I Know Who Did It (A Jack Nightingale Short Story) (5 page)

‘You really
believe that?’

‘If I didn’t, I
wouldn’t be up at sparrow’s fart, would I?’

The front door
opened and a man in a suit stepped out. He was carrying a briefcase. ‘Is that
him?’ asked Nightingale, peering at the picture of the Richard hall driving
licence on his phone.

‘Hard to tell,’
said Jenny.

The man pulled
the door shut and walked down the path towards the pavement.

‘It’s him, no
doubt,’ said Nightingale. He climbed out of the car. ‘You stay where you are.’

‘That’s exactly
what I was planning to do,’ she said.

Nightingale
walked towards the man. He kept his head down and tried to get by but
Nightingale held out his arms to block his way. The man stopped, confused. Only
then did he look at Nightingale. ‘Mr Nelson? Charles Nelson?’

Nightingale had
been a cop long enough to recognise guilt when he saw it, even though it
flashed across the man’s face in less than a second. ‘I’m sorry, no, you have
the wrong person.’

He tried to get
by but Nightingale moved to block his way again. ‘You were headmaster at
Rushworth School forty years ago.’

The man froze and
his eyes burned into Nightingale’s. ‘Are you stupid? How old do you think I
am?’

‘We both know how
old you are, Mr Nelson.’

‘Are you mad?’
sneered the man.

‘I’m not mad
enough to do a deal with Paimonia,’ said Nightingale. ‘Not now I know what that
entails.’

The man’s eyes
narrowed. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

‘The name’s
Nightingale.’

‘Have you got a
card, Mr Nightingale?’

‘Why do you want
my card?’

‘I’m in a bit of
a rush right now, I’ll call you later.’ He looked over Nightingale’s shoulder
at the Audi. ‘The blonde, she’s with you?’

‘All I want is
for you to confirm that you used to run Rushworth School. And that you left
after Emily Campbell died.’

The man thrust
his face close to Nightingale’s. ‘Who the fuck are you?’

‘I told you.
Nightingale.’

‘What the fuck do
you want?’

‘I wanted you to
confirm that you’re Charles Nelson. And you’ve pretty much confirmed that.’

The man moved
even closer to Nightingale so that their noses were just inches apart.
Nightingale could smell the man’s breath. It was sour, like milk that had gone
off. ‘I’ve confirmed fuck all, now you need to get the hell out of my way or
I’ll rip your fucking arm off.’ His eyes went completely black and Nightingale
flinched as he saw his own face reflected in them. He took a step back and the
man pushed past. Nightingale watched him go, then walked over to the Audi.
Jenny looked over at him
as
he climbed in. ‘How did it
go?’ she asked.

‘Not great.’

‘He was looking
at the car, wasn’t he?’

‘Yeah. Sorry.’

‘If he knows my
registration number he can track me down.’

‘He’d have to
know the right people, Jenny.’

‘If he’s who you
think he is, he probably does.’ She sighed. ‘Jack, what the hell have you
done?’

* * *

Jenny stopped the Audi in front of the
gates to Gosling Manor and Nightingale climbed out to open them. She drove
through and waited while he closed the gates and got back into the car. She put
the car in gear and drove along a narrow paved road that curved to the right
through thick woodland and parked next to a huge stone fountain, the centrepiece
of which was a weathered stone mermaid surrounded by dolphins and fish. They
climbed out and looked up at the two-storey mansion, the lower floor built of
stone, the upper floor made of weathered bricks, topped by a tiled roof with
four massive
chimney stacks
.

‘
You should sell it,’ she said. ‘It’s not as if you’re living here.’

‘
I will,’ said Nightingale. ‘Once I’ve worked out what to do with all
the stuff in the basement.’

Nightingale fished the key from his
raincoat pocket and unlocked the massive oak door. The hallway was huge, with
wood-panelled walls, a glistening marble floor and a large multi-tiered
chandelier that looked like an upside down crystal wedding cake. There were
three oak doors leading off the hallway, but the entrance to the basement library
was hidden within the wooden paneling. He clicked it open and reached through
to flick the light switch. Jenny followed him down the wooden stairs.

The basement ran the full length of the
house and was lined with shelves laden with books. Running down the centre of
the basement were two lines of display cases filled with all sorts of occult
paraphernalia, from skulls to crystal balls. At the bottom of the stairs was a
sitting area with two overstuffed red leather Chesterfield sofas and a
claw-footed teak coffee table that was piled high with books.

Nightingale waved at the bookshelves. ‘We
need something about summoning demons,’ he said. ‘Specifically a demon called
Paimonia.’

‘Is there an
index or something that lists the books?’

‘Not that I know
of,’ said Nightingale.

‘So we browse
through, what, two thousand volumes?’

‘Do you have a
better plan?’

She sighed.
‘Unfortunately not.’ She took off her coat and draped it over the back of one
of the sofas, then walked over to the bookcases closest to the stairs.
Nightingale started on the bookcase next to hers. As always he was amazed by
the variety of titles in the library, all devoted to witchcraft and the occult.
The books had been collected over more than fifty years by Nightingale’s
genetic father, Ainsley Gosling, a Satanist who had put Nightingale up for
adoption at birth.

It took them the
best part of two hours before they found what Nightingale was looking for. Like
most of the books on the shelves, there was no title on the spine. It was bound
in the skin of some long-dead animal, a reptile maybe. It was a small book, six
inches by four inches just about, with fewer than a hundred pages, most of
which were blank. The pages weren’t paper, they were more like yellowed cloth,
and the words had been handwritten in capital letters. The only title was on
the first page – THE SUMMONING OF DEVILS and underneath was a list of
twelve names. Paimonia was the last name.

Nightingale took
the book over to one of the sofas and sat down. Luckily the book was in English
– the volumes on the shelves came from all over the world, and a lot of
them were written in Latin.

‘Does it tell you
what you need?’ asked Jenny.

Nightingale
nodded. ‘The whole thing. Though it skates over the details over what the deal
involves.’

‘The deal?’

Nightingale was
about to explain when he realised that Jenny was better off not knowing the
finer points of negotiating with demons. ‘It’s complicated,’ he said. ‘But I’m
guessing that Nelson found a book like this.’

‘What are you
planning, Jack?’

‘What do you
mean?’

‘You’ve got that
look in your eye that says you’re up to something.’

Nightingale
grinned. ‘I’m just doing my research, that’s all.’

Jenny looked
around the basement and shivered. ‘Can you do it somewhere else, this place
gives me the
heebie jeebies.’

‘
The heebie jeebies?’

‘
You know what I mean. The sooner you sell this place, the better.’

* * *

Nightingale was
about to clean his teeth when his phone rang. It was Jenny. ‘He’s here, outside
my house,’ she said, her voice trembling.

‘Who is?’

‘Nelson. Or Hall.
Or whatever his name is. He’s parked in a grey Toyota.’

‘Has he said
anything?’

‘He’s just
sitting there.’

Stay inside, keep
the door locked, I’ll be right around.’

Nightingale
hurried downstairs to the street and flagged down a black cab. Jenny’s
three-bedroom mews house was just off the King’s Road in Chelsea. Nightingale
had the cab drop him at the entrance to the mews. Jenny’s Audi was parked
outside her house. The grey Toyota was four houses along. There was someone
sitting in the driver’s seat, hands on the wheel. Nightingale walked towards
the car, trying to stay in its blind spot. He grabbed at the passenger door
handle and pulled the door open. Hall looked over at, mouth open in surprise.
Nightingale climbed in and slammed the door shut. ‘What the hell are you
doing?’ he said between gritted teeth.

Hall sneered at
him. ‘It’s a free country. You came around to my home, I thought the least I
could do was return the favour.’

‘I don’t live
here.’

‘I know that. The
lovely Ms McLean does.’

‘You go near here
and I’ll…’

‘You’ll what,
Nightingale? And I’m already here so do what you think you have to do?’

‘I just want you
to leave her alone. She’s nothing to do with this. If you’ve got a problem with
me then face me, man to man.’

Hall chuckled.
‘First things first.’

‘What do you
mean?’

‘You haven’t
worked it out yet? I’m due a sacrifice, and Ms McLean fits the bill. It’s a
pity she’s not a virgin, but…’

Nightingale
grabbed Hall by the throat but the man continued to smile at him. ‘What do you
think you can do to me, Nightingale?’ he said, his voice strangled but firm.

‘I can stop you.
That’s what I can do.’

Hall reached
inside his jacket and pulled out a knife. It had a blade almost six inches
long, pointed and with a jagged edge along one side. Nightingale stiffened and
released his grip on Hall’s throat. Hall handed the knife handle first to
Nightingale. ‘Take it. Kill me. Go on.’

Nightingale shook
his head. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘So what are you
going to do? Tell the cops?’ He laughed. ‘I’m sitting in a car in a public
street.’

‘With a knife,’
said Nightingale.

Hall tapped him
on the chest with the handle. ‘Take it. You know you want to. Take it and kill
me. Go on.’ Nightingale shook his head and Hall laughed. He turned the blade
around and quickly plunged the knife into his own chest, grunting through
gritted teeth.

Nightingale
jerked back and Hall continued to smile. ‘What do you think you can possibly do
to me if I can do this to myself,’ said Hall. He slowly pulled the knife out. There
was no blood, not on his chest or on the blade. Hall took a deep breath then
put the knife back inside his jacket. ‘You can’t kill me, Nightingale. That’s
the deal I have. I’m immortal.’

‘In exchange for
your soul? And regular sacrifices?’

Hall shrugged.
‘It’s a small price to pay, in the grand scheme of things.’

‘And Emily
Campbell was the first?’

‘Why do you
care?’

‘Her sister wants
to know what happened. They said it was suicide. But she didn’t believe it.’

‘If it makes her
feel better, it was Emily’s fault. She shouldn’t have been there. It was
midnight, I’d done the ritual. Paimonia was explaining the small print. I
didn’t know about the sacrifice, or that the sacrifice had to be repeated. All
I knew was what I’d read in this old book I found among my grandmother’s things
after she died. She was a bit of a witch, though I never realised that. Anyway,
the book explained the ceremony and what I could get, but there was stuff
missing.’ He shrugged. ‘Emily came into the room. I think she was sleepwalking,
maybe. Or maybe Paimonia had done something to her. Anyway, she walked into the
room, the door slammed behind her and that was that. She was the first.’ He
grinned. ‘Does that help you, Nightingale? Does knowing what happened help you
in any way? Because it isn’t going to change anything. I’m going to arrange for
your friend Jenny McLean to be the next sacrifice and there’s nothing you can
do about it. Now go.’

‘You can’t do
this.’

Hall reached for
the knife inside his jacket. ‘Get the fuck out of my car or I swear I’ll kill
you now and fuck the consequences.’

Nightingale
glared at the man but knew there was nothing he could do. He cursed and got out
of the car. Hall grinned and drove away.

* * *

Mrs Steadman
could see from the look on Nightingale’s face that he was worried so she didn’t
make any small talk or offer him tea. ‘What on earth has happened?’ she asked.

‘I’ve made a huge
mistake,’ he said. ‘I confronted a guy who’d done a deal with Paimonia and I
told him that I know what he did.’

Mrs Steadman
frowned. ‘Why would you do that?’

‘I guess I wanted
to know for sure, so that I could tell my client what she wants to know.’

‘Client?’

‘It’s a lady
whose sister died forty years ago. She was told it was suicide but she never
believed it.’