Nathan Adams gallantly laid his coat over the top of the wall in the gap created by two missing spikes, then cupped his hands. The wall was about five feet tall and his companion, Rebecca Hill, easily pushed herself up. Nathan enjoyed the view as her short black skirt briefly rode up, exposing more of the snow-white flesh already tantalisingly revealed by the strategically placed rips in her black tights.
Nathan passed up the plastic carrier bag of cheap cider, before attempting to pull himself over as well. It was harder than it looked, and he wondered if he was going to have to drop back down and take a run-up, when his scrabbling feet found purchase. Rebecca grabbed the handle on the top of his backpack and with her help he finally flopped onto the wall, the rough stone scraping his stomach where his jacket had opened. The drop to the grass on the other side was slightly less, and he rolled clumsily over the wall, landing in an untidy heap.
Are you OK? hissed Rebecca.
Fine. he said, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. The weed in his pocket and the booze would take the edge off it, and if all went to plan, he might even get a shoulder rub later. He put that thought quickly to one side, lest he embarrass himself.
Raising his arms and suppressing a wince, he helped her down to the ground for a brief instant, their faces were bare millimetres apart. He froze. Should he kiss her or should he wait until they were a bit more mellow? His indecision lasted just seconds and then the moment was gone. Was that a flash of disappointment in her eyes?
Rebecca had been here before and she took charge, taking his hand and leading him further into the abbey grounds.
An evening in the graveyard of a ruined abbey, in winter, wouldnt be Nathans first choice for a romantic date, but he was happy to let Rebecca call the shots; hed spent most of the previous week persuading her to give him a chance tonight and he wasnt going to ruin it with a bit of squeamishness. An afternoon spent trawling through her Facebook and Instagram posts had revealed her favourite music death metal bands, all of which sounded the same to him when hed streamed their albums on Spotify. The T-shirt hed ordered online had arrived that morning all shiny and smelling of plastic packaging. He hoped it wasnt obvious that a week ago hed never even heard of Flesh Kitchen.
The graveyard was in the centre of the abbeys grounds. Nathan dimly remembered the layout from school visits, but it looked different in the dark with only a sliver of moon to light their way. The glow of Middlesbury town centre behind them did little to pierce the gloom. He stumbled along behind Rebecca, hoping it wasnt much further. The weather had been dry and the skies clear, but February was February and the cold was beginning to bite. Rebecca had promised that she knew a cosy spot inside one of the crypts, and that they could light a fire with no one noticing.
His mates were right. She was definitely weird.
But she was also cute and interested in him, and right now, that was all that mattered.
Finally, the low wall that surrounded the graveyard started to emerge out of the gloom. A few more paces and the ghost-like statues adorning the tombs of Middlesburys most prominent citizens from centuries past also appeared. Nathan repressed a shudder. Rebecca was marching confidently onwards and he wasnt going to show any sign of weakness.
To the left, a squat building was black against the night sky. Suddenly, Rebecca stopped dead and Nathan barely avoided knocking her over.
Can you smell that?
He sniffed the air.
Smoke.
He groaned internally. Somebody else had clearly had the same idea as them. He doubted Rebecca would want to get too cosy if there were other people about. He started frantically thinking of a plan B, somewhere else they could go. His mum and dad were both in, vegetating in front of the TV, and her place was out of the question shed said her parents were really strict.
I think the fire is in that building.
She was right. A faint orange glow was visible through ground-level windows.
We should go, before somebody calls the fire brigade.
If somebody had set the building on fire, it wouldnt look good for them if they were found trespassing with a bag full of fire-making equipment. Not to mention the weed in his back pocket.
Rebecca ignored him, taking a few more paces towards the building, as if drawn to the light and warmth.
I think thats the old chapel. Theres an undercroft, thats where the glow is coming from.
The crackling of the flames was now clearly audible, the glow becoming brighter.
We need to go, repeated Nathan.
The evening was ruined already. It was too cold to go and sit on the common and the youth club would be packed full of losers this time on a Friday night. Besides, they wouldnt get in if they were drunk or stoned. The best he could hope for was a slow walk home and a goodnight kiss. The last thing Nathan wanted was for the evening to end in a police cell.
Becky?
She let out a sigh. At least she sounded as disappointed as he did.
They turned to leave the way they had come, before she stopped again.
Did you hear that?
Nathan heard nothing; he shook his head.
There it is again.
He strained his ears.
Still nothing.
No, wait.
They both heard it now.
Louder.
Clearer.
Oh my, God, Nathan. Theres somebody in there!
Chapter 1
The light drizzle had started within minutes of DCI Warren Jones arrival at the scene of the fire. Hed almost welcomed the phone call at first, an hour and a half after the alarm had been raised at twenty past nine that night; he was well on his way to yet another comprehensive Scrabble defeat by his wife Susan. Now, even though the precipitation slid off his plastic-coated paper suit, hed changed his mind.
Youre clear to enter the scene, sir. The familiar, portly figure of Crime Scene Manager Andy Harrison was easily identifiable, even with his facemask on. Professor Jordan has done his preliminary examination of the body, and its ready to be transported.
Tony, do you and Moray want to join us?
DI Tony Sutton was standing a little way off, also dressed in a paper scene suit. Beside him stood DC Moray Ruskin whose huge bulk meant he had to bring his own suits to crime scenes in case the CSIs didnt have his size in the back of their van.
The path between the outer cordon and the doors to the old chapel was shielded from the rain by a hastily erected tent, and the proscribed route to the front entrance was covered by raised plastic boarding to protect any undiscovered shoe prints or other trace evidence.
What did the kids who phoned it in have to say for themselves? asked Warren as the three police officers carefully picked their way along the walkway. A slip now would not only be undignified, it might also destroy evidence.
Not much. Ruskin had replaced his facemask. This combined with his thick beard and broad Scottish accent, meant Warren had to listen carefully to the mans report.
They were a bit cagey about why they were here; theyve admitted that the carrier bag of nasty-looking cider is theirs. They also had some matches and fire-lighters, both still sealed in their original packaging and unused. Theyre only fifteen and wearing death metal T-shirts, so Im guessing tonights plan was a bit of drinking in the local graveyard, perhaps a bonfire to keep warm, and if all went well, a bit of hanky panky.
Hanky panky? Im pretty sure the last time anyone used that phrase was before you were born, scoffed Sutton.
I was trying to use language that you old folks would understand.
Cheeky sod.
What did they see?
Very little. It was dark and they were trying not to trip over, so they werent really paying attention. Neither of them saw anyone or heard anything. The first they knew of the fire was the smell of smoke, then they spotted a glow from the undercroft windows. It wasnt until they heard the screams from the victim that they realised it was serious. They claim to have phoned the fire brigade immediately.
The three men were now at the entrance to the chapel. The heavy, wooden door was wide open. More plastic boarding covered the ancient stone floor.
To the left of the doorway was the entrance to chapel proper; to the right, a low archway led to a flight of steep, stone steps that descended into the original, medieval undercroft. Portable lights running off a generator chased away the shadows. Nevertheless, the shiver that ran through Warren wasnt only due to the late-night chill.
Did the witnesses step into the chapel or disturb the scene?
The young man tried to open the chapel door, but it was locked, said Ruskin. He walked around trying to find another entrance. His companion stayed back by the tree-line and called 999.
Well need their fingerprints and shoeprints to exclude them, said Warren. He looked at his watch. Its getting pretty late. Where are they now? Have their parents been informed?
Theyre in the back of a car. I believe there is some debate over whether we should phone their parents or just drop them off outside their homes.
Ill bet, said Sutton.
Its not a pretty sight, officers, said the CSI that greeted them at the entrance. The stairs are only wide enough for one person at a time; make sure you dont trip over the hoses or the power cables. Try not to brush against the walls, or the door, in case there are any loose fibres we havent collected yet and mind your head, the folks that built this place were tiny by modern standards.
The instructions were easier said than followed, especially for Ruskin, who eyed the narrow stairwell dubiously.
Taking the lead, Warren stepped carefully into the space. Despite his facemask, the lingering smoke was starting to make his eyes sting. As he descended, a familiar smell joined the odour of singed wood. Petrol? A few more steps and another aroma entered the mix. The smell of burnt meat. Behind him, he heard Tony Sutton breathing through his face mask.
I hate bloody fires, he grumbled.
The undercroft was huge, its farthest reaches fading to invisibility beyond the few square metres illuminated by the CSIs working the area closest to the stairwell.
Stay inside the marked area, were going to need to do a fingertip search of the rest of the room once weve removed the body, instructed CSM Harrison, whod joined them.
The figure curled in the foetal position next to the toppled chair was dead. Of that there could be no doubt. Most of the corpses clothes had been burnt away, along with much of the skin on the torso and the legs; that which remained was charred and split. The hair on the victims head was all but gone.
The sight of the burnt flesh seemed unreal underneath the powerful lamps, yet it wasnt that sight which Warren knew would dominate his dreams. Warren knew that fire caused the tendons and connective tissue in a body to shrink, but that knowledge failed to make the corpses rictus grin and protruding tongue any less haunting.
The flames were pretty much out by the time the firefighters broke in. A paramedic first responder confirmed the victim was deceased. Warren recognised the American accent of Professor Ryan Jordan, one of Hertfordshires registered Home Office pathologists.
What else can you tell us, Prof? asked Sutton, as he circled the body.
Not much until we get him back to the morgue and I do the post-mortem. I cant tell if he died of burns, smoke inhalation or something else, although Im told the kids that discovered the body heard screaming, so I suspect he was conscious at some point. Like I said, Ill know more later.
He? Definitely male then? asked Ruskin.
Almost certainly, although again Ill be more confident after the PM. The muscles have contracted, which makes it difficult to estimate build; Id be prepared to go out on a limb and say hes not a child, but anything more will have to wait.
Warren looked at the chair lying next to the man; a sturdy affair, the wood looked scorched but not burnt.
One of the seats from the chapel, you can see the kneeler fixed to the back, offered Harrison.
Why didnt it catch fire? asked Ruskin.
The fire investigators will tell us for sure, but my nose suggests that the body was doused in petrol before being set alight. You can see that his clothes clearly caught, and then his skin, but the petrol probably vaporised and didnt soak into the wood sufficiently for it to catch.
Ruskins voice was thick when he spoke.
Who would do such a thing?
Before Warren could answer the young officers rhetorical question, Harrison spoke up.
Dont jump to conclusions, son.
What do you mean? asked Sutton.
We found a petrol canister and matches next to the body, alongside some whiskey and a pill container. The container was melted from the heat and only part of the label is visible. I reckon youll get the prescription details but not the patients name. Theyve been sent off for analysis. And Ive not seen any sign that the deceased was restrained.
What are you suggesting? asked Warren.
Well, the door from the chapel to the undercroft was locked; Im no locksmith, but the large metal key we found next to the chair looks like it matches the only entrance to this place.
It took a few moments for the importance of the discovery to sink in.