‘But … I don’t know! I swear! The last time I spoke to him, he was nineteen years old. After what happened, he … he blamed me. For everything. For the break-up with his mother, for my insisting on bringing him here. I only know what he looks like now from the picture on his website!’

Another chunk of the chapel’s roof caved in, and there was a whump as the debris hit the floor. Fleet focused on the headmaster, searching his face for another lie, but he could sense that Harris, this time, was telling the truth.

‘Show me,’ Fleet said.

Harris’s expression creased in confusion.

‘The picture. Show it to me!’

Bevan was already holding out his phone for Harris to take. With fumbling fingers, Harris tried typing in the address of the website he’d mentioned, but he was clearly struggling to complete the task. Bevan was watching over Harris’s shoulder, his eyes progressively narrowing, and after a moment he took the phone back and started tapping on the screen himself, evidently finishing whatever Harris had started.

He flipped the phone to allow Fleet to see.

On the screen was a picture of a man who could have been anything from Fleet’s age to a decade younger. And immediately Fleet spotted the resemblance between Isaac and his father. They had the same high cheekbones and angled jaw. On Isaac, however, they looked less severe, and with his neatly combed hair, and his jumper and tie, he looked more like a bank clerk than a killer.

And then Fleet noticed the URL.

‘This is him?’ he said to Harris, jabbing a finger towards the screen. ‘This is your son?’

Harris nodded – and another piece of the puzzle slotted into place.

Bevan was already raising the phone to his ear, angling himself away from the roar of the flames. Fleet was left staring at the headmaster, cursing his own stupidity. They’d found their killer days ago. Nicky had, rather, and Fleet had been too slow to see it.

Shining Light. Isaac was the manager at Shining Light.

‘He … he calls himself Zack now,’ Harris said. ‘He doesn’t even use his mother’s surname any more. He hates her almost as much as he hates me – blames her for letting me bring him here. He goes by Lawrence. It was his grandfather’s name. His mother’s father. He was the only person in the family Isaac ever got along with.’

Fleet was scouring the crowd on the hill, squinting to try to peer through the smoke. From the look of it, about half of the attendees of the memorial service had already made it around to the front of the building, but that still left hundreds of people between the chapel and the school.