‘It’s a bit bloody late for sorry,’ muttered Nightingale.
Jenny flashed him a withering look.
‘What?’ said Nightingale. ‘Sorry doesn’t come close to making up for what he did.’
Gosling caressed the stock of the shotgun. ‘Okay, so this is what I need to tell you,’ he said. ‘Two years after I did the deal with Proserpine, I summoned another devil. Frimost. I gave Frimost your sister’s soul in exchange for power over women.’ He coughed and his massive belly wobbled under the robe. ‘I got what I wanted, all right. Got laid by some of the most beautiful women in the world. Names you’d know, Jack. Names that would make your eyes pop out of your head. The book I could have written, the stories I could tell.’ He shook his head. ‘There was a catch, of course. There’s always a catch. Frimost gave me the tools to get any woman I wanted, but took away the passion. Sex became a mechanical function, nothing more. I could get any woman I wanted but deep down I didn’t really want any of them.’ He grinned savagely, baring his yellow teeth. ‘That’s what they’re good at, the devils,’ he said. ‘They give with one hand and they take with the other.’ He put both hands on the shotgun. ‘You don’t realise that when you go into it, of course. They pull you in, they offer you the world, offer you whatever you want.’ He closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘I was so, so stupid.’
‘For God’s sake, get on with it,’ hissed Nightingale. ‘Tell me whatever it is that you want to tell me.’
Jenny pointed at the screen. ‘Jack, give it a rest will you? He’s going to kill himself, he’s terrified.’
‘I don’t care,’ said Nightingale coldly. ‘I hope he’s burning in Hell as we speak.’ He pointed at the screen. ‘This is all his doing, Jenny. Don’t expect me to feel sorry for him.’
Gosling opened his eyes. ‘I tried to find her, Jack. I moved heaven and earth to find her but…’ He shook his head and sighed. ‘I don’t know her name, I don’t even know if she’s still in the country. I gave her to a man who helped me from time to time. His name was Karl, Karl Wilson.’
Nightingale reached for a pen and scribbled down the name.
‘He’s dead,’ Gosling went on. ‘I found that out two years ago.’
Nightingale threw down the pen as Gosling continued to talk. ‘He poured petrol over himself and set himself on fire. I don’t know why. Maybe he just wanted to end it, or maybe it was Frimost shutting the door, but, whatever the reason, he was dead and he was the only one who knew where she was.’ He rubbed his face. ‘I don’t even know why I’m telling you this, Jack. What’s the point? Even if you’ve managed to save yourself there’s nothing you can do for the girl.’ He sighed and looked down at the shotgun. ‘It’s time,’ he said. ‘It’s time for me to do what has to be done.’ He moaned. ‘Oh God, oh God, I’m so sorry.’
‘Tell me something,’ said Nightingale. ‘Give me something I can use.’
Gosling looked back at the camera, almost as if he had heard Nightingale. ‘I spoke to Wilson’s son and he allowed me to look through his father’s effects but there was nothing there that helped, no clue as to what he’d done with the girl. Knowing Wilson, he probably sold the baby and spent the money on coke. He had a bit of a taste for the old white powder.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe you’re better off just forgetting her. If you did manage somehow to escape Proserpine, then maybe you should just enjoy your life. She was never your problem, Jack. She was my problem and I have to live with the consequences.’ His face was bathed with sweat and he wiped it away with his right hand. ‘You need to talk to Alfie Tyler; he’ll be able to put you in touch with the Order of Nine Angles. He was my driver for a good many years. Tell Alfie that I sent you. And thank him for getting the first DVD to you. Assuming you got that, it was Alfie who put the envelope in the house. And I’m giving him my Bentley. Tell him to keep it serviced.’ Gosling ran a hand over his bald scalp. ‘The time thing is messing with my head. I’m here telling you this, but by the time you got the first disc I was dead. I’m deader by now but if you are watching this then you know that everything I said was true. Okay, I’ll finish this now. It’ll be Alfie who finds my body. I’m leaving him a note explaining what he’s to do. He’ll make a DVD of the first tape and put it in a safe deposit box for you and leave a key in the house. I’ll get him to lodge this second DVD with a law firm in the City. They’ll get it to you a few days after your thirty-third birthday.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Happy birthday, by the way,’ he said.
‘Ha bloody ha,’ said Nightingale.
‘Jack, these are your father’s last words to you,’ said Jenny.
‘He isn’t my father.’
‘Half of your genes came from him; it’s his DNA that made you.’
‘That doesn’t make him my father,’ said Nightingale. He waved his hand at the television screen. ‘He used me as a bargaining chip — that’s all I was to him. So don’t expect me to start crying now because he killed himself.’
Gosling slid off the bed, cradling the shotgun. He waddled over to the camera and his robe fell open again as he groped for the ‘stop’ button. The last thing Nightingale saw before the screen went blank was an expanse of white, mottled flesh.
‘Can you believe that?’ said Nightingale. ‘He sold his daughter’s soul so that he could get laid.’
‘That’s men for you,’ said Jenny.
‘I’m serious,’ said Nightingale. ‘What sort of shit would sell his child’s soul for sex?’
Jenny stood up. ‘Anyway, he’s dead. That’s the end of it.’
Nightingale ran a hand through his hair. ‘It would have been nice if he’d told me where my sister was.’
‘You heard what he said. He doesn’t know. Didn’t know. If he’d known he’d have told you. But at least we know who he sold her soul to. Frimost. Have you heard that name before?’
Nightingale shook his head. ‘We should check in Gosling’s library. With all those books on the occult there’s bound to be something about Frimost.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Do you want to come with me?’
‘It’s your call. You pay my wages. Most months, anyway.’
‘Just leave the answering machine on. The run-up to Christmas and New Year is always a quiet time for private detectives. It’s after the festive season that the phone starts ringing off the hook.’
8
N ightingale stopped the MGB in front of the gates to Gosling Manor and looked across at Jenny expectantly. ‘Can you get the gates?’
‘What did your last slave die of?’ asked Jenny, climbing out of the car. It was dark and the gates gleamed in the MGB’s headlights.
‘It wasn’t overwork,’ said Nightingale. He waited until Jenny had pushed open both gates before driving through. She closed them and got back into the car, shivering and rubbing her hands together.
‘Why didn’t Gosling install electronic gates?’ she asked.
‘I get the feeling he didn’t have many visitors,’ said Nightingale. He put the car in gear and drove along a narrow paved road that curved to the right through thick woodland.
‘Who’s taking care of the grounds?’ asked Jenny.
‘No one at the moment. Gosling let all the staff go before he topped himself.’
‘You’re going to have to get someone in when spring comes,’ she said, nodding at the expansive lawns to their left, the grass glistening in the moonlight. ‘The grass will need cutting and you can’t let woodland take care of itself. It’s got to be looked after.’
‘I keep forgetting that you’re a country girl at heart,’ said Nightingale.
‘Daddy has three gardeners working full-time,’ said Jenny. ‘And this place isn’t much smaller.’
‘I’ll have to check the money situation,’ said Nightingale. ‘But I’m pretty sure I don’t have enough to pay for a gardener.’
‘There’s the money from the books you sold from Gosling’s library. You got a stack of cash for them.’