‘Backup’s ten minutes away. We need to wait for it.’

‘It’ll be too late by then. We’ve already lost enough time. Go round the back.’

Rowlinson might have been about to protest but Priest shot him a look. He grunted with annoyance before dashing round the side of the church.

Priest pushed the front door open and crept in to the church.

The first thing that hit him was the smell – it was enough to make his stomach churn.

Karl Jones was standing at the end of the church. He stood with his back to Priest on top of the altar, facing a giant cross looming above him, silhouetted against a dark, circular window. He was looking up at it, in a kind of penitence. Waiting. Watching.

At Karl’s feet, Elinor and Julian had been draped across the altar, their bodies hanging limply over the edge, Elinor’s longer arms brushing against the floor. Priest held his breath, focusing on Elinor, watching her body for signs of movement. The boy, too. He was also frighteningly still.

A horrible realisation dawned on him. I’m too late.

Karl was clasping something in his hands. Priest couldn’t see what it was until he lifted the object high above his head and the spotlight above him caught the smooth metal, producing a glint of light. Priest watched in horror as he poured a clear liquid over himself, drenching his shirt and most of Elinor and Julian in the process before casting the petrol can aside, waiting for it to clatter into the corner of the aisle.

‘Karl,’ Priest called out evenly.

Karl stopped and turned his head to one side, although he could only possibly see Priest in his peripheral vision from that angle.

‘You made it then,’ he said, turning back. ‘I’m impressed, and also rather pleased. I wanted you to see this, but if you hadn’t shown up in time then I knew you’d be dead. That would have been fine too.’

Priest took a few paces forward but didn’t go too far. Petrol was running down the cracks between the flagstones, down the back of the pews. Knitted hassocks bearing ancient family crests were soaked. Even the walls were covered with dark shadows, which Priest realised were splashes of fuel. There must have been gallons of the stuff.

One small spark and this whole place will light up like it’s New Year in Shanghai.

‘Better that I’m here, though, right, Karl?’ Priest suggested. ‘Otherwise I’d have missed the final moment when you restore the balance. That’s what this is about, right?’

His heart lurched as Karl produced a box of matches from his pocket, played with it in his hand, showing him just enough of what he was doing to let him know who was in control. You’re not hanging around, are you?