She reached the foot of the stairs and turned, thorns snatching at her clothes, skidding on the wet ground as she ran along the rear of the building, under the trees. She skidded around the corner and slowed, searching the semi-darkness for the door she had seen from above, hoping as she found the handle that it wasn’t locked.

It opened.

The noise of the ritual filled her ears as she moved towards the fire, seeing the girl on the table, her dress now more red than white. For a moment, Hawkins thought she was too late, but then she saw the young woman move. She was alive.

‘Police,’ Hawkins said, advancing. But the group didn’t notice her, and she was forced to wave her arms above her head and shout. ‘Stop what you’re doing.’

A hush fell. The master, still holding the knife, turned, followed by the girl’s captor, and the hooded figures. Hawkins began scanning faces, picking out a young man and an older woman; neither familiar. She took a step to her right, adjusting position so she could make out two more. More anonymous faces. But then, at the end of the line …

John Mardell.

He was dressed in the same robes as the others, his face half hidden by the shadow cast across it by his thick hood, but Hawkins recognized him immediately. She also caught the flicker of recognition that crossed his eyes before he could stop it.

There was no noise apart from the crackling fire, and the sound of the girl struggling weakly on the tabletop, although the heartbeat in Hawkins’ ears threatened to overpower both.

She searched her pockets for her warrant card, heart leaping when she realized it must have fallen out on her descent down the stairs.

Instead, she said firmly, ‘You’re all under arrest.’

There was a pause, and a couple of the hooded figures looked at each other. But Hawkins was no longer watching them. Her gaze was concentrated past the group, on the car park, where the barrier was moving slowly into its vertical position.

Everyone turned at the sound of a racing engine. A vehicle entered and turned towards them, headlights blazing through the front windows as it approached the building at speed.

And crashed in through the main doors.

Shouts went up as Hawkins turned and ran for the side entrance, aware that she was being followed. She flung herself through the still-open exit, turned and slammed the door shut, finding the handle and wrenching it upwards as she braced her shoulder underneath.

Within seconds, she heard her pursuers arrive on the far side. Someone tried to force the handle down, digging it painfully into her back. Kicks began raining down on the door, jolting Hawkins’ feet against the ground. She looked to her left, seeing a figure running towards her through the shadows.