“You’re already in it, Nightingale.”
“So can I stop it on my own?”
“Do you think you can? Because I’m not sensing confidence.”
Nightingale inhaled smoke deeply into his lungs, held it, then exhaled slowly as he considered what she had said. “You’re offering to stop him for me, aren’t you. I give you my soul, you save the kids, that stops Bimoleth’s ritual.”
“A quid pro quo, as they say.”
He nodded slowly. “I think I can do this myself.”
“You think?”
“Call it a hunch. I think this is going to work out okay.”
Her face hardened. “If that proves not to be true, it’ll be too late to come back to me. The offer comes off the table.”
“I’ll take that risk,” said Nightingale. He flicked the last of his cigarette into the sea and watched it disappear under the waves. When he looked back, Proserpine and her dog had vanished. The sand where they had been standing was perfectly smooth.
CHAPTER 81
Nightingale had been back in Chen’s apartment for twenty minutes and had just made himself a coffee when she burst in through the door, her eyes blazing. “Karl Woods is dead,” she said, throwing her jacket across a chair. “He was stabbed with some needle thing, straight into his heart. It happened yesterday. The body is in the morgue and the story is just breaking.”
Nightingale stood holding his coffee mug, his mouth open.
Chen folded her arms, then unfolded them and began pacing up and down, her high heels clicking on the wooden floor. “Dukas, Starr, and now Woods. Plus that banker guy you spoke to, the one they found on Alcatraz.”
“Lee Mitchell.”
She stopped and folded her arms again. “Yeah, I’m surprised you can remember all their names the way these bodies are piling up.”
“What do you think, Amy? You think I killed them?”
“No, of course not.” She ran her hands through her hair. “I don’t know, actually. Maybe.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous.”
“They found his body in The Cellar.”
“That’s where I saw him. He was fine when I left him. Someone must have killed him after I left.”
“Do you think so?” she said, her voice loaded with sarcasm. “I’m guessing they’ve got CCTV footage in there which means you might have a problem.”
“Or you could take the view that the CCTV will show who the killer really was, because it sure as hell wasn’t me.”
“Or it might show that you were the last person to speak to him. In which case they’ll be looking for you.” She put her hand up to her head again. “I’m caught in the middle here, you can see that, can’t you? I’ve got information on these killings and I’m storing up a whole world of hurt by not saying anything.”
“I need a drink,” she said. She took a bottle of red wine out of a cupboard, pulled open a drawer to look for a corkscrew and then realized that the bottle had a screw-top.
“Do you want wine?”
“Err, I guess so, Yes.” She sloshed wine into a glass and then poured some for Nightingale. “This is getting ridiculous,” she said, handing him his glass and dropping down onto the sofa opposite him.
“You make it sound as if it’s my fault,” he said. He looked at the coffee mug and then the wine and decided to drink from the glass.
“Let’s be honest, Jack, all this started happening when you arrived in town.”
“Because I came here to investigate the Apostles,” he said. “They’ve already killed twelve people and they’re going to kill two children. These other deaths – they’re collateral damage.”
“Collateral damage, how does that work?”
“They’re killing off the people I’ve been talking to. They killed Mitchell because he wanted to leave. They killed Karl because he was giving me information, same with Dukas and Starr.”
“That means they’re following you.”
“Maybe. But if they are, Dragan will see them, Unless…”
“Unless what?”
Nightingale pulled a face. “There are Satanic ways of tracking people.”
“Like the crystal?”
“The crystal is pretty straightforward. Almost anyone can use a crystal if you know what to do. But the Adepts, they can use all sorts of tricks. Mind control, communication on the astral plane, remote following.”
Chen sipped her wine, but then her sip turned into a gulp. “This whole business is just….”
“Unbelievable?”
“If I hadn’t seen those Elementals with my own eyes, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation and you sure as heck wouldn’t be in my apartment.”
“Are you worried about your own safety, is that it? I can move out?”
“I don’t think it’s you staying here that’s the problem, Jack. It’s not as if you moved in with Karl Woods, is it? He was just helping you and they killed him. That astrology guy was just doing charts for you.”
There was a loud banging on the door and they both flinched.
“Police, open up!” shouted a voice.
Nightingale glared at Chen. “Did you bring them here?”
“Of course not.”
The banging was repeated. “Open up, we have a warrant!”
“How the hell did they get in?” asked Nightingale.
Chen stood up. “I don’t know,’ she said. “Why don’t I ask them?”
She went over to the door and checked the spyhole. “Two uniforms,” she said. She put on the security chain and opened the door. A uniformed officer peered through the gap.
“We’re here to see Jack Nightingale,” he growled.
“What’s the problem, officer,” said Chen. She flashed her shield. “Inspector Amy Chen.”
“If Nightingale is in there, you’d be advised to open this door now,” said the officer.
“What’s he done?”
“He was last seen with a journalist called Karl Woods. He’s wanted in connection with the murder of Mr. Woods.”
“Mr. Nightingale had nothing to do with the murder of Karl Woods,” said Chen. “I can vouch for him.”
“That’s all well and good, Inspector, but we need to talk to him. Please open the door.” Chen looked over her shoulder at Nightingale. “I’m sorry,” she said. She took off the security chain and stepped back as the two officers pushed their way in. The first officer was holding something in his right hand and as he held it up, Nightingale realized what it was. A Taser. As the officer stepped into the apartment, he pushed the prongs of the Taser against her throat and pressed the trigger. There was a loud cracking sound and Chen fell to the floor.
“There’s no need for that!” shouted Nightingale, springing up off the sofa. Chen was lying on the floor, her back arched her face contorted with pain. The first officer stepped to the side revealing that the second officer was holding another Taser, this one bright yellow and in the form of a handgun. Nightingale raised his hands in the air to show that he wasn’t a threat. “This is all a mistake,” he said. “I’m not…”
The uniformed officer pulled the trigger and two small prongs attached to hair-thin wires snaked across the room and embedded themselves in his shirt. Almost immediately fifty thousand volts surged through Nightingale’s body and he went into spasm before falling to the ground. Just before he passed out he saw a small middle-aged lady in a brown coat walk through the door and smile benignly at the officers.
CHAPTER 82
Nightingale came around, his eyes finding it hard to focus. His chest felt as if it was on fire and he was having trouble breathing. He tried to wipe his mouth but realized he couldn’t move. There was a gag in his mouth. He looked down and saw thick strips of duct tape binding his wrists to the arms of the chair. The woman in the brown coat was standing at the door with the two uniformed officers. “Thank you so much for your help, I’ll take it from here,” she said.
One of the officers saluted her and they both left.
She closed the door and smiled when she saw that Nightingale was awake. “Excellent, I was worried I might have to do something theatrical like throwing water in your face,” she said. She put down her handbag, took off her wool coat and placed it carefully over the back of her sofa. She was wearing a green tweed skirt and a purplish cardigan with what appeared to be pearl buttons.
Nightingale struggled to free his arms but the duct tape held firm. His ankles were also taped, to the legs of the chair. He looked across to the left. Chen was bound and gagged on another of the dining chairs, her head slumped on her chest, her face obscured by a wall of jet-black hair.
“There is really only one thing I need to know,” she said, picking up her handbag and carrying it over to the dining table where there was a roll of duct tape. Chen’s gun was next to the tape, still in its holster. “I need you to tell me where the Grimoire is. We’d rather it wasn’t in your possession, obviously.” She opened her handbag and took out a small pair of shears and clicked them menacingly. “Specially made for me, and ever so sharp,” she said. “They can cut through almost all the important small parts of your body.”
Nightingale tried to speak but the gag muffled all sound except a low grunt.
“Now, we know you went to see the dwarf Dukas. And we know you left with a book. I want you to give me that book, Mr. Nightingale. If you do that, you will save yourself a great deal of pain.” She nodded over at Chen, who was still unconscious. “And the lovely Inspector Chen, too. Perhaps it would make more sense to start on her. You do seem to be the chivalrous type, Mr. Nightingale. Anything to help a lady, am I right?”
Nightingale struggled to free himself but the duct tape held firm. All he managed to do was rock the chair back and forth.
The woman clicked the shears again, then walked over to Chen. She pulled her hair back and slapped her face. “Come on my dear. It’s time to wake up.” She slapped Chen again and this time Chen groaned. The woman let go of Chen’s hair and smiled encouragingly. “That’s it, wakey wakey, rise and shine.”
Chen shook her head, then opened her eyes. She began to struggle. Nightingale could see the fear in her eyes as she fought in vain to free herself. The woman stepped back, a sly smile on her face. Struggle all you want, my dear. Duct tape is a wonderful thing. Almost impossible to break.”
She walked back to Nightingale, clicking the shears. “In a moment I’m going to take your gag out, Mr. Nightingale. The only thing I want to hear from you is the location of the Grimoire. I don’t want threats, I don’t want insults, I don’t want to hear you beg for your sad little life. Just tell me where the book is and we won’t go any further. That’s all I want. The book. Do you understand, Mr. Nightingale?”
Nightingale nodded slowly. His cellphone rang in his raincoat, but eventually went silent.
The woman went over to the TV and switched it on. She scrolled through the menu and found a channel playing a rock concert. “Perfect,” she said. She turned the volume up and put the remote on the coffee table and then went over to Nightingale. She used the shears to cut the gag away from his mouth. It fell to the floor and Nightingale took a deep breath. “Right then, Mr. Nightingale. Where is the Grimoire?”
“I don’t have it.”
“Please don’t insult my intelligence, Mr. Nightingale. You left the house of Mr. Dukas with a book. Where is it?”
“That wasn’t the Grimoire,” said Nightingale. “It was a book I’d sold to Dukas. I took it back when I saw he was dead. You killed him, didn’t you?”
“Mr. Dukas said he didn’t have the book either. So one of you has to be lying. And he went through a great deal of pain so I’m tempted to believe him. Unless you can go through an equivalent amount of pain. Then I suppose I won’t know who to believe.”
“I swear to you, I absolutely swear to you, I don’t have the book. I didn’t find it at Dukas’s house. I assumed that whoever had killed him had taken it. If you haven’t got it then he’d hidden it in the house and it was probably destroyed in the fire.”
The woman smiled like a kindly aunt. “Well let’s see, shall we?” She held the shears close to his head, slipping the blades either side of his ear lobe. She tightened the blades, just enough to make him wince. Then she laughed and pulled the shears away. “Mr. Dukas had a very high tolerance for pain and I rather think you’ll be the same.”
“Look, I don’t have the book. I never did. Dukas had it and he gave me some information, but when I went back to see him you’d already killed him. He had the book then, either that or he was lying to us both. But you have to believe me, I don’t have it. If I did, I’d give it to you, surely you realize that?”
She smiled sympathetically. “You say that, but you also say that Dukas allowed me to torture and kill him rather than give it up.”
“Did he say I had the Grimoire?”
“No. He said very little, in fact.”
“Don’t you think if he knew I had it, he’d tell you?”
“Perhaps. But then it’s equally possible that he had hidden the book and that you found it.”
“But I didn’t!” said Nightingale. “And if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t be keeping it from you now.”
“You say that, Mr. Nightingale. But I have to know for sure.” She walked over to Chen. “And there’s only one way I can do that. If you allow me to kill this lovely lady, then I’ll believe you.”
“That makes no sense!” shouted Nightingale. “It’s like when they used to duck witches. If she drowned, she wasn’t a witch.”
“But surely you can see the logic in that, if nothing else?” said the woman. She looked down at Chen. “Toes or fingers, my dear? Which do you think?” Chen struggled, her eyes wide and fearful, but there was no escape. She looked over at Nightingale but there was nothing he could do to help.
“I don’t have the bloody book!” he said. “Torture me, you’ll see.”
“No you know it doesn’t work like that,” she said. “You’re like Dukas, you can take pain. But it’s clear you care for Ms Chen, so if you know where the book is you’ll tell me in order to stop her pain.”
“But I keep telling you, I don’t have it!”
“Yes, you do, Mr. Nightingale. “But let’s see how you feel after she’s lost a few fingers.” She smiled down at Chen and clicked her shears. “Fingers it is, my dear.” She walked to stand at Chen’s side and bent down. Chen’s wrists were bound to the arms of the chairs and she bunched her hands into fists. The woman chuckled at her attempt to keep her fingers away from the blades. “Struggle or don’t struggle, my dear, it makes no difference in the end.” She locked the blades of the shears either side of the little finger on Chen’s left hand, then looked sideways at Nightingale, a sly smile on her face. “Last chance, Mr. Nightingale.”
Nightingale slumped in his chair. “Please don’t do this,” he said. “I don’t have it.”
“Very well,” said the woman.
Chen began to thrash from side to side but the duct tape kept her glued to the chair.
There was a loud crashing sound and the door splintered around the lock. It was followed by a second crash and the door flew open. Dragan burst into the room, holding a gun. Behind him was an equally massive heavy. Both wore dark glasses and both were moving at speed.
The woman straightened up, her mouth open in shock. Dragan pointed his gun at her chest.
“Don’t shoot the bitch!” shouted Nightingale, “we need her alive!”
Dragan nodded and strode across the room towards the woman. She snarled like a trapped animal and charged towards him, the shears held high. Dragan didn’t break his step, he reached out with his right hand and grabbed the woman’s wrist, and simultaneously his left closed around her throat. With apparently no effort at all he lifted her off the ground. Her eyes bulged and her face went red and the shears fell from her hand and clattered on the floorboards. He slowly lowered her to the ground and then his companion grabbed her arms and dragged her towards the dining table.
Dragan went over to Nightingale and grinned down at him. “You okay?”
“Do I look okay?” said Nightingale.
CHAPTER 83
Nightingale held the door open for Dragan. “You’re sure about this?” asked Dragan. The woman was now sitting in the chair that he’d been tied to, and this time it her turn to be duct-taped and gagged. “I can take her away, dump her somewhere.”
“I need her to answer some questions,” said Nightingale. “Best you’re not here for that.”
Dragan’s colleague went into the corridor and headed for the elevator.
“Thanks, by the way,’ said Nightingale. “You saved my bacon.”
“It’s all part of the service,” said Dragan. “The cops being with her seemed strange, then they all came up to this floor together. A few minutes later the cops left. I called your cellphone but there was no answer. I didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to work out that something was going on.”
“I owe you, that’s for sure.”
“No problem. I’ll be outside if you need me.”
Dragan followed his colleague to the elevator and Nightingale closed the door. Chen went through the woman’s handbag. She found a purse and inside it a California driving license. “Claudia Wolfe,” said Chen. “Fifty-five years old. Address in Alameda.”
Nightingale took the license from her and looked at it. “That’s your real name, Claudia?” he asked her. He removed her gag and repeated the question.
She didn’t answer.
“I’m guessing you’re not Abaddon,” said Nightingale, handing the license back to Chen. “But you’re an Apostle, right?”
“Let’s just call this in, Jack,” said Chen.
Wolfe smiled sweetly up at her. “And tell them what, dear? That a nice sweet lady like me is going around the city killing and torturing people. On the basis of what?”
Nightingale picked up the shears and waved them in front of the woman’s face. “Do you know what tool marks are, Claudia? They’re the marks that tools leave behind. On bone and flesh. They can be as identifying as fingerprints. And you left one hell of a lot of marks on Mitchell and Dukas, didn’t you? I think the cops won’t have any problems linking them to these. And to you.”
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