Hawkins watched in disbelief as the people around the pentacle leaned forwards and held their batons to the flames, removing each one as the fire caught, before returning to their sentry-like positions. The chanting grew louder.

Hawkins drew back from the window and freed her mobile, quickly selecting Amala’s number.

The sergeant answered straight away. ‘Ma’am?’

‘I can see inside the building,’ Hawkins whispered. ‘There are six people in fancy dress, performing some kind of weird fire ritual.’

Amala was silent for a few seconds. ‘Do you want us to come in?’

‘Not yet. I can’t tell if Mardell’s among them, and at the moment I have no idea if this madness is illegal or not.’

‘OK, chief. What should we do?’

Hawkins thought quickly. ‘Get Aaron to contact the nearest station. Let them know where we are, and what’s going on. Tell them we might need back-up.’

‘Will do. Anything else?’

‘Yes, stay on the line. I’m going to take another look.’ She lowered the phone, realizing that the bizarre chanting had stopped, and slid back to the window.

Below her, little had changed. The hooded figures, still holding the burning torches, had bowed their heads, while the master was talking, his voice sufficiently muffled that Hawkins couldn’t make out what was being said.

She used the lull to scan her surroundings in more detail, noting that the end of the building to her left appeared to be the front, with large double doors, beyond which she could see the car park, and the main gate in the outer wall. She also saw the barrier Amala had mentioned, relieved to note that it was no longer manned.

She looked back inside the building. Apart from the main entrance, the only other way in appeared to be a single doorway in the far corner, near where she had come over the wall. The majority of the windows were smashed, but shards of glass remained in most, so if intervention became necessary, there would be just the two exits to cover.

A muted screech from Hawkins’ left dragged her attention away.

The people below were all now staring towards the main doors, and seconds later a young woman entered. She wore a flowing white negligee, with bare arms and legs. A rough-looking sack covered her head, while her wrists and ankles were bound, forcing her to shuffle. Her shoulders were raised, perhaps in response to the freezing temperature.

More likely in fear.

As the girl edged forwards, she was followed by a taller man in loose, dark clothing, and a strangely peaked hood like those of his colleagues around the fire. Occasionally he would shove the woman, making her stumble. And as they neared the main group, the man raised something which had been hidden at his side.

A large, serrated knife.

‘Shit,’ Hawkins whispered.

‘Ma’am?’ Amala’s voice came through the phone speaker, making her start. ‘What’s going on?’