The key is still in the lock. Tyler turns it and pushes on the massive wooden door, and a curtain of gray smoke reaches out to engulf him. He covers his mouth with his T-shirt as best he can and plunges into the church, eyes stinging. He can hear the crackle of flames, feel their heat on his face and hands. He inches his way, half blind, toward the window, virtually tripping over her before he even realizes she’s there. Rabbani. Her slight figure is facedown on the flagstones, her hair loose across her face. It makes him think of Edna Burnside and Cynthia Cartwright. It makes him think of the girl in the flat. Victims. But not Rabbani. She can’t be a victim; he won’t let her be. He snatches her up, surprised at how light she is before he realizes the kid is with him, helping to support her weight. They stumble back toward the door, or at least where he thinks the door should be. He’s got himself turned around; he has no idea which way is out, which way is closer to the flames. He’s starting to panic, then, all at once, they are out, the fresh air burning his throat.

Tyler coughs. The kid coughs. Even Doggett is coughing, either from the smoke that still surrounds them or perhaps just from the exertion of the journey here.

Rabbani doesn’t cough.

Doggett leans down and puts his ear to her face, tries to find a pulse. He looks up at Tyler. “I dunno,” he says, then, “Wait . . . yeah, she’s breathing. I think.”

Time passes. The next thing Tyler notices is the sound of the sirens approaching. Doggett has vanished; the kid is lying on his back on the grass, wheezing. Then they are surrounded: firefighters, paramedics, reporters temporarily relocated from round the corner, other curious gawpers. He’s here somewhere. Watching them, watching his handiwork.

Doggett returns with DS Daley and a handful of uniforms. They begin setting up a cordon to keep back the crowd. Their next job will be to begin combing the area around the church, as closely as they can without disturbing too much evidence.

The paramedics strap a mask across Rabbani’s face. Tyler thinks that must be a good sign. They wouldn’t be doing that if they were too late. Her lips are dry and cracked, and still she doesn’t cough. There are smudges of dirt all over her skin. She looks frightened. Even unconscious she looks terrified.

He asks the kid his name. Barry. He shakes Barry’s hand, congratulates him, and thanks him for helping and for raising the alarm. Barry smiles sheepishly, and Tyler wonders what the boy was doing here.