95
Nightingale came awake instantly from a dreamless sleep. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the sound of his own breathing. He heard a police siren far off in the distance, but that wasn’t what had woken him. Then he realised he wasn’t alone in the room.
He sat up and peered into the dark corner furthest away from the window. Proserpine was standing there, her black and white collie at her side. She was wearing a long black leather coat that almost brushed the carpet and knee-length black boots with stiletto heels. Her hair was loose around her face and she had a fringe that almost covered her eyes. She glared at Nightingale malevolently. ‘You lied to me, Nightingale,’ she said, her voice a low rasping whisper.
‘Not really,’ he said.
The dog growled menacingly and Proserpine jerked the chain to silence it. ‘I told you that you weren’t to go near Fairchild.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘I told you that you weren’t to kill him.’
‘And I didn’t.’
There was a deep growling sound and Nightingale couldn’t tell if it was her or the dog. ‘You think you can play games with me, Nightingale?’
Nightingale reached for his cigarettes and lit one before answering. ‘I think you choose your words carefully,’ he said. ‘And so did I. I didn’t go near Fairchild. I didn’t talk to him. And I didn’t kill him.’
‘You had him killed,’ she said quietly.
‘And that right there is why the choice of words is so darn important,’ he said. He tried to blow a smoke ring but failed miserably. ‘I had him killed. That’s not the same as killing him. So all bets are off.’
Proserpine glared at him. ‘You paid to have him killed, that’s the same as killing him.’
Nightingale shook his head. ‘I didn’t pay a penny. In fact I didn’t even ask for it to be done. I just talked to someone who hates nonces even more than I do.’
‘Perry Smith?’
‘Gangster of this parish. He gave me the gun that I was carrying that night you stopped me. I gave him the gun back and he asked why. I told him that I couldn’t kill Fairchild. Perry said that he’d do it in a heartbeat. His kid sister was abused when she was in a care home, so he’s got personal reasons for hating paedophiles.’
‘You told Smith that Fairchild was a paedophile?’
‘Which he was,’ said Nightingale. ‘I didn’t tell him about the Order of Nine Angles, of course. Or the whole devil-worship thing. That would have muddied the water, I figured. But like I said, he offered to kill Fairchild and I didn’t try to dissuade him. So it doesn’t affect our deal and I get to keep my soul.’
Proserpine and her dog stared at Nightingale for several seconds. ‘You think you’ve beaten me, do you?’ she said eventually.
‘I don’t think there are any winners or losers in this,’ said Nightingale. ‘The whole thing is a mess. But Fairchild can rot in Hell for all I care.’
‘He’ll be in Hell, but he won’t be rotting,’ said Proserpine. ‘He has earned his place in Hades.’
‘Fine,’ said Nightingale. ‘I hope you’ll all live happily ever after. Now can I get back to sleep, I’ve got a busy day ahead of me?’
‘You’re very sharp, Nightingale. You want to be careful you don’t end up cutting yourself.’
‘I’ll do that.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘You think you can trust Mrs Steadman, don’t you?’
‘I don’t know who I can trust these days,’ he said.
‘Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ she said. She looked down at her dog and smiled. ‘Come on, let’s go play catch.’ She jerked his chain and then the room folded in on itself and there was a deafening cracking sound and the smell of burned leather and she was gone. Nightingale stubbed out what was left of his cigarette and lay down. He stared up at the ceiling for the rest of the night, unable to sleep.