This is what we’re here for, Levy knew.

She stepped inside the room. Her gaze swept from one wall to another, taking in everything in between. An experienced detective, Levy had been prepared for the worst. And the worst was exactly what she got.

In his heyday Phillip Longman had been able to dominate a room. But he had never done so as completely as he did now in death. The sight of his frail body transfixed Levy. His nakedness was shocking. His mutilation was worse. Most appalling, though, was the way he had died. Longman had been crucified against his own bedroom wall. The nails that had been hammered through his wrists suspended him several feet above the floor.

‘Jesus Christ.’

Levy spoke without irony. She had seen terrible things in her professional life. Sights far gorier than this. Yet there was something about the ritualistic nature of this man’s death. It suggested deliberation. Levy had witnessed first-hand the damage a gunshot could do. The injuries caused by a bomb. Even a landmine. But what she was looking at now? Never had she seen such horrific injuries caused so very carefully.

Levy turned away from the still-hanging corpse and scanned the rest of the room. There was a pool of vomit at her feet. Not ideal forensic conditions, but far enough from the body to be no risk of contamination. The other weak stomachs had held out until their owners had reached the hallway and the room looked otherwise untouched.

That won’t last, Levy thought. Already a team of white-suited crime-scene examiners were scouring every inch of Phillip Longman’s last moments.

‘What do you make of it, Steve?’ Levy recognised Detective Inspector Steven Hale through his white suit and hood.

‘Nasty business, ma’am.’ Hale shook his head as he got to his feet. ‘Whoever did this was a sick bastard. This poor old sod had his tongue cut out and replaced with his own balls. Whatever of his own teeth he had left were pulled out one by one. Then he was bled. Slow. They cut vein after vein, up and down his arms and legs.’

‘Any idea which of the injuries killed him?’

‘I think we can take our pick, ma’am. Maybe bleeding him out was what did it, even if it was slow. If that didn’t then the crucifixion would have. No way he could have survived that in his shape.’

‘I’m not sure you or I would have fared much better,’ Levy replied, her eyes never leaving Longman’s corpse. ‘Let me know when we get a definitive answer on cause of death.’

‘Ma’am.’

Hale moved back as Levy stepped closer to Longman. She circled around his body as much as the wall would allow, looking closely at his wounds. Finally she leaned close to one of the open cuts on Longman’s right leg and inhaled deeply through her nose.

‘Yeah, that’s where the bleach seems to have been used,’ offered Hale. ‘No evidence of writhing on the back of his legs or on his back, though. Suggests he was already dead by the time it was thrown over his wounds. Small mercies, I suppose. Would’ve been agony if he’d still been breathing.’