Now he could see how much blood there was. In an instant there was more of it, out of the man’s abdomen and groin. Tunstall could see the fabric ripping apart. Suddenly the man’s trousers burst open, and there was a great gout of blood as—

Just like that, the screams stopped.

Tunstall stared at the flesh that spiralled up into a sort of swaying pillar, a snake of … oh, God … what was this? How could this be happening? He’d never imagined—

With a slap like meat hitting a slab, everything he was looking at suddenly blurred sideways and, with a concussive splatter of blood, something sped through the side of the car.

Across the rear seats lay the remains of Michael Spatley, his neck and abdomen and groin split open and empty, his mouth lolling. The thumping and swaying against the car continued. For a moment, Tunstall could only stare. Then he made himself clamber into the back seats and did what he had to do.

Chapter One

ONE

Detective Inspector James Quill liked his sleep. He liked it especially on these short summer nights when he was woken by the dawn and had had to leave the window open to get cool, and then it rained on the carpet. He would only willingly give up his sleep for his daughter, Jessica, who would on occasion wander into his and Sarah’s bedroom at 3 a.m. with something very important to tell them. These days Quill, having once been made to forget Jessica through occult means, would listen to that important thing with a bit more patience. Now once again there was an unusual noise in his bedroom, and he found a smile coming to his face, sure it was her.

He blinked awake, realizing that this time the noise wasn’t the voice of his child, but of his phone on the bedside table, ringing.

He lay there for a moment. There was a lovely pre-dawn light through the curtains.

‘Would you please answer that,’ said Sarah, ‘and tell them to fuck off?’

Quill saw who was calling and answered the phone. ‘Lisa Ross,’ he said, ‘my wife sends you her fondest regards.’

‘If it’s her, I actually do,’ amended Sarah.

‘It’s the Michael Spatley murder, Jimmy.’ The intelligence analyst’s voice on the other end of the line sounded excited.

‘Please don’t tell me—?’

‘Yeah. It looks like this is one of ours.’

*   *   *

Quill took a deep breath as he always did before quietly opening the door of his semi-detached in Enfield and stepping out into the world. He looked around cautiously as he approached his car in the driveway. This morning there didn’t seem to be anything horrifying—

‘Morning,’ said a voice from nearby.

Quill jumped. He looked round, his heart racing.