He spun around and again almost fell over, staggering sideways, only just managing to keep his feet. When he finally looked up, he realised that someone had emerged from the nearest church door, and now was standing with back turned, in the process of locking it. It probably should have struck Nathan harder than it did that, even though this was a church, it was odd at this late hour to see what appeared to be a cowled monk.

‘Sorry … father,’ he burbled, reality swimming. ‘I just … I thought I heard …’

The monk turned around to face him, and for an amazed second, Nathan, intoxicated as he felt, was transfixed.

‘Wha’ … wha’ the fuck … fuck happened to … you?’ he stammered.

The monk didn’t reply, because at that moment, three steel points were driven forcefully into Nathan’s back. His senses were so dulled now that his reaction to the sudden, astonishing pain was sluggish. It didn’t help, of course, that the middle prong of the pitchfork pierced his upper spine, causing his head to jerk back, his torso to stiffen, his hands to claw into talons.

It made it easy for the monk, who produced a large, heavy-bladed knife, complete with a cross-guard, and swept it once across Nathan’s exposed throat, opening it clean to the back of the windpipe.

As the paralysed trainer sagged to his knees, his lifeblood boiling away in a raging crimson torrent, the monk with the mangled face lowered the knife, leaned down close and, phone in hand, commenced taking photographs.

Chapter 18

‘Yo, Lucy?’ the voice on the hands-free said. It was the next morning, and Lucy was driving in to work. The caller was PC Nina Pettigrew, the family liaison who’d been assigned to Alex Calderwell. ‘Can you talk?’

‘It’s fine,’ Lucy replied. ‘What’ve you got?’

‘Sorry it’s taken me so long to report. First chance I’ve had.’

‘It’s okay.’ Lucy felt secretly guilty that, with everything else in her head, she’d actually forgotten that she was waiting on this. ‘Shoot.’

‘This boyfriend of Lorna Cunningham’s … he seems genuinely upset.’

‘Does he seem worried?’

‘Oh, yeah … jumps every time the phone rings. Pacing the house like a cat.’

‘You’ve been with him a couple of days now, Nina, and you’ve had a chance to get a proper look at him. No fresh injuries that he might have been able to conceal during his interview with Judy Stryker? No marks on his knuckles, no facial scratches …?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Okay, thanks, love. Stick with it for the time being, yeah?’