Midnight
Page 36
Nightingale winced. ‘My head hurts,’ he said. ‘Can you raise the bed a bit?’
Jenny pressed a button to adjust the bed. It made a metallic grinding noise and slowly levered Nightingale into a sitting position.
‘Anyway, the Welsh cops are over the moon,’ she said. ‘Her flat was full of souvenirs. Every time she killed she took something from the victim’s home as a reminder. And her computer was chock-a-block with emails and website stuff. She’s already got a lawyer and they’re working on an insanity defence.’
Nightingale forced a smile. ‘Maybe she’ll end up in Rampton.’
Jenny grinned. ‘She can have your sister’s room.’ She sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Yesterday you said you wanted to talk about what happened. With the deal.’
Nightingale nodded. ‘Yeah. He agreed. Neither gets her soul. It was bargained twice, both times in good faith. So neither deal can stand and Robyn gets her soul back.’
‘That’s great,’ said Jenny.
Nightingale looked uncomfortable.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’
‘He wasn’t happy,’ said Nightingale.
‘I’m sure he wasn’t, because at the end of the day you tricked them. But all’s well that ends well, right?’
Nightingale looked even more uncomfortable.
‘Jack, what is it?’
‘It’s not as simple as all’s well that ends well. I had to negotiate.’
‘What do you mean?’
Nightingale reached over for the glass of water and took another drink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I need a cigarette.’
‘You’re in hospital, Jack. Smoking isn’t an option. Tell me what happened.’
Nightingale sighed. ‘He wasn’t prepared to let Robyn walk away without some payback.’
‘Payback? You’re not making any sense.’
‘Jenny, please don’t push me. You weren’t there. You didn’t see what he was like. The power he had . . .’ He ran his hands over his face. ‘He let Robyn have her soul back. It’s hers again. No one has any claim on it.’
‘But? There’s a “but”, isn’t there?’
Nightingale nodded. ‘Yeah.’ He sighed again. ‘Here’s the thing. Robyn gets to keep her soul but she dies on her thirty-third birthday. In two years’ time.’
Jenny opened her mouth in astonishment.
‘There was no room for manoeuvre. That’s what he wanted. It was a deal-breaker. He said that if I didn’t agree then he’d let one of them take her soul and to hell with the consequences.’
Jenny stood up, her eyes blazing. ‘You gave away your sister’s life? How could you do that?’
‘It wasn’t mine to give, Jenny. Don’t you see that? If I hadn’t done anything she’d have died in two years anyway. Only they’d have taken her soul as well. This way, at least . . .’
‘At least what, Jack? She’s got two years to live? Does she know?’
Nightingale shook his head. ‘And she won’t ever know. I don’t even know if I’m going to see her again.’
‘Where is she?’
‘I don’t know. And so long as everyone thinks she killed those kids, I don’t want to know.’
‘So she stays underground, lives her two years and then dies? How is that a good deal for her?’
‘She gets to keep her soul.’
‘We don’t even know what a soul is, Jack. We don’t even know if there are souls.’
‘If there aren’t, then what is all this about?’
‘I wish I knew,’ said Jenny. ‘But I know one thing: no one has given you the right to play God.’
‘That’s not what happened.’
‘That’s exactly what happened. You did a deal with a devil and as a result of that deal your sister is going to die in two years.’
‘You’re playing with words.’
‘No, Jack, that’s your prerogative. I’m telling you how I see it. You sold your sister out.’
‘I did a deal to save her soul.’
‘You had no right to do a deal like that. You should have talked to your sister first.’
‘That wasn’t possible. I had to do what I had to do.’
‘As always, Jack Nightingale is at the centre of the bloody universe.’
‘Jenny . . .’
Jenny shook her head and held up her hand. ‘Enough.’
‘You don’t understand.’
‘No, I do understand. That’s the problem. I’m out of here.’ She turned and walked away.
‘Jenny!’
She didn’t look back and walked out of the room.
Nightingale cursed as a plump West Indian nurse walked in. She grinned mischievously at him. ‘Girlfriend trouble, honey?’ she asked.
‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ said Nightingale.
‘There’s a spark,’ said the nurse, looking at his chart. ‘A definite spark.’
‘She’s always like that just before she bursts into flames,’ said Nightingale. ‘Speaking of which, I really need a cigarette.’
‘This is a hospital, honey.’
‘I know. But there’s a smoking room, right?’
She chuckled. ‘You do know that smoking is bad for you, don’t you?’
‘Lots of things are bad for you. Life is bad for you. At the end of the day, everyone dies.’
The nurse frowned and put down the chart. ‘Honey, what made you so cynical? Life is to be lived to the full and then you have an eternity with the Lord.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Mary-Louise.’
‘You believe that, Mary-Louise?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Even working here in a hospital? You must see people die every day.’
‘I see people go to meet their maker. And I see miracles. And if you had your eyes open you’d see them too.’
‘And what about angels? Have you seen angels?’
She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling. ‘I’ve seen doctors send home people who’d come here to die, and I’ve seen them turn suffering into release. If that’s not the work of angels then I’d like to know what is. What about you, Mr Nightingale, have you seen angels?’
‘Not yet,’ he said.
‘Well, keep looking, because they’re out there.’
Nightingale swung his legs over the side of the bed. ‘I might just do that,’ he said. ‘In the meantime I’m checking myself out. And before you ask, I didn’t take anything from the minibar.’
‘We don’t have minibars,’ said the nurse.
‘Exactly,’ said Nightingale. ‘Now, where are my clothes?’
101
Space folded in on itself amid the swirling clouds of smoke and then she was there, dressed in black, her black and white collie at her side. She was wearing a black T-shirt with a gold inverted cross on it, a black leather miniskirt and thigh-length black boots with stiletto heels. Around her neck was a black leather collar with chrome studs.
‘Why do you always dress like a cheap hooker?’ Nightingale asked.
She walked up to the edge of the pentagram. ‘I could ask you why you always dress like a cheap gumshoe,’ she said. The dog growled softly and Proserpine bent down to scratch it behind the ear.
Nightingale ran his left hand down the front of his raincoat. ‘It was raining earlier,’ he said.
‘I meant the suit. And the shoes.’ She pointed at his rain-flecked Hush Puppies. ‘Suede? Didn’t suede go out of fashion in the seventies?’
‘They’re comfortable,’ he said. ‘I do a lot of walking. Goes with the job.’
She looked at him and slowly walked around the edge of the pentagram, her heels crunching on the bare floorboards. ‘So what do you think, Nightingale? All’s well that ends well?’ Her smile hardened and she stared at him with her black, featureless eyes. ‘I told you before that I don’t like being bothered for nothing. You can’t summon me whenever you’ve a question you want answering.’
Proserpine frowned. ‘Give me? What could you possibly have that I’d want, Nightingale?’
Nightingale’s hand appeared from behind his back, holding a long-stemmed red rose. He tossed it high in the air and she caught it easily.
‘What’s this?’ she asked.
‘A flower,’ he said. ‘By any other name.’
Proserpine sniffed the rose. Nightingale reached into the pocket of his raincoat and brought out a small box. He threw it towards her and she caught it with her other hand. She smiled when she saw what it was. ‘Perfume?’ she said.
‘Mademoiselle by Chanel,’ he said. ‘The girl in Harrods said it was very popular.’
‘It is,’ she said.
‘She said Chanel Number 5 was heavier.’
‘Much,’ she said. ‘Too much jasmine for my taste.’
‘I’m crap at presents,’ he said. ‘I told you that before.’
‘Much as I appreciate the gift, you know that we eternals don’t celebrate birthdays,’ she said. ‘We measure time differently.’
‘Yeah, you explained that to me. It’s not a birthday present.’ He smiled and took out his pack of Marlboro and his lighter. ‘It’s to say thank you.’
‘Thank you?’
He tapped out a cigarette and slipped it between his lips. ‘You sent three guys to kill me. Well, two guys and a girl.’
‘That was the deal,’ she said. ‘Three questions answered; three killers.’
‘Yeah, but you decided who to send, didn’t you? You could have sent anyone, and I’m pretty sure that, doing what you do, you’d be spoiled for choice.’
‘I do know some mean motherfuckers, that’s true.’
Nightingale grinned. ‘I love it when you talk dirty.’
‘Don’t flirt with me, Nightingale,’ she said. ‘I choose this form because, like your cheap suede shoes, I’m comfortable with it. It’s not the real me.’
‘It’s not about the way you look,’ said Nightingale. ‘It’s about what you did. You could have had a sniper blow me away or have a bomb put under my car, but you didn’t. You gave me a fighting chance.’
Proserpine shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t read too much into that if I were you,’ she said.
‘You could have sent killers who wouldn’t have given me a chance. They could have killed people close to me. Collateral damage. But you didn’t do that, did you? You sent people you knew I could beat.’
‘You’re reading too much into it, Nightingale.’
Nightingale shook his head. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘But, whatever the reason, you went easy on me and I just wanted to say thank you.’
‘With perfume and a rose?’
‘I had absolutely no idea what else to get you,’ he said. ‘Okay. That’s all I wanted to say. You can go now, and I promise not to bother you again.’ He flicked the lighter.
‘You know that cigarette smoke is an impurity,’ she said. ‘It’ll weaken the protective circle.’
Nightingale flicked his lighter again, lit the cigarette and then blew a cloud of smoke into the air. ‘You know what, honey?’ he said. ‘I trust you.’
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’ she said.
Nightingale shrugged. ‘I’ll risk it.’
‘Up to you,’ she said. ‘But I have to say that you’re being a little presumptuous.’
Nightingale frowned as he blew smoke. ‘Why?’
‘I answered three questions for you.’
‘And you sent three killers. Chance, Katherine Whelan and the arsonist.’
Proserpine smiled. ‘Whelan was nothing to do with me,’ she said. ‘She had her own agenda. The other two were mine, though.’
Nightingale’s cigarette froze on the way to his lips. ‘So there’s still another killer out there?’ he said.
Proserpine smiled and blew him a kiss. ‘Be lucky,’ she said, then turned and walked away.
Time folded in on itself and she and the dog vanished.
Nightingale took a long pull on his cigarette and let the smoke escape slowly from between his lips. ‘That didn’t go quite as well as I’d hoped,’ he said. He flicked ash onto the floor and stepped out of the circle.
Also by Stephen Leather
Pay Off
The Fireman
Hungry Ghost
The Chinaman
The Vets
The Long Shot
The Birthday Girl
The Double Tap
The Solitary Man
The Tunnel Rats
The Bombmaker
The Stretch
Tango One
The Eyewitness
Spider Shepherd thrillers
Hard Landing
Soft Target
Cold Kill
Hot Blood
Dead Men
Live Fire
Rough Justice
Fair Game (July 2011)
Jack Nightingale supernatural thrillers
Nightfall
About the author
Stephen Leather was a journalist for more than ten years on newspapers such as The Times, the Daily Mail and the South China Morning Post in Hong Kong. Before that, he was employed as a biochemist for ICI, shovelled limestone in a quarry, worked as a baker, a petrol pump attendant, a barman, and for the Inland Revenue. He began writing full time in 1992. His bestsellers have been translated into more than ten languages. He has also written for television shows such as London’s Burning, The Knock and the BBC’s Murder in Mind series.
Go to www.jacknightingale.com or www.stephenleather.com to find out more.