Tennessee Night (The 8th Jack Nightingale Novel)

by Stephen Leather

  ‘To some. To others, those who have studied, it is an ancient truth. One that most think too awful to speak of, especially since the creature has not been heard of in eight centuries.’

  Nightingale lit another cigarette. It seemed he was in for a long night with the Professor. ‘Please, tell me about it. As much as you know.’

  ‘It is what I have been asked to do.’ He paused to knock the ashes from his pipe and refill it. He settled further back into his chair and began to speak again. ‘History holds many stories of the deaths and disappearances of a number of children at one time. Some you may have heard of. The Slaughter of the Firstborn in Ancient Egypt, Herod’s Massacre of the Innocents, the Fever-plague of the Mayans, the Vanishing of the young in Nubia, the Children’s Crusade...and of course, the story of the Rat-Catcher of Hameln.’

  ‘But none of those stories are true,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘Are they not? The stories have persisted for centuries, and those of us who have studied Daemonology know of many other such tales. In the Market Church of Hameln, there was a stained-glass window, made in the 1300s to commemorate the disappearance of the town’s children twenty years before. There is also a surviving manuscript from near the time, the Lueneburg manuscript, which stated that in the year of 1284, on the day of Saints John and Paul on June 26, 130 children born in Hamelin were seduced and lost at the place of execution near the koppen by a piper, clothed in many colours.’

  ‘June 26,’ said Nightingale. ‘That’s in two day’s time.’

  ‘I had noticed, it strengthened my suspicions.’

  ‘So what is this creature?’

  ‘A good question. I suspect it is a demon from Hell. A loathsome creation from millennia ago, set loose on the Earth to wreak carnage and despair. What could be worse than preying on children?’

  ‘Not much,’ said Nightingale. ‘But how can you be sure it exists?’

  ‘So many legends tell of such a creature, which can bend children to its will, and feeds off their death energies. Those legends have to originate from somewhere.’

  ‘And it’s called Dudák?’

  ‘It has had many names. In the east of Europe, amongst the Carpathian Mountains, it was known as Dudák. In India it was Muraleevaala, amongst the Mayans it was Quetalpoca, the Nubians knew it as Egaiouppi. Perhaps the simplest name was the one used in Germany, which gives us the modern legend. Pfeiffer, which means simply the Piper.’

  ‘But this thing was last heard of eight centuries ago, in Germany. What might it be doing in Tennessee now?’

  ‘What it has always done. Causing death and feeding from it.’

  Nightingale scratched his head. ‘This is a lot to take in. But where has it been for eight hundred years?’

  ‘I suspect it has been trapped,’ said the Professor. ‘Legend says the children followed it into a cave, and the cave was then sealed. How, or by whom, is not known, but I suspect the creature was unable to escape.’

  ‘But surely, a demon wouldn’t be contained by a few rocks?’

  ‘The creature needs to take human form to exist amongst us, it would be bound by most of the limitations of that form.’

  ‘So how did it get out?’ asked Nightingale.

  ‘I have no idea. Some more powerful force must have unsealed the cavern, and may be using the creature for its own purposes here. Purposes which seem to include revenge on you, and your principal via the deaths of children close to you.’

  Nightingale stubbed out what was left of his cigarette in a metal ashtray. ‘Okay Professor, now two important things. How do I find it, and how do I stop it, or better yet, kill it?’

  The Professor again looked past Nightingale, as if there were something behind him. With a grunt, he rubbed his right shoulder, then rolled both shoulders, as if to unloosen them from the grip of the arthritis he had mentioned earlier. ‘To find the creature will be all but impossible in a city of this size. It will be using a human body, but it could be literally anyone, of any age or race. If what you say is true, and it is bent on revenge, it seems far more likely that Dudák will find you, and your friend, to finish its work in your presence.’

  Nightingale shuddered. The idea of this monster tracking him down was not appealing. ‘And to stop it, Professor? What do I need to do?’

  ‘Again, very difficult. You could kill the human body, but Dudák might well be able to keep it functional despite great damage, by pure force of its will. Better to separate it from the host, by exorcising the creature, and then contain the demon, and kill it.’

  ‘Kill it how?’

  ‘To be quite frank, Mr. Nightingale, I would have no idea. Usually a demon is vulnerable to its opposite element. Dudák is a creature of Air, so in theory burial in Earth might destroy it. In practice, nobody has ever survived an attempt to finish the creature.’

  Nightingale nodded, and gave a wry smile. ‘So, all I need to do is find this host body in a city of six hundred thousand people, exorcise the demon from within it, then bury the creature in Earth. Still, there’s one good thing about it.’

  The Professor’s eyes opened wide. ‘What is that?’

  ‘I’ve got three whole days to do it in.’

  The Professor nodded, but didn’t seem too amused at Nightingale’s attempt at humour. He looked at his watch, and rubbed his shoulder again. ‘I fear it is getting late, my friend, and I have told you all I can. You have my telephone number if you think of anything further.’

  Nightingale pushed back the chair and stood up. ‘Thanks, Professor, you’ve been a great help, I think. At least I have some idea of what I might be dealing with.’

  The Professor nodded. ‘Again, forgive me for not getting up. My wife will show you out.’ He took off his spectacles and polished them as Nightingale left the room.

  CHAPTER 40

  The Professor sat back in his leather chair and took a final puff on his old pipe before knocking it out into the copper bowl. The pain in his right shoulder flared up again, and he rubbed at it, though it was the skin that ached, rather than the joint. He pushed his chair back and slowly, painfully, levered himself to his feet. He walked to the far end of his study, turned the key in the lock of the French windows, pushed the right-hand one open, and walked outside into his garden. There was no moon, so the only illumination came from the desk lamp back in the study and by the time he had gone ten paces he was in almost complete darkness.

  He looked up at the stars, naming the constellations to himself. He shivered and he sensed that he was no longer alone. He fought the urge to turn around, and kept on staring upwards. Finally the voice came from behind him, quiet, almost affectionate in its tone, yet completely authoritative.

  ‘It seems you have done well, Wilhelm. You carried out the instructions you were given.’

  The Professor nodded but didn’t turn. He kept his eyes on the stars above. ‘I hope I did as instructed. Most of what I told him was true, though some of it you told me personally, rather than it being the product of my knowledge and research, as I said to him. I think no living man, or woman, could have known some of it.’

  ‘I know, but it was important that he should know everything, and you were the means to inform him. You think he accepted your little lies?’

  ‘Why not? Many Germans came here before the war to escape persecution. He assumed I was Jewish. Why would he suspect I did not arrive until later? A fugitive from the Allies, rather than the Nazis?’

  ‘Why indeed, but it was a necessary fiction. He would accept a learned Professor, with a hobby of research into ancient legends, but not the son of Himmler’s coven master, and one of my most loyal followers. He is a trusting soul, and accepts too much at face value. He has always had problems in seeing beneath the surface.’

  ‘Indeed so.’

  ‘You have done well, as I knew you would.’

  The Professor took a deep breath, as if summoning up the courage for what he needed to do. ‘May I ask a question?’

  There was no a
ffection in the voice now, the tone was sharp, as it answered. ‘You may.’

  ‘It seems that many of those with knowledge of these matters have died recently. Am I to die this night?’

  The voice spoke more calmly this time. ‘No, Wilhelm, your life is not required from you tonight. You have served me well for many decades, as did your father before you. There is not long left to you, but you will die peacefully, and without pain. And then, of course, you will fulfil the pact you made all those years ago.’

  ‘I know what will be required of me, and I will pay that price. My wife will never know? She still prays for my immortal soul.’

  ‘She is wasting her efforts, but she will never know that. Farewell, Wilhelm, we shall not meet again in this world.’

  There was no sound from behind him, but the Professor knew instantly that he was alone again. He turned, walked back to the French windows, through into the study, locking up behind him, then out of his study, and slowly, painfully, up the stairs to his bedroom. His joints ached with the effort, but the skin on his shoulder no longer burned.

  CHAPTER 41

  Nightingale was almost falling asleep as he drove back to the Peabody, but he made it safely after one short stop at a 24/7 store to replenish his supply of Marlboro. He handed his keys to the valet in the parking garage and made for the lobby. A room-service sandwich, a bottle of Corona and finally some sleep were all that occupied his thoughts.

  He was destined to be disappointed.

  As he walked across the lobby to get his key, a figure rose from a table over to his right and came towards him. For a moment Nightingale struggled to recognise the figure in black jeans, zipper jacket and aviator sunglasses, but then his memory clicked. ‘Sergeant Parker. A little late for a social call, isn’t it?’ She looked very different in casual attire with her hair tied back.

  ‘It’s not really that, Nightingale. Why not have a beer with me? A nightcap?’

  ‘I never understood why they call a late-night drink a nightcap. It’s not as if you wear it on your head, is it?’

  ‘Is that a yes, or a no?’

  Nightingale grinned. ‘It’s a yes.’

  The Peabody Lobby Bar was quiet at this time of night, and there were plenty of empty tables near the one that Parker led him to. A waiter arrived quickly. Parker’s glass was still three-quarters full, and Nightingale took a quick glance at the menu, and flicked through pages of cocktails and wines until he reached the beer section. They had Corona, but when in Rome... ‘I’ll take a Wiseacre Tiny Bomb,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard good things.’

  The waiter nodded and strode off. Parker looked across the table and raised her eyebrows. ‘Three days here and you’ve gone native?’

  ‘I met a guy this afternoon who seemed to think it was a good beer,’ said Nightingale. ‘I’m all for new experiences.’

  The waiter clearly wasn’t too busy, and came back with Nightingale’s beer straight away. Parker raised her glass in salute, Nightingale followed suit, then took a sip. ‘Not bad, ‘ he said. ‘So what brings you here, Sergeant?’

  ‘Make it Bonnie. Actually I lied, this isn’t official police business. Yet.’

  ‘The clothes were a clue. Off duty?’

  ‘Suspended. You may have noticed that I shot dead a ten-year-old black girl this morning. There’s a departmental investigation.’

  ‘Is it worse because she was black?’

  ‘Probably. There’s some people believe that cops will take every chance they get to execute black people. Fortunately, I don’t think there’s going to be riots happening here in Memphis.’

  ‘There were plenty of witnesses, you had no choice, you probably saved lives.’

  ‘Probably. But there’s no doubt that I took one and that’s the issue right now. I killed a child, Jack. If I had to do it again I would, but that doesn’t make it any easier.’ She shrugged. ‘There’s plenty of CCTV and I’ll be exonerated eventually but that doesn’t make it any less of a tragedy.’

  Parker had finished her beer, and held up the glass to the waiter for another Samuel Adams.

  ‘I’m guessing it doesn’t feel good,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘Not in any way at all,’ said Parker. ‘You were a cop, you ever shoot anyone?’

  ‘No,’ said Nightingale. ‘It doesn’t happen often in Britain. Shooting is a last resort. The way it works in the UK, if a cop shoots anyone they are immediately taken off active duty and treated as a murder suspect. It’s up to them to prove that the shooting was justified, and if it isn’t they can face criminal charges.’

  ‘It’s my first time,’ said Parker, ‘and, Christ, a kid. A little girl. You got kids?’

  ‘Not me,’ said Nightingale. ‘You?’

  ‘Two, son of twelve and a daughter of ten. The same age as Julia Smith. Shit, it could have been my daughter, and some cop shot her.’

  Nightingale nodded, and wondered how many drinks Parker had downed while she’d been waiting. ‘So, you going to be in trouble?’ he asked.

  ‘Doesn’t look like it.’ said Parker. ‘The Mayor’s met with the “Black Lives Matter” people, local community groups, pastors, that kind of thing. Like you said, there were plenty of witnesses, and the CCTV shows exactly what happened. Shows me shouting warnings when I didn’t have to. And, which is an awful thing to say, it sort of helps that the two dead guys were black, and me too, takes the race element out of things. Maybe more black people would be dead if I hadn’t fired.’ She shrugged. ‘Every silver lining has a cloud.’

  ‘But that’s not helping you?’ said Nightingale.

  ‘Not one little bit. Jesus, Jack, I killed a ten-year-old girl for Christ’s sake.’

  Nightingale nodded and frowned. For a moment, it had seemed as if Parker’s words had awoken something in his own memory, something that should have been there, but, strangely, wasn’t. He shook his head but the feeling was still there, a sense that he was missing something. He looked at the clock on the wall over Parker’s shoulder. It was late and being a sympathetic ear wasn’t moving things along. He needed to get the woman out of her self-pity. ‘Yeah, I was there. And I’m sure the Memphis PD would put you in touch with counsellors and shrinks if you need help dealing with it. I’m neither of those, and I’m tired, so why are you wasting my time?’

  Parker’s fists clenched and her face flushed with anger. For a moment Nightingale thought he might have gone too far, but then the detective relaxed back into her seat, and a smile crept across her lips. ‘I see what you did there,’ she said, ‘You’ve done this kind of thing before. I didn’t come down here to whine, I want some answers, and I think you might have more than you’ve offered so far.’

  ‘Why would you think that?’

  Parker held up her left hand, and started to emphasise points by counting them off with her right index finger. ‘Three reasons. First you came down here nosing around into something when it was at such an early stage it hadn’t even registered with anyone as a thing. Second, you were right on the spot just when the last two kids on Kim Jarvis’s list died. What are the chances of that?’

  ‘Pretty high, I guess. And third?’

  ‘Third, I’ve been talking to our computers about you, Mr. Jack Nightingale.’

  ‘I’ve got no record.’

  ‘No you haven’t. Not so much as a parking ticket or a littering fine, in any State. But you are all over the system like a virus, for anyone who cares to look a little deeper than criminal records.’

  Nightingale didn’t like the sound of that, and was beginning to need a cigarette, but it might be good to keep Parker talking, rather than suggest a trip outside. ‘What do you mean by that?’ he asked.

  ‘Gotta love that accent. What I mean by that Jack Nightingale is that it’s just ridiculous the number of times your name comes up, every time some weird shit goes down. You’ve been taken in for questioning in California, New York, Florida, Texas, Louisiana, Nevada and half a dozen Mid-Western States. In cases of unsolved murders, disa
ppearances, baby-farming, supposed hauntings, bizarre phenomena and God knows what all else, up to and including alien invasions.’

  Nightingale grinned and shook his head. ‘I’ve never investigated little green men.’

  ‘I think they’re grey these days,’ said Parker. ‘Okay, maybe not alien invasions. But trouble sure does seem to follow you around. Or maybe you follow the trouble.’

  ‘I told you, I work for people who take an interest in unusual and unsolved cases. They send me in, I nose around, ask questions, lift up a few rocks and see what’s under them. It tends to bring me into contact with the cops, who want to know why I’m asking and what I’ve found out. Sometimes they forget to ask me politely.’

  ‘I’ll bet they do.’

  ‘But as you said, I’ve never been charged with anything. I’m clean.’

  ‘You say. But let’s come back to this case.’

  ‘I’ve told you everything I know.’ said Nightingale, looking into his glass.

  ‘My ass,’ said Parker. ‘I’ll bet you haven’t even come close to doing that. There’s just no way that some English guy wanders into town, meets up with a local reporter, then finds himself at the scene of three violent deaths, including the very same reporter. Maybe it happens in the movies, but not in Memphis.’

  ‘But you know full well I had no direct connection with any of those deaths. So what are you saying?’

  ‘What am I saying? I’m saying that Kim Jarvis had a list in her purse of eight names. Six of them committed suicide in the last week, the seventh was found dead in the Crystal Grotto, the place where Jarvis killed herself an hour or so later, while you stood watching. The eighth name on that list walked down Beale Street this morning, opened fire on everyone in sight and made me shoot her. Now how did Kim Jarvis come to have that list, and how did she know Julia Smith was going to do what she did twelve hours after she died?’

  ‘What’s your guess?’ said Nightingale.

  ‘My guess is that Kim Jarvis had that list because you gave it to her. Now I want to know if that’s true. If it is, I want to know where you got it from, and I want to know if there are any more names on your copy.’