“Jesus!”

“I really don’t think he’s going to help us, Frankie, no matter how many times you invoke his name.” Corstorphine shone a flashlight into the tower, the light catching quartz crystals in the stonework which shone briefly like stars, tiny pinpricks of diamond light in an otherwise dark, square universe. He slipped the torch back into his pocket. “There’s nothing more we can do here until the tower’s made safe. See if the church can be secured, I’ll get hold of the forensics team again.” Corstorphine turned to leave. “Put a rocket under the building surveyors when they get here, we need the body and bell removed and a fingertip search of all the rubble. I’ll see you back at the station.”

As he left the scene, Corstorphine puzzled over what possible link could exist between the town bully and a minister. Was there even a connection to be made or was someone randomly killing for the sheer hell of it? Either way his workload had just increased dramatically. He keyed the number for the Inverness forensics team on the way to his car, this could be another first for them.

Frankie stood in the doorway for a while longer, staring at the bloodied remains of the minister’s extremities splayed under the cracked church bell. She was thinking along the same lines as Corstorphine – there had to be a connection, but what possible link could there be? She told PC Lamb to stay put and not let anything other than the minister’s remains and the bell be taken out of the church, handing him more reels of blue and white police tape with instructions to put a cordon around the entire scene of crime. Quite how they were going to extract the minister was one problem she was glad to leave to the ambulance and fire services, now waiting outside until the building was declared safe.

Once back at the station, Corstorphine added the minister’s name, the Reverend Simon McLean, to the crazy board. His marker stood alone and unconnected, in death as well as in life. Sighing heavily, he drew a rough gearwheel in the middle of the whiteboard, linking it to Oscar and the minister. Somehow, they had to be connected. He keyed his computer into life, brought up Oscar’s case notes and searched for the minister on the police VALCRI system. Quite why their inconsequential Highland station had been chosen to trial the new European software was a mystery, but at this stage Corstorphine was glad to use any tool at his disposal. Unsurprisingly there was nothing. The minister had led a blameless existence as far as the police were concerned, not even so much as a parking ticket. He tried entering bone gears as a key word, again nothing. Corstorphine sighed again, staring at the computer screen as if force of will could entice it to impart some meaningful clue. The screen remained devoid of inspiration and Corstorphine switched the computer off in disgust and pulled on his jacket. The forensics report from Oscar’s death was due in tomorrow and there was nothing he could realistically accomplish by staying here on a Sunday.