Lucy glanced at the small group of Sister Cassie’s followers. All were thin, raddled, clad in layers of dirty, mismatched clothes. All had the matted hair, sunken faces and dull, glazed eyes of the long-term alcoholic or drug-addict. Lucy wasn’t sure which one of these was supposed to have found the dogs, not that it would make much difference. She’d have had more luck getting info out of corpses.

‘Sister Cassie,’ she said, turning back. ‘When you say “viciously treated”, what do you mean?’

‘Look for yourself, child. One won’t need to get too close to recognise the blow of the axe, the rip and tear of the knife.’ Very sadly, she ran a finger across her own throat. ‘Even the bite of the ligature. Certainly in the case of that poor creature on top.’

Lucy tried to focus on the object of interest. It was so caked in blood and grime, at least three quarters of it charred like an old carpet, that it was difficult to identify it as canine. She’d initially assumed that these would be the missing dogs that were still outstanding, probably more bait dogs that had died in the fighting-pit at Mahoney’s farm. But if they hadn’t been bitten to death, and if they hadn’t been clubbed by Mahoney’s hammer … what did that mean?

‘A particularly heinous cord was used in that case,’ Sister Cassie said. ‘Something like a wire. A neck-wire. Can you imagine that, for a poor innocent creature like this?’

Lucy’s eyes were drawn to what she supposed was the creature’s neck. And some minor detail of it now, finally, caught her attention. So much so that she hunkered down to look more closely, but the stench was truly sickening. When she straightened up again, she was white-cheeked, her mouth set like a trap.

‘God’s sake,’ Peabody mumbled, holding his jacket to the lower part of his face. ‘Can we get out of here?’

Lucy glanced at him, and then at Sister Cassie again. A freshly gathered pile of cardboard sheeting was stacked alongside her, next to her satchel.

‘What do you propose to do here, Sister?’ she asked. ‘I mean when you’ve said your prayers.’

‘Why, bury them.’

‘They’re already half-buried.’

‘Of course. We need only cover them, but it’s the very least we can do.’

‘They need to be covered, all right.’ Lucy turned back to Peabody. ‘For preservation.’

He lowered his jacket. ‘What?’

‘Have a gander, Malcolm. Specifically, that one on the top. Difficult to tell from here, but what’s left of its fur is actually pink.’

‘Pink?’

‘Yeah. And it’s wearing a collar. A jewel-studded collar … which ought to be worth at least a couple of grand.’

Chapter 21