirror? If he told them that then they’d maybe want to try it for themselves, and Nightingale knew that was a bad idea. Nothing good ever came of talking to the dead. The dead were dead and best left that way.
A figure appeared at Nightingale’s left shoulder. He could never understand the urge to rush to board a train that hadn’t even arrived, but that was often the way with many Londoners. Rush, rush, bloody rush. Nightingale shuffled to the side. The figure shuffled with him, and that annoyed the hell out of Nightingale. He turned. It was a man, just over six feet tall and wearing a dark overcoat over a suit. Nightingale flashed the man an angry look but the man smiled amiably. He had perfect white teeth and eyes that were a blue so dark that they were almost black.
Nightingale looked away. To his right were a young couple of denim-wearing teenagers making out, oblivious to the judgmental looks being thrown their way. The man moved closer to Nightingale, then leant towards him so that his mouth was only inches away from Nightingale’s
ear. The Tannoy burst into life announcing the arrival of the next train and that passengers needed to move back from the edge of the platform. The announcement was almost certainly aimed at the teenagers who had strayed over the yellow line as they locked lips, but they were oblivious.
The man was even closer to Nightingale now. ‘Did you hear what I just said?’ asked the man, his forehead creased into a frown. Nightingale could smell mint on the man’s breath.
Nightingale grinned. ‘Sorry, mate, I can’t hear a thing,’ he said.
A blast of air on his right cheek announced the imminent arrival of the train. The man gripped Nightingale’s arms with fingers that felt like talons. His lips drew back in a snarl and he pulled Nightingale towards him. Nightingale felt warm breath on his ear as the man spoke earnestly. Nightingale laughed and the grip tightened on his arm. Nightingale turned. The eyes were completely black now. The teeth were no longer gleaming white, they were yellowed and pointed like fangs. The breath that seeped from between the thing’s cruel lips was fetid and smelled of sulphur. The train roared out of the tunnel. Nightingale twisted his arm away from whatever it was that was holding him, then he grabbed it by the lapels of its coat, twisted it around and then hurled it off the platform and into the path of the oncoming train. The brakes were already screeching but the train was still moving quickly and the body disappeared under the cab without making a sound.
The train came to a halt as the passengers around Nightingale screamed. He figured it would only be a matter of time before someone grabbed him and there was every chance that he would end up on the ground on the receiving end of a kick or two. He reached up his hands and pulled the foam earplugs from his ears. As he slipped the earplugs into their plastic case and put the case into the pocket of his raincoat, the first shouts started.
‘He did it!’
‘That bastard in the raincoat pushed him!’
‘He killed him, Get him!’
‘Get that scum now and call the fucking cops!’
A hand grabbed him by the shoulder and someone kicked his feet away from under him. Nightingale managed to break his fall so he didn’t hit the platform too hard. ‘Here we go again,’ he muttered as he curled up into a foetal ball.
CHAPTER 27
This time they left Nightingale in an interview room for the best part of four hours, initially under the watchful eye of a middle-aged uniformed constable who clearly thought he had better things to do. Several times Nightingale tried to start a conversation but the constable said nothing. The uniformed constable was replaced after three hours by a younger version who was equally uncommunicative. Nightingale figured they had been ordered not to talk to him. He settled back in his chair, stretched out his legs and tried to ignore his full bladder and parched throat.
Eventually Chalmers appeared, again in full uniform and this time accompanied by a young woman wearing a blazer and dark trousers. Chalmers closed the door and gestured at the woman. ‘This is DC Annette Fisher, she’s recently joined us so I wanted to introduce her to the notorious Jack Nightingale.’
Nightingale nodded and smiled at her. ‘How’s it going?’
‘So far, so good,’ she said.
‘Did they offer you a coffee?’ Chalmers asked him as he sat down at the opposite side of the table.
Nightingale wondered if he was joking. ‘No,’ he said, frowning as he tried to think what the punch line would be.
‘I’m sure DC Fisher wouldn’t mind popping to the canteen for you.’ The superintendent looked at the detective. ‘Would you? I hate asking but we can hardly let Mr Nightingale wander around the station.’
‘Not a problem, Sir,’ said Fisher, and she left the room.
Chalmers settled back in his chair. ‘Lovely girl,’ he said. ‘Very keen.’
‘That’s sexist, Chalmers. And sending her for coffee was sexist too.’
‘I wanted her to meet you, but I need a chat with you in private. So two birds, right?’
‘I’m not sure that makes any sense, but go ahead.’
The superintendent nodded slowly, his eyes staring at Nightingale with almost clinical interest. ‘So you’re now making a habit of pushing people under trains?’
‘I didn’t push Lucy Clarke. I tried to grab her.’
‘And today?’
‘Today is complicated.’
‘So you’re not denying that you pushed a man under a train this morning?’
‘Was the station CCTV working?’ asked Nightingale.
‘It was indeed.’ Chalmers grinned.
‘Then maybe I should be cautioned and maybe I should ask for a lawyer.’
‘That would be one way to go, of course. You know the Police and Criminal Evidence Act as well as I do. Did you know the man?’
Nightingale shook his head.
‘So he was a stranger? Why would you push a stranger under a train, Nightingale?’
‘As I said, it’s complicated.’
‘So you’re not denying it?’
‘You’ve got the CCTV.’
‘Why don’t you try to explain what happened before DC Fisher gets back.
‘You won’t believe me, Chalmers.’
‘Try me.’
Nightingale folded his arms and sighed. He really wanted a cigarette but from the way things were going he figured it would be a long time before he was allowed to light up again. There was no story that he could spin that Chalmers would believe. This wasn’t a situation he could lie his way out of. All he could do was to tell the truth. He sighed. ‘Okay, fine. Those suicides you’ve been looking at, some sort of demon from Hell has been behind them. They call it The Whisper Man. He gets close to you and he whispers in your ear and not long afterwards you kill yourself.’
The superintendent’s face stayed impassive but his eyes hardened.
‘It came for me on the platform. I fought back. It went under the train.’
‘It’s a demon?’
‘Yes.’
‘From Hell?’
‘Yes?’
‘And you killed it by pushing it under a train? Bollocks. You need silver bullets or a stake through the heart.’
‘If you want to kill a werewolf or a vampire, sure. But this was a demon that takes human form, and when it’s in human form it can be killed the same way you or I can be killed.’
Chalmers continued to stare at Nightingale. ‘So this thing whispers in your ear and you kill yourself?’
‘Pretty much, yeah.’
‘So why are you sitting here looking like shit and not smeared over the rails?’
Nightingale wrinkled his nose. He knew that the story he was telling made almost no sense at all, and that there was no way Chalmers was going to believe a word of it. But he was even less likely to believe that the only reason he had survived was because Proserpine had warned him.
‘I was wearing earplugs,’ he said eventually.
‘You were what?’
‘Earplugs. I live in Bayswater, it’s noisy, sometimes I sleep with earplugs in. This morning I forgot to take them out.’
Chalmers shook his head. ‘Do you think I’m stupid?’
Nightingale reached into his pocket and took out a small clear plastic case containing two orange earplugs.’
‘Bullshit,’ said Chalmers.
Nightingale shrugged and put the case back in his pocket.
Chalmers glared at him for several seconds, then nodded slowly. ‘That is one hell of a story, Nightingale.’
Nightingale shrugged. ‘Take it or leave it,’ he said. ‘But you have to realise that I wouldn’t push a complete stranger under the wheels of a train.’
‘Except that was exactly what you did.’
‘If I hadn’t, I’d be dead.’ Nightingale ran his hands through his hair. ‘I think I need a solicitor now if you’re going to charge me.’
‘Charge you with what?’
Nightingale lowered his arms, confused. ‘You’ve got CCTV of me pushing a man under a train. I assume no
matter what I say, I’m going to be put on trial.’
‘This Whisper Man, when it appeared to you, what did it look like?’
Nightingale frowned. ‘You’ve got the CCTV, right?’
‘The face is blurred,’ said Chalmers. ‘Your face is okay, the faces of everyone else on the platform are okay, but the man, as I said, his face is blurred. We can’t even see if he is talking to you. We can see what he’s wearing, but we can’t see his face.’
‘Did you see a Goth girl, with a dog?’
‘What the hell are you talking about, Nightingale? There was no Goth girl on the platform. Are you trying to fix up some sort of insanity plea?’
‘I sound crazy, don’t I?’
Chalmers nodded. ‘No question of that. And I doubt anyone is going to believe that Whisper Man story.’
‘Maybe,’ said Nightingale. ‘But I’m fairly sure that you won’t be having any more unexplained suicides.’
‘So all’s well that ends well?’
Nightingale forced a smile. ‘Except for the fact that I’m going to be charged with murder.’
Chalmers flashed him a complicated smile. ‘Well, on that score, as you say, it’s complicated.’
Nightingale tilted his head on one side. ‘What’s going on, Chalmers?’
‘I wish I knew, Nightingale,’ said the superintendent. ‘There’s no one I’d like to see standing in the dock more than you, but for that we need a body and…’ He shrugged.
Nightingale leaned forward. ‘There’s no body?’
‘It’s the strangest thing,’ said Chalmers. ‘The CCTV clearly shows the man going in front of the train. Plenty of eyewitnesses saw you push him to his death.’
‘Allegedly,’ said Nightingale.
Chalmers ignored the interruption. ‘The station was closed and then the train was moved back. But there was nothing there, Nightingale. No body, no blood, no DNA, no sign that anyone had ever been underneath the train. It’s as if it never happened.’
Nightingale shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. How could there not have been a body under the train? Then realisation dawned. Without a body, the police had no case, no matter what the CCTV showed. He was in the clear. A smile slowly spread across his face. ‘Thank you Proserpine,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘I owe you one,’
The Whisper Man Page 11