N ightingale phoned Dr Keller on the way back to London and asked if he could visit his sister on Thursday. The psychiatrist said that he wouldn’t be working but that he was more than happy for Nightingale to visit. He asked Nightingale when he’d be able to see a transcript of Barbara’s hypnotic-regression session and Nightingale said that she was still working on it.
He arrived at Rampton Hospital at midday with a large Harrods carrier bag. A guard held out his hand for the bag before allowing Nightingale to walk through the metal detector, then took it over to a steel table.
‘Just somethings for my sister,’ said Nightingale. ‘Dr Keller said that it was okay.’
‘It’s not up to the medical staff what comes in here,’ said the guard. He tipped the contents of the bag out onto the table. ‘The inmates are here because they’re dangerous; they can cause mayhem with a crayon.’
‘That’s okay, because I didn’t bring her any crayons.’
The guard scowled at Nightingale and held up a box of chalk. ‘What’s this, then?’
‘That’s chalk. Chalk and crayons are as different as chalk and cheese.’ He smiled brightly. ‘Her doctor said it was okay. She wants to do some drawing and he figured it would be part of her therapy.’
The guard opened the box and took out a stick of white chalk. He stared impassively as he broke it in half. ‘Your sister doesn’t need therapy,’ he growled. ‘She needs the death penalty.’ He closed the box and put it back into the carrier bag, then picked up a small cloth bag and untied the piece of string around the neck. ‘What’s this?’ he asked.
‘Salt,’ said Nightingale. ‘Minus the iodine. There’s a chance she’s allergic to the iodine so we thought we’d try her on de-iodised.’
The guard retied the bag and put it with the chalk. He picked up a small linen pillow. ‘What’s this for?’ he asked.
‘It’s a herb pillow, to help her sleep,’ said Nightingale. ‘Dr Keller said it was okay.’
‘What sort of herbs?’
Nightingale shrugged. ‘There’s rosemary and lavender, I think. I’m not sure. I got it from a herbalist.’
‘We get a lot of people trying to smuggle drugs in here,’ said the guard. ‘I’m going to have to get a dog.’
‘A dog?’
‘A sniffer dog.’ The guard called the hospital’s security centre on his transceiver and requested a drugs dog at the visitor’s entrance, then continued examining the contents of the carrier bag.
Nightingale pointed at two plastic bottles of Evian water. ‘She was complaining about the taste of the water in here.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with it,’ said the guard, checking the seals.
‘She said it tasted of chlorine.’
There were five white candles in the bag. The guard examined them and looked at Nightingale quizzically.
‘Aromatherapy,’ said Nightingale. ‘The herbalist said they might help relax her.’
The guard sniffed one. ‘Can’t smell anything,’ he said.
‘They’ve got to be burning,’ said Nightingale.
The guard nodded and put everything except the pillow back into the carrier bag. ‘You’ll have to wait for the dog,’ he said and nodded at a chair. ‘Have a seat; it might take a while.’
Nightingale knew that it was pointless to argue. He sat for twenty minutes until another guard appeared with a German Shepherd, which refused to take any interest at all in the pillow.
When Agnes, the female guard who had accompanied him on his first visit, came to meet him, Nightingale was finally allowed out of the holding area.
‘You know that Dr Keller isn’t here today?’ she asked as she walked down the corridor with him, swinging her keys back and forth.
‘That’s right,’ said Nightingale. ‘I’m just here for a chat, to see how she is.’
‘She seems happier since you started visiting,’ she said.
‘How did she react to the death of her parents?’
Agnes shrugged. ‘Water off a duck’s back,’ she said. ‘Psychopaths can be like that. They don’t react to things the same way that you or I do.’
They reached the door to the visitor’s room.
‘Can I see her on her own, just so I can have some privacy?’ asked Nightingale.
‘No can do, I’m sorry,’ said Agnes, unlocking the door. ‘But there’ll be just me and I’ll keep well away. There has to be a guard in the room at all times. There are safety issues.’
‘I’m her brother,’ said Nightingale.
She opened the door and let him go through first. ‘That’s as may be,’ she said. ‘But we had a woman who bit her daughter’s nose clean off a few years back. She might well be your sister but she’s also a psychopath and the medical condition takes precedence, I’m afraid.’ She nodded at the tables. ‘You make yourself comfortable and I’ll go and get her.’
Nightingale sat down and put the carrier bag on the table. Ten minutes later Agnes returned with Robyn. This time she was wearing grey stretch pants, a pink sweatshirt with GAP across the chest and white Reeboks.
‘Hi, big brother,’ she said, sitting down opposite him.
‘How’ve you been, Robyn?’
‘I’m okay,’ she said. ‘What is this, twice in one week?’
Agnes walked over to the vending machines and studied the contents.
Nightingale leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘I wanted to talk to you.’
‘About what?’
‘About getting you out of here.’
‘I’m not appealing,’ said Robyn, folding her arms. ‘I’m not going back into court.’
‘It’s not appealing,’ said Nightingale. ‘That’s not what I had in mind.’ He put his hand on the carrier bag. ‘I want you to do something much more creative than that.’
‘I killed those kids and I deserve to be here.’
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘How do you know?’
Nightingale linked his fingers on the table. ‘Do you remember killing the children?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Think, Robyn. Do you actually remember doing it? Do you remember the knife going in, the blood flowing, the way the eyes go blank at the moment of death?’
Robyn swallowed. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she whispered.
‘Because I don’t think you did it, Robyn. I don’t think you killed those children and I don’t think you deserve to be here. Which is why I want to help you to get out.’ He looked over at Agnes. The guard was sitting down and reading a newspaper. Nightingale took Barbara’s digital recorder from his coat pocket and put it in front of Robyn. The earphones were already plugged in. ‘Listen to this,’ he said. ‘It’s what happened during the session you had with Barbara.’
Robyn continued to stare at Nightingale as she reached for the earphones.
77
R obyn looked increasingly confused as she listened to the recording. Deep creases cut across her forehead and at one point she leaned forward and put her head in her hands. Nightingale looked over at Agnes but the guard seemed to be engrossed in her newspaper.
Eventually Robyn sat back and took out the earphones. The blood had drained from her face. ‘It was Marcus Fairchild,’ she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.
‘Yes,’ said Nightingale.
‘He said he was my friend. He said he’d represent me for no money because he wanted to help me.’ She reached over and grabbed Nightingale’s hands. ‘He lied to me, Jack. He framed me.’
‘That’s what it looks like.’
‘Why would he do that?’ Her nails dug into his flesh.
‘Maybe they needed somebody to take the blame.’
‘They? Who do you mean?’
‘He’s a member of a group that kills children. Sacrifices them. By setting you up, it would bring any police investigation to an end.’
‘But why did I believe that I’d done it?’
‘I think he managed to hypnotise you. He planted false memories in your head, and on
ce you thought you had done it you pleaded guilty and that was that.’
She finally released her grip on his hands and sat back, folding her arms and rocking backwards and forwards.
‘Why me? Why did that bastard pick on me? What did I ever do to him?’
Nightingale took a deep breath. ‘I think it has something to do with Ainsley Gosling,’ he said. ‘He was a member of the same group as Fairchild. It’s possible that Fairchild found out that you were Gosling’s daughter.’
‘So my own father sold me out?’
‘I don’t think so, Robyn. I’m pretty sure that Gosling didn’t know where you were. He lost touch with you after you were adopted. But Fairchild could have found out. Maybe there was bad blood between Fairchild and Gosling. I don’t know. I wish I had the answers for you.’
‘What do I do now, Jack?’ She nodded at the recorder. ‘You’re going to give that to the police, right?’
‘I’m not sure that’ll help.’
‘You have to get me out of here. I didn’t do it. I know now that I didn’t do it.’
‘Unfortunately you said you did and you can’t just take it back.’
Robyn pointed at the recorder. ‘But that’s proof, isn’t it? It’s proof that I didn’t do it.’
‘No, it’s not proof,’ said Nightingale. ‘At least not proof that a court will accept. Why would a court believe your new memory over what you said in court?’
‘We can tell them that Fairchild hypnotised me.’
‘We can’t prove that, Robyn. And he’s certainly not going to confess, is he? Who do you think they’ll believe? You, a convicted child killer, or Marcus Fairchild, a top City lawyer?’
‘So what are you saying? I rot here for the rest of my life for something I didn’t do?’
Nightingale shook his head. ‘No. I’ve got a plan.’
‘Tell me.’
Nightingale took a deep breath. ‘What I’m going to tell you will sound crazy.’
‘Any crazier than what I just heard? I don’t think so.’
‘You understand what happened? Marcus Fairchild is a Satanist. The children were killed in a Satanic ceremony.’
‘For what? Why kill children?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Nightingale.
‘You don’t know much, do you?’ she said, her voice loaded with bitterness.
‘I know how to get you out of here,’ said Nightingale quietly.
‘I’m listening.’
78
N ightingale finished speaking and sat back. Robyn stared at him, her eyes wide in disbelief.
‘You’re mad,’ she said. ‘You are stark raving mad.’
‘Every word I’ve told you is the truth,’ said Nightingale quietly.
‘Ainsley Gosling sold my soul to the devil before I was born?’
‘To a devil. Yes.’
‘A devil? How many devils are there?’
‘A lot.’
‘What do you mean, a lot?’
‘Millions or billions, it depends who you talk to. It’s the truth, Robyn. I know it’s hard to believe. But the fact that Marcus Fairchild killed those children and had you put away for it shows that there are dark forces at work that most people never even dream about. If someone else had told me this two months ago, I’d have called them crazy too.’
‘You know, I’m starting to think that you should be in here with me. Maybe crazy runs in the family.’
‘You may be right. But, the way I see it, doing something crazy is the only chance you’ve got of getting out of here, and of saving your soul.’
‘You believe in souls, do you?’
Nightingale stared at her for several seconds, then he nodded slowly. ‘I’m starting to, yes.’
‘And how exactly are you proposing that I do this?’
‘Okay,’ said Nightingale. ‘This is how it works. There are three superior devils in Hell. Lucifer, Beelzebuth and Astaroth. They’re the heavy hitters. Below them are six subordinates. And below them are seventeen ministers.’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Robyn.
‘I’m talking about doing a deal that will get you out of here,’ said Nightingale. ‘With one of the seventeen ministers. His name is Sugart.’
‘Would you listen to yourself? That’s a plan? To do a deal with one of Satan’s ministers?’ She sat back in her chair and folded her arms. ‘You know, Jack, there are murderers in here who are a hell of a lot less crazy than you sound right now.’
‘You don’t deserve to be in here. If you want to get out you’re going to have to fight fire with fire.’
‘So I do a deal with the devil? Do you realise how crazy that sounds?’
‘A devil, not the devil.’ Nightingale opened the carrier bag. ‘You have to do this, Robyn.’
‘This doesn’t make sense.’
‘None of this makes any sense. Look at me, Robyn. Please, look at me.’ He waited until she was looking into his eyes, then he reached over and held her hands. ‘I need you to trust me. I can’t tell you everything because if I do it’ll ruin it, but I swear on my soul, I swear on everything that I hold dear, on all that’s holy, that I only want what’s best for you. And I swear that if you don’t do this, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.’
Robyn tried to pull her fingers away but he held her tightly. ‘You don’t know me,’ she whispered.
‘You’re my sister,’ he said. ‘You’re the only family I’ve got left. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.’
‘And on the basis of you being the big brother, the big half-brother that I have met only twice in thirty-one years, I’m supposed to do a deal with the spawn of Satan?’
‘He’s not a spawn. He’s more of a subordinate.’
‘Have you heard yourself?’
‘Please, Robyn. Do this for me.’ He forced a smile. ‘It’ll make up for all the birthdays and Christmases that you missed. You owe me a lifetime of presents.’
‘You didn’t get me any presents, either.’
‘This is my present to you,’ he said. ‘Getting you out of here.’
‘And how do I do this deal with this devil?’
‘I’ll tell you how. And when. And you have to do exactly what I say and when I say.’
‘It’s not a sex thing, is it?’
‘No.’
‘I don’t have to dance naked around an oak tree or anything like that? Because they don’t let me out.’
‘You can do it in your cell,’ said Nightingale. He couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.
‘They don’t call them cells here. They call them rooms.’
‘Your room will be fine. It doesn’t matter where you do the ritual. What matters is that you do it right and you do it at the right time. It has to be done at midnight on New Year’s Eve. Literally as the clock strikes twelve. The timing is important and so is what you say. You have to follow my instructions to the letter. It’s your only hope of getting out of here.’
‘Why can’t we just get another lawyer?’
‘Because no one is going to believe us. Do you want to stay here for the rest of your life?’
Robyn shook her head slowly. ‘No,’ she whispered.
‘You’re only in here because Fairchild made you believe that you killed those children. But what’s done is done. This is your only chance to get out.’
‘How do you know it’ll work?’
Nightingale swallowed. His mouth had gone dry. ‘Because I’ve already done it,’ he said. ‘I called up Proserpine and I did a deal with her. It works, Robyn. The fact that I’m here talking to you and not burning in the fires of Hell is proof of that.’
‘But how can you prove that my soul has been promised to a devil?’
‘There is one way,’ he said. ‘Anyone whose soul has been sold has a mark. A pentagram. Somewhere on their body. It can be tiny or in somewhere inaccessible, but there has to be a mark.’
Robyn’s right hand jerked up to touch the right side of her head, j
ust above her ear.
‘You’ve got it, haven’t you?’ said Nightingale. ‘You’ve got the mark?’
‘It’s a birthmark,’ she said. ‘It’s tiny. You can hardly see it.’
‘That’s your proof, Robyn,’ he said. ‘The pentagram is the proof.’
‘It’s a birthmark,’ she whispered. She continued to stare into his eyes for several seconds, then she nodded slowly. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Tell me what to do.’
79
A n hour later Nightingale walked out of the hospital. Jenny was waiting for him in her Audi. ‘How did it go?’ she asked.
‘She’ll do it.’ He climbed into the car. ‘She doesn’t really believe it’ll work but she said she’ll give it a try.’
Jenny started the engine. ‘Now what?’
Nightingale sighed. ‘Now we wait for New Year’s Eve.’
About twenty minutes after they left the hospital, Jenny drove past a modern brick church with a tall steeple and a sign outside that announced that coffee and biscuits were served every morning at ten.
‘Stop here, will you?’ Nightingale asked Jenny.
‘Here?’ she said, looking over at him.
‘There,’ said Nightingale, jerking a thumb at the church.
‘If you need the toilet, we’ll stop at a filling station.’
‘The church, Jenny. Please.’
Jenny braked, flicked on her indicator and did a quick U-turn. ‘What’s going on, Jack?’ she asked as she drove back to the church.
‘I’m going to give God one last chance,’ he said.
Her jaw dropped. ‘You’re what?’
‘Eyes on the road, kid,’ said Nightingale.
She brought the Audi to a stop next to the entrance to the churchyard. ‘What did you say?’
Nightingale shrugged. ‘I just want a one-to-one with the big guy upstairs.’
‘You’re worrying me now,’ she said.
‘That’s the crazy thing about all this, don’t you see?’ said Nightingale. ‘Summoning devils is okay, but anyone who talks about having a conversation with God has a screw loose, right?’
‘It’s not as simple as that.’
‘But I’m right, aren’t I? No one really ever has a conversation with God, do they? And if anyone claimed they did, we’d think that they were crazy.’
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