Tennessee Night (The 8th Jack Nightingale Novel)

by Stephen Leather

  ‘Hah,’ scoffed the Professor, ‘that is just what he would want you to think.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Nightingale. ‘He’s been anxious in the past to stop some people using the Occult to bring harm to the world, to prevent them exposing things that should be kept hidden, to ensure they don’t gain too much power.’

  ‘He will have made enemies. So will you, if you are his cats-paw.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t have chosen that term, I prefer to think of myself as an assistant. ‘

  The Professor slapped his hand down on the desk. ‘Cats-paw. For a foolish vigilante. Such people are dangerous, and will make dangerous enemies. Proceed to the current situation. It deals with children, no?’

  ‘Yes. As you said, it appears that we’ve made some pretty powerful enemies. A few days ago, he received a list...’

  The old man sat in silence while Nightingale related the story of the cursed list, his only movements being to nod his head, puff out more clouds of smoke, and occasionally widen his eyes in astonishment or horror. Nightingale was now running through the list of children, and their suicides, when Schiller interrupted him. ‘Excuse me, there is not the possibility, however slight, that these children could have been murdered?’

  ‘Seems not, The police have called them all suicide, and I’m inclined to agree, seems no way they could be anything else. Well, except Julia Smith this morning, she was clearly shot by a cop, but she’d worked very hard to bring that situation about.’

  ‘A policeman shot her?’

  ‘A policewoman. A detective. But she had no choice. The child was holding a gun and could have killed a lot of people. It was what the media calls “suicide by cop”, where someone wants to die but gets the authorities to do the dirty deed.’

  The Professor nodded. ‘This seems very bad, but so far, it is just what you might call the hors d’oeuvre, no? The main course of the feast is yet to come.’

  ‘It seems that way. I doubt my boss would even have noticed this happening at all if someone, or something, hadn’t gone to a lot of trouble to bring it to his attention. The last two names on the list are plainly directed at him and me, they’re people we care about, and it was obvious that we would put our heads above the parapet to save them.’

  ‘But this is so complicated, children killing themselves, magical lists, just to bring you here. If someone has a grudge against you and your principal, why not just shoot you? Or slit your throat? Or put poison in your morning coffee? There are much simpler ways to get revenge, no?’

  ‘Maybe whoever is behind this can’t arrange that. But more likely, just killing us isn’t enough. Maybe they need to put us through Hell before we die. Or maybe...’

  He paused, blew a smoke ring and watched it widen out as it drifted upwards.

  ‘Maybe what?’ asked the Professor.

  ‘Maybe they want to back us into a situation where we’ll offer them something even more important than our lives for the kids to be spared.’

  The Professor peered at Nightingale over the top of his spectacles. ‘Such as what?’

  ‘Souls are currency in certain circles.’

  ‘So they might think you would sacrifice your own soul to save a child?’

  ‘They might.’

  ‘And what about your principal? Would he too make such a bargain?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I’m also not sure if he’s in a position to offer it.’

  Nightingale remembered the one occasion that he’d asked Wainwright direct if he’d made a pact with a Devil, exchanged his soul for his huge wealth and influence. ‘That’s not something you ever ask someone,’ had been Wainwright’s response.

  The Professor put his pipe down on a small ivory stand next to the computer monitor, and pressed his fingers together. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them suddenly and stared into space, past Nightingale’s shoulder, as if he could see something there.

  ‘But surely,’ he said, ‘if they wished such a bargain, it would be simpler to threaten the children directly, rather than arrange this complicated system of suicides?’

  ‘Maybe, or maybe they want to prolong the agony, make us suffer.’

  ‘Why should you be suffering at the death of strangers?’

  ‘Maybe because they know I’ve always felt sympathy for children in danger.’

  The Professor stared at him with watery eyes. ‘And can you honestly say you are terribly upset by these recent suicides?’

  Nightingale took another pause. ‘No, not really upset, or hurt. I have no connection to them, I never knew any of them alive. Except the last two. Those two are personal. But personal or not, I need to stop them from dying. I need to put a stop to whatever is happening.’

  The Professor picked up his pipe again, inhaled deeply and let out more smoke. ‘What if the deaths of these children serve a purpose in themselves, apart from prolonging your discomfort and assuring you that they are serious?’

  ‘What other sort of purpose might the deaths of innocent children serve?’

  ‘Let me give that some thought,’ said the Professor. ‘In the meantime, you have more to tell me, I think. About the suicide and the visit you had from the demon who calls herself Proserpine.‘

  It was clear that he had been well briefed so Nightingale held nothing back from the Professor. He told him everything about Kim Jarvis’s suicide and the police discovery of the brand of the Nine Angles on her shoulder.

  ‘You have come across this brand before?’ asked the Professor. ‘You know what it signifies?’

  Nightingale had no wish to recap on his various encounters with the Order of The Nine Angles, which had been the final reason for his faking his own death and leaving England, so he just nodded. ‘Yes, I do. And I know it ties her in with the visitation I had from Proserpine.’

  ‘Tell me everything the demon said.’

  Nightingale gave him a verbatim account of the encounter with Proserpine.

  ‘She would not use words idly,’ said the Professor. ‘She said you had both danced your jig, and now it was time to pay the piper?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘I see. And now, to go back to the reporter. Tell me again what she said before she killed herself.’

  ‘She said “Bye, Dude” and then she pulled the trigger.’

  ‘Hmm. This is sometimes how the young people address each other. Though, perhaps an odd choice of word to an Englishman in the last seconds of her life. Unless she was not addressing you.’

  Nightingale was puzzled by that. ‘I was the only one there.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  The Professor pulled off his glasses and stared straight into Nightingale’s eyes. ‘Think hard now, think, remember. Is it possible she did not say “Dude”. Is it possible she said “Dudák’? What do you think? Is that a possibility?’

  Nightingale felt the hairs on his neck rise again, for no reason that he could have given. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But who or what is “Dudák”? It’s not a word I’m familiar with.’

  The Professor replaced his gold glasses on his nose, and leaned back in his chair. ‘My friend,’ he said. ‘What do you know of Hameln?

  CHAPTER 36

  A thousand miles away, the Gulfstream had been cleared for take-off and Joshua Wainwright sat back in his white leather seat, fastened his seat-belt and stubbed out his cigar as the plane prepared to race down the runway. Amanda was strapped into her seat in the rear of the cabin. With the exception of the two pilots, they were the only people on board that night.

  Wainwright was on his mobile phone as the plane’s wheels left the ground. ‘Any report from the security team outside the house? Nothing? I guess that’s good. No, no new instructions and I know it’s tough not being more specific. Just keep the car outside her house, and two teams to follow the little girl everywhere she goes. The trackers are on both cars, no? No, no need to follow either of the adults, like I said, unless the girl’s with them. Don’t let anything happen to her, and watch her li
ke a hawk. And don’t get seen. Yeah, I know it’s impossible, but just get it done.’

  He cut the connection and instantly dialled another number.

  ‘I’m on my way. No, he doesn’t know. Yes, for sure. Very pissed, but it’s not his call any more. No, I don’t think he’s got that far yet. How could he? I can’t stay away, I know what I saw, and I think I know what it means. Get everything ready, I may need you, and it, at no notice at all. Don’t let me down on this.’

  Again he cut the connection, again he dialled a new number straight away. ‘Valerie? Coming in as discussed. The hire car will be ready for pick-up in the name I gave you? Yeah, I got the licence and credit cards. And I’m booked in at the Crowne Plaza in the same name. Nothing fancy, just a room. Nah, I don’t know why I’m bothering to call really, when did you ever forget anything? But this is just so damn important.’

  This time he put the mobile phone back in the pocket of his jacket, picked up the half-smoked cigar, relit it and smoked for a while. Amanda brought him a large Glenfiddich, which he managed to make last for thirty minutes. He looked at his watch and figured he had two hours before landing, so closed his eyes and willed himself asleep.

  It might be his last chance to rest for quite a while.

  CHAPTER 37

  ‘Hameln?’ repeated Nightingale. ‘Nothing at all, who, or what is it?’

  ‘It is a “what”, a place,’ said the Professor. A small town of fifty thousand people in what is now the Lower Saxony region of Germany. Famous for only one thing in its entire history. The Rat-Catcher.’

  Nightingale frowned. ‘Hameln? I thought it was Hamelin.’

  ‘Trust me, my friend, I know how to pronounce it.’

  ‘Tomato, potato,’ said Nightingale, but it was clear from the look of confusion on the Professor’s face that he had no idea what he was talking about. Nightingale shrugged. ‘So you’re talking about the pied piper?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous, it’s a myth, a fairy story.’

  The Professor shook his head. ‘There are many things in history which now have the status of myths, legends or fairy stories,’ he said. ‘Some of them are just that. But in other cases, the legend has grown up to hide an appalling truth. It is so in this case. Tell me what you know of the story.’

  ‘Same as everyone else, I suppose,’ said Nightingale. ‘The town was overrun with rats, the townsfolk had no answer, when along came this bloke to offer to get rid of all the rats for a purse of gold or something. He played his magic pipe, the rats all followed him and ran into the river. The townspeople welched on paying him, so this time he played a different tune and all the town children followed him into a cave or something, and were never seen again.’

  ‘Indeed so. Now, focus on the main point of the story. What actually happened?’

  ‘The kids followed him, did what he wanted. And they were never seen again.’

  ‘Where do you think they all are now, Mr. Nightingale? Playing happily in Paradise?’

  ‘I suppose they’re all dead, aren’t they?’

  ‘They are. And they died because Dudák wished them to be dead. And then he fed from them.’

  CHAPTER 38

  Sarah and Matthew Fisher watched in horror as the news bulletin showed the CCTV footage of the shooting in Beale Street that morning. The scene was total confusion, chairs and tables overturned, customers diving for some sort of cover, all played out in silence, apart from the commentary by the reporter over the top. ‘The latest casualty figures are three dead, including the shooter, and two wounded, one seriously. Police have not released names of those killed or injured at the moment. Witnesses say that the shooter was wearing a school uniform, and appeared to be quite young. Police have stated that the shooter was shot and killed by a plain-clothes police officer, after ignoring several warnings to drop the weapon. The name of the officer has not been released. Representatives of Black Lives Matter have met with the police and the Mayor’s office, but have released no statement so far. The Mayor has appealed for people to stay calm. On Beale Street, flowers have been left at the scene of the shooting.’

  The picture showed scenes of two men walking towards the small body on the sidewalk, and then cut out. The scene changed to a report from a woman in the street outside Memphis City Hall, covering an upcoming special election, and Sarah pressed the mute switch. She looked across at her husband, at the other end of the sofa.

  ‘You saw him too, didn’t you?’ she said to her husband.

  He nodded. ‘It certainly looked like him,’ he said.

  ‘It was him. Same raincoat, same haircut, same old shoes. Nightingale, the man who was here three days ago. The one who seemed so interested in Naomi.’

  ‘Oh, that’s pushing it a little far, honey. The man was barely here twenty minutes, just a friend of your brother’s, a quick social call. And Naomi liked him, she was the one who wanted to show him her room.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not saying he’s a danger to her, he seemed perfectly nice. But you know what people are saying about this morning’s shooting?’

  ‘What’s the word on the street, honey?’ asked Matthew with a smile.

  ‘Time and a place for humour, this ain’t it,’ she said dismissively. ‘People are saying the shooter was a kid in a St Richard’s uniform. Naomi’s school. And Naomi says one of the girls in her class was missing after morning recess. Julia Smith, you know, Councilman Smith’s daughter.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Sarah. That’s a pretty big leap, and it’s all just gossip. Ten-year-old girls at private schools don’t suddenly turn themselves into spree killers.’

  ‘No,’ said his wife, ‘I’ll grant you that’s not normal. But there’ve been a few kids that age not exactly acting normal in Memphis these last few days. Look at that boy who cycled all the way to the train station just to walk under the train. And the kid who killed herself in the Crystal Grotto. And now this.’

  ‘If it happened that way.’

  ‘It happened that way. And that English guy was right there. And he’s a friend of Joshua.’

  ‘Why would that be a bad thing? What would Joshua or his friend know about kids in Tennessee?’

  ‘Well, nothing I guess. But, you know, you’ve never exactly been a fan of Joshua.’

  Matthew Fisher held up his hands in protest. ‘Now, honey, you know that’s not true. I’ve got nothing against your brother. Fact is, we wouldn’t be in this house now without that generous wedding gift from him. But he’s never been interested in my line of work, in fact I always got the feeling he disapproved a little of you marrying a priest. And, you know, there’s always been something a little unusual about him. He’s a hard guy to categorise. All that money from who knows where, always travelling the world, never in one place for very long, no real friends that we know of, nothing in the way of relationships, he never talks about himself. But he’s never been anything but kind to us, and to Naomi. I’m sure he wouldn’t have sent his friend up here to cause any harm to children. Much less Naomi. She’s his niece, remember. She’s his blood.’

  ‘Oh I know Joshua would never hurt us, and the same goes for any one he trusted. But I have a bad feeling about all this. There’s something not right, and it’s coming our way, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘One of your feelings again?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Sarah. ‘I know you don’t believe in them, and most of the time I don’t myself. But sometimes they’ve been right. Look at that time I got a feeling about Mrs. Laurence, and told you about it. Next day she had a stroke. And the Hunt family. I have the same kind of feeling now, but this time it’s for us.’

  Matthew Fisher shuffled along the sofa, put his arm round his wife and gently drew her towards him. ‘Sarah, honey, it’ll be alright. I don’t have second sight, I’m not sure you do, but I have faith in the Lord, and he’s not about to let anything happen to us. We can give Joshua a call in the morning, and I’m sure he’ll tell us there’s nothing to worry about.’


  She nodded. ‘You’re probably right. Let’s do that. And one more thing...’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘When you go in to check on Naomi tonight, just for me, give her your Mother’s gold cross to wear, and say a prayer over her, just for God to keep her safe.’

  He nodded, and the shadow cast by the lamp hid his frown from her. It was rare for Sarah even to pay lip-service to her husband’s religion. Something had got her genuinely worried.

  Across the street, fifty yards or so down from the Fisher’s front drive, the two large men in the dark sedan sat watching the door and sipping the last of the coffee they’d brought with them in the thermos. The clock on the dash showed they’d be relieved in another hour, but they were experienced professionals, so there was no slackening in their concentration. Their eyes were peeled for anyone suspicious approaching the house. It seemed unlikely that the little girl would be leaving home at this time of night. She was probably fast asleep, and the men outside would see she came to no harm.

  Neither of them noticed Dudák, who had passed within twenty yards of them, smiling and satisfied.

  CHAPTER 39

  Nightingale stared at the Professor in astonishment. He could barely comprehend what the Professor had said, let alone believe the man. ‘He fed from them?’ he said. ‘You mean this thing’s some kind of a cannibal?’

  The professor shook his head sharply. ‘No, no, my friend. Dudák would not feed on their bodies, he would absorb their life energy from them.’

  ‘What does that mean? He sucks the life from them?’

  ‘Again, no. Dudák does not kill, but the legend says he lives from death.’

  ‘You say legend. So it’s a story?’