Balanced precariously on top of each one is a bound semi-naked man with a crown of thorns and a noose around his neck.

Archer feels her heart start pounding. Her hand caresses her throat.

In the centre is Lewis Faulkner.

To his right is a young man she doesn’t recognise but to Faulkner’s left is Jamie Blackwell.

Chapter 44

44

‘HE’S BROADCASTING FROM A RECENTLY created Facebook page,’ says Klara.

Archer can see the title on the page: Father, Son and Ghost.

‘The #FatherSonAndGhost hashtag is trending everywhere,’ says Quinn, as he looks at his phone.

Archer swallows as she takes in the scene. ‘Where is it?’

‘Just tracking it now,’ says Klara.

Jamie and the two other men are wobbling with bloody bare feet on the sharp edges of the glass vitrines. Their hands are secured behind their backs and around each neck is a tightly fixed noose looped to the rafters above. Faulkner’s eyes roll back in his head and he throws up. The vomit spills onto his chest, some of it drips and sinks slowly into the formaldehyde below. The young man is shivering and crying. He turns his head slowly to Faulkner and Jamie and with a distressed expression appears to cry out loud.

It all happens so quickly.

He loses his balance; his feet slip and he drops like a pebble into the liquid. He kicks and struggles as he sinks deeper into the formaldehyde, his toes inches from the bottom. He scrunches up his face, obviously trying to hold his breath, but the noose tightens and his face darkens. In seconds his eyes open, bulging, and his mouth opens as panic for breath sets in. He shakes hopelessly in an effort to break free but within moments he is still and he begins to float in the hazy yellow solution.

‘Jesus Christ,’ says Quinn.

‘It’s coming from Ealing!’ says Klara.

‘Are you sure?’ asks Archer.

‘According to this broadcast, yes. He wants us to find them.’

Within minutes Archer and Quinn are racing across London. Archer continues to watch the broadcast on her phone. Lewis Faulkner is wobbling again, but Jamie is holding steady.

‘Stay calm,’ she whispers.

She stares in horror at the young man in the vitrine. His mouth is open, his lungs and stomach full of formaldehyde. His eyes are wide, in an expression of disbelief. There is no sound from the broadcast. Archer tries to turn up the volume, but it remains mute.

Klara calls Quinn, who passes his phone to Grace.

‘I have entered the location on Google Maps and opened an aerial shot,’ says Klara. ‘It looks like an old gothic building . . . just a moment.’ Archer hears Klara typing furiously. ‘Yes, it’s called . . . Twyford Abbey. Just off the North Circular.’

‘Thanks!’ says Archer disconnecting the call. ‘Harry, can you go any faster?’

‘I’m doing my best,’ he replies.

Faulkner’s right foot slips and splashes on the surface of the chemical liquid.