‘My soul,’ said Nightingale. ‘I’m offering you my soul.’
The dwarf’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Do you take me for a fool?’
‘That’s the last thing I’d take you for,’ said Nightingale.
‘I don’t believe you,’ said the dwarf.
‘That’s why I’ve summoned you.’
‘You’ve done nothing but fight to keep your sad little soul,’ said the dwarf. ‘Why are you so keen to surrender it now?’
‘Because. ’ Downstairs there was a loud thump, the sound of an enforcer being slammed against the front door. The door was solid oak and it would hold for a while. ‘Because there’s something I want more than my soul,’ he finished.
There was another loud thump and the dwarf turned towards the bedroom door. ‘What is that?’ he asked.
‘The police,’ said Nightingale.
The dwarf turned back to look at him. ‘You think they can help you? Against me?’
Nightingale shook his head. ‘They’re not here to help; they’re here to arrest me.’
‘For what?’
‘Murder.’
The dwarf chuckled. ‘So who did you kill, Nightingale?’
There were two more loud thumps from the enforcer.
‘It’s a long story and we don’t really have time for it now.’ His eyes were watering from all the smoke and a tear rolled down his cheek. ‘Do you want my soul, or not?’
‘That depends on what you want in exchange.’
There was a much louder thump followed by the sound of splintering wood.
The dwarf chuckled. ‘You want to escape, is that it? Like your sister?’
Nightingale shrugged. ‘Sort of,’ he said.
‘That’s the deal, then? I get you out of whatever predicament you’ve got yourself into, and in return I get your soul?’
‘I want more than that,’ said Nightingale.
There was another loud bang downstairs followed by shouts outside and the crackle of radios. And in the distance, the siren of an ambulance. The police were anticipating casualties, Nightingale realised.
‘I’m listening,’ said Lucifuge Rofocale.
‘I want to go back.’
‘Back where?’
‘Back to that day when Sophie died. Everything that’s happened to me stems from that day. If Sophie hadn’t died then I’d still be a cop and Jenny would still be alive.’
‘And you think you can change that?’
‘I can try.’
The dwarf laughed again, then looked at Nightingale with narrowed eyes. ‘That’s your deal? You go back to that day and I get your soul?’
‘That’s what I want.’
The dwarf jutted his chin up. ‘Then it is agreed,’ he said. ‘The deal is done.’ He grinned triumphantly and folded his arms.
Nightingale stared at him in silence for several seconds. ‘You planned this, didn’t you? Right from the start.’
The dwarf tilted back his oversized head and laughed. The walls of the room vibrated and dust showered down from the ceiling.
‘This has been all your doing, hasn’t it? You’ve been letting Sophie contact me because you wanted my soul. You were using her to get to me.’
‘You’re flattering yourself, Nightingale. You think I care about you? You think you occupy my thoughts for even one millisecond?’
Nightingale nodded slowly. ‘I think you’re a vindictive, nasty little shit. I think you did whatever you had to do to get one over on me. You wanted my soul and you didn’t care who you had to destroy to get it.’
The dwarf grinned. ‘Maybe you’re not as stupid as you look,’ he said.
‘You used Fairchild, didn’t you? Maybe it was Proserpine who pulled his strings but she works for you. And everything that happened was to get me here, wasn’t it? So that you could get my soul?’
‘And now I have it,’ said the dwarf. He pointed at Nightingale with his right index finger. The nail was long and yellow and as sharp as a knife. ‘I have a special place for you in Hell, Nightingale. Ready and waiting.’
74
‘For God’s sake put your back into it!’ shouted Chalmers. ‘If you can’t put some weight behind it then give it to someone who can.’
The man with the enforcer turned to glare at the superintendent. ‘With the greatest of respect, sir, this isn’t some jerry-built council house. This door is a couple of inches thick and built to last.’
Chalmers pointed his finger at the officer. ‘Don’t bloody stop, man!’ he shouted.
An ambulance turned into the driveway, its siren blaring.
The officer began to pound the enforcer against the door again. Each time he hit it the wood around the lock splintered a little more, and after half a dozen more blows the lock gave way.
‘Finally,’ said Chalmers.
‘Sir, you need to stay outside until we’ve secured the house,’ said the sergeant.
‘Just get upstairs and get the bastard,’ said Chalmers.
The ambulance pulled up behind the armed response vehicle and Chalmers turned and flashed them a cut-throat gesture, telling them to kill the siren.
With one final blow from the enforcer the door crashed open and the three armed officers piled into the mud-splattered hallway, led by the sergeant. Chalmers followed them inside and watched as they moved carefully up the charred stairs, their MP5s against their shoulders.
The sergeant took them to the door of the room where they’d seen the candlelight. He pointed at the door, then gingerly tried the handle. ‘Locked,’ he mouthed. The door was fire-damaged but in one piece.
Chalmers came down the landing and the sergeant motioned for him to go back but the superintendent ignored him.
The officer with the enforcer pushed past Chalmers and joined the sergeant. The armed cops had their MP5s pointing at the door. The officer swung the enforcer and he grunted as it made contact. The door was nowhere near as strong as the one at the entrance to the house; it buckled with the first blow and sagged on its hinges with the second. The sergeant kicked the door out of the way and stormed into the bedroom. ‘Armed police! Drop your weapon!’ he shouted.
The two other armed officers followed him inside, one moving to the right, the other to the left, both shouting at the top of their voices. ‘Armed police! Armed police!’
Then there was just silence. Chalmers walked quickly into the room but stopped when he saw the three officers standing around a pentagram drawn in chalk on the floor. There were five black candles burning, one at each of the points of the pentagram.
‘Where is he?’ said Chalmers, looking around.
‘There’s no one here, sir,’ said the sergeant.
‘Nonsense. The room was locked from the inside. We all saw that.’
The sergeant shrugged.
‘You checked the bathroom?’
‘Sir, there’s no one here,’ said the sergeant testily.
‘If there’s no one here then who lit the candles?’ asked Chalmers.
The sergeant looked away and didn’t answer.
Chalmers snorted and stormed into the bathroom. There was a white towel hanging on a chrome rail and he grabbed it. It was wet. And so was the bath. He threw the towel into the tub and picked up the shirt left on the toilet. It was soaked in blood, as was the raincoat underneath it. Chalmers went back into the bedroom. The four policemen were looking around the room, trying to avoid eye contact with the superintendent.
‘Find him,’ shouted Chalmers. ‘Tear this bloody house apart. He has to be hiding somewhere.’
75
Nightingale kept his foot down hard on the accelerator and he pounded on his horn as he ran a red light, swerving around the back of a bus and narrowly missing a black cab. His mobile rang and he fished it out of his pocket. It was the coordinator of the Metropolitan Police’s negotiating team.
‘I’ll be there in ten minutes,’ said Nightingale. ‘What about Robbie? Have you reached him?’
‘He’s not answering his phone.’
‘Keep trying. I need him there.’
‘I’ve got other officers on the way, Jack. We’re covered.’