Nightingale broke a window at the rear of the house, gingerly pulled away the remaining shards of glass and climbed inside. He stood in the kitchen, listening intently. There was enough light coming in to allow him to look around. When he was satisfied that the house was silent, he helped Wainwright in through the window.
‘I didn’t realise that house-breaking was a skill of yours,’ said Wainwright as he stood in the middle of the kitchen.
‘I attended enough burglaries when I was a cop,’ said Nightingale. ‘Though there isn’t much skill involved, to be honest.’ Nightingale’s hand only tingled, so wherever Dudák might be, the house was safe enough, for the moment. He whispered to Wainwright. ‘Dudák’s not here, but this is the place for sure. I’ll stay down here, why not check upstairs, see if you can find Naomi, or any sign that she’s been here.’
Wainwright nodded, switched on the flashlight on his mobile phone, then took the gun out his jacket pocket and held it in his right hand.
Wainwright started to mount the stairs silently while Nightingale edged his way carefully into the sitting room and darted the beam of his phone around. As expected, the place was empty. He sat on a sofa, facing the door.
After a couple of minutes he heard a creak of a stair, and hoped it was Wainwright coming back down. He relaxed when he heard Wainwright’s voice from the doorway. ‘It’s me, Jack. She’s up there, thank God. Looks to be unharmed, but she’s fast asleep, and I can’t wake her.’
‘Drugs or hypnosis, I guess,’ said Nightingale. ‘More likely the second one. Dudák seems to make a speciality of having kids under his power. I guess we can deal with bringing her round once Dudák’s out of the way.’ He yelped and blew on the back of his left hand, which felt as if it was on fire.’
‘What is it?’
‘The sigil on my hand, just starting to throb. Dudák must be getting nearer.’ Nightingale started to grimace as the pain in his hand increased, until it seemed that the flesh would catch fire. He stood up and joined Wainwright in the hall. They heard the sound of a key in the lock, and heard it turn. Nightingale took out his gun and held it rock-steady, with a two-handed grip despite the pain, pointed at the front door. The door slowly opened and a figure stood there.
Wainwright also had his Glock ready and aimed as they strained to see in the darkness.
Then they heard the sound of a gun being cocked a few feet behind them. A deep gravelly voice spoke, loudly and authoritatively. ‘Alright guys, you can both take your fingers off the triggers and point the guns at the floor, right now.’
‘What the fuck?’ said Wainwright.
He and Nightingale turned to see Tyrone standing behind them with a large pump-action shotgun in his hands. He had changed his suit since the last time they’d seen him and was now dressed in pale blue with bright yellow shoes.
‘I won’t ask again,‘ said Tyrone. ‘It’s not part of my plan for you to die here, but plans can change. Do it now.’
Tyrone didn’t sound like he was bluffing, and Nightingale had no cards to call with, so he eased the pressure on the trigger, then pointed it at the ground. Wainwright did the same. ‘What’s this about, Tyrone?’ Wainwright asked.
‘You’ll find out soon enough, Joshua,’ said Tyrone. He looked over at the doorway. ‘Dudák, it’s safe to come in now.’
Dudák walked through the doorway, switched on the hall light, took off the woollen cap she was wearing and shook her long blonde hair free.
‘Good evening, Mr. Nightingale. Nice to see you again.’
‘Hello, Carol,’ said Nightingale. ‘Or do you prefer Dudák?’
‘As you wish,’ said Carol Goldman, in a voice which carried a slight trace of a German accent now. ‘I have learned quickly to answer to Carol in the last months, but I have borne so many names, and one is as good as another.’
‘Will somebody tell me what’s going on?’ asked Wainwright. He looked across at Nightingale. ‘Who is she?’
‘Her name’s Carol Goldman. She’s the shell that Dudák has been using.’
‘Ain’t you the clever one,’ said Tyrone. ‘So sharp you’re gonna end up cutting yourself.’
‘Tyrone here has his own agenda,’ said Nightingale. ‘I’m guessing he’s done a deal with someone. And that someone has linked him up with Dudák, who is using the shell of Carol Goodman. She’s a supply teacher which gives her easy access to children across the State.’
‘That’s why you were so interested in supply teachers?’ said Wainwright.
Nightingale nodded. ‘And as Kim Jarvis’s housemate, she was able to influence her to get her to kill herself in front of me.’
‘Stop the chit-chat and drop the guns, gentlemen,’ said Tyrone, gesturing with his shotgun.
They did as they were told. The Glocks clattered on the floor. Nightingale looked over at Dudák.
‘Congratulations on identifying me, Jack Nightingale,’ said Dudák.
‘It wasn’t difficult,’ said Nightingale. ‘Someone who had access to kids all over Tennessee, who they’d trust enough to let get close enough to establish control over them. Who better than a substitute teacher? And you could put them under your influence weeks or even months before, and then trigger them via social media. Or the phone.’
‘And Tyrone here is local,’ said Wainwright. ‘He’d have all the intel needed to select the victims.’
‘Well done, geniuses,’ said Tyrone. ‘This plan’s been a long time cooking, hope you’ll enjoy the final course.’
Tyrone stepped forward and slammed the stock of his shotgun against the back of Wainwright’s head. Wainwright slumped to the ground. Nightingale turned and raised his hands to protect himself but Tyrone was too quick for him. The stock hit Nightingale just above the right temple and he went down like a pole-axed steer.