‘This isn’t about the books, Jack. It’s not about Jenny either.’
‘What, then? What’s the point of all this?’
Fairchild laughed again. ‘Don’t you get it, Jack? You’re the point. It always has been you.’
Nightingale started to walk towards the kitchen, keeping his hands up. ‘We can sort this out, Marcus. It doesn’t have to end badly.’
As he passed the door that led to the garage, it opened. Nightingale began to turn but he stopped when something hard pressed against the small of his back. It was the barrel of a gun. The gun was being held by a short man with rat-like eyes and a receding chin. His hair was slicked back with oil that glistened in the overhead lights.
‘Just keep walking, nice and slowly,’ said Marcus. ‘It’ll soon be over.’
67
Nightingale held up his hands as he walked into the kitchen. The gunman was close behind him, keeping the barrel pressed into the small of Nightingale’s back. That was a mistake, Nightingale knew. If he turned quickly enough there was a good chance that he’d be able to push the weapon to the side before the man could pull the trigger. But it wasn’t the man with the gun that Nightingale was worried about; it was Marcus Fairchild and the knife that he was holding to Jenny’s neck.
‘What do you want?’ asked Nightingale. ‘Whatever you want, you can have it, Marcus. Just let Jenny go.’
‘What I want? This isn’t about what I want.’
Nightingale frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You really are stupid, aren’t you? Have you forgotten what you did? You cheated Proserpine out of your soul. Then you cheated Lucifuge Rofocale. You think you can play around with the Fallen without there being repercussions?’
‘I didn’t cheat anybody. I did deals. I gave Proserpine what she wanted and Lucifuge Rofocale did what he had to do to keep the peace.’
Fairchild sneered at Nightingale and pressed the knife harder against Jenny’s throat. ‘They don’t see it that way, Nightingale, and now it’s time for you to pay the piper.’
‘Okay, but this has nothing to do with Jenny. Let her go, Marcus. Let her go and you can do whatever you want to me. You’ve won. Okay? Just let her go.’
‘This isn’t about me. This isn’t about what I want.’
‘Just let Jenny go. Please. I’m begging you.’
Fairchild shook his head. ‘That’s not going to happen,’ he said. ‘That’s not how this is going to play out. That’s not what they want.’
‘What do they want, Marcus? Tell me.’
‘They want you to suffer, Nightingale. They want you to suffer in this world and the next. And that suffering starts here.’
‘What have they told you to do?’
Fairchild sneered at him. ‘They want you to kill her.’
‘What?’ A chill ran down Nightingale’s spine.
‘They want her dead and you to take the blame. They want you behind bars. Locked away. For the rest of your life.’
‘Marcus, this is crazy talk. You know that.’
‘You had sex with her. Your sperm is inside her. They’ll find you with the knife in your hands and her blood all over you. You were a cop, Nightingale. You know how they can put two and two together.’ He chuckled. ‘That’s pretty much all they can do. But it’s enough. Your sperm. Your prints on the knife. Your options are pretty limited.’
‘I haven’t touched the knife.’
‘Not yet,’ said Fairchild.
Nightingale realised that Fairchild was wearing black leather gloves. ‘Don’t do this, Marcus. Please.’
Fairchild laughed out loud. ‘Is that the best you can do? You were a police negotiator, right? And that’s your best shot? To say “please”? That’s it?’
‘She’s your god-daughter,’ said Nightingale. ‘She’s loved you her whole life.’
‘You think I care? She’s nothing to me. A quick shag when I wanted one, that’s all.’
Nightingale stared at Fairchild in horror.
‘Hadn’t you worked that out already? I’ve been fucking her since she was ten years old.’
‘No.?.?.’ Jenny gasped, and for the first time she began to struggle. Fairchild yanked her hair savagely and she grunted in pain.
‘Lost a lot of attraction once she was legal, but I’d revisit her every few months, just for old time’s sake. She doesn’t remember a thing, of course. But she enjoys it, Nightingale. She could screw for England, this one.’
Nightingale took a step towards him but Fairchild pushed the knife harder against Jenny’s throat. ‘Don’t even think about it. You take one more step and she’s dead.’
‘Uncle Marcus,’ moaned Jenny.
‘Shut up, whore!’ he hissed. ‘This is nothing to do with you.’ He glared at Nightingale. ‘You still haven’t worked it out, have you? Last night, she was doing what I told her to do. What I programmed her to do. Everything the two of you did, last night and this morning, was down to me, Nightingale. She screwed you because I told her to screw you.’ He laughed. ‘How does that make you feel, Nightingale? Angry? Angry enough to kill?’
‘You bastard.’
‘Yes, I am a bastard. An evil bastard. Now do you know how this ends? Have you worked it out yet?’
‘Don’t do this,’ said Nightingale.
‘Do what? This?’ Fairchild drew the knife across Jenny’s throat and her blood sprayed across the floor.
Nightingale opened his mouth to scream but then the butt of the gun slammed against his temple and he fell to his knees. He saw blood pumping from the gaping wound in Jenny’s neck. She was still alive, just, and he could see the fear and panic in her eyes and then everything went black and he slumped to the floor.
68
‘Jack, you have to get up.’ Nightingale groaned. ‘Jack, come on. Wake up.’ Nightingale’s eyes fluttered open. He was lying on his front, his face turned towards the oven. ‘Jack!’
‘Jenny?’ he moaned.
‘Wake up, Jack.’
He pushed himself up onto his knees, struggling to clear his head. ‘Jenny?’
‘Jenny’s dead, Jack. You know that.’
Nightingale felt something hard in his right hand and he looked down. He was holding the carving knife. The blade was glistening with blood and it was all over his hand. He turned and looked over his shoulder. Jenny was lying on the floor by the table, blood pooling around her head like a scarlet halo.
‘She’s dead, Jack. Now get up and finish this. You know what you have to do.’
Nightingale threw the knife away and got to his feet. The room began to swim around him and he fought to stay conscious. There was blood all over the front of his coat and splattered up his right sleeve.
‘Jack. You have to go. Hurry.’
He turned towards the voice. Sophie was standing in front of the refrigerator, her Barbie doll dangling from her right hand. Her hair was loose around her face and she looked as if she was about to cry.
‘Sophie?’
‘You can do it, Jack. You can do what needs to be done.’ She pointed down the hallway. ‘Go, Jack. Go now.’
