He circles a hand around a coal-black spot on the floor. ‘Right about here. That’s what the chief fire investigator said.’
She makes mental notes. The offender did this in the study, not the lounge. It was premeditated. He was searching for something and either found it and burned it, or ran out of time. If the latter, he wanted to make sure no one else discovered what he couldn’t. ‘Any accelerant used? Any petrol or oil from the kitchen?’
Featherby shakes his head. ‘Not that I was told of.’
She steps into the corridor and shouts up the stairs. ‘Gideon! Do you have a minute?’
The archaeologist hangs his head over the banister.
‘Was your father a smoker?’
He thinks for a second. ‘No. I don’t think so. From what I can remember he was strongly against.’ He gives a resigned look. ‘It’s possible he started in the last few years, after I lost touch, but I think that’s unlikely. Anything else?’
She smiles up at him. ‘No, not for now.’
He disappears and she returns to the study. The constable looks at her for an explanation. She takes time out to educate him. ‘The offender is a smoker. He used his own lighter, a disposable BIC. The son said he saw one in the intruder’s hand before he accosted him in here. This person’s not an arsonist, has never committed arson before. Had he been, he’d have used an accelerant. He’s also unlikely to have a criminal record but given the way he disabled your partner, he may well be ex-services.’
Featherby is fascinated. ‘How can you be sure?’
‘I can’t. That’s why I said not likely. Use your common sense though. This is what in profiling is called a mixed scene — some of the job was highly professional and some total bungle. You go breaking the law and you need an element of luck to keep things as you planned, otherwise you’re off script and then anything goes. This offender didn’t get any good luck. The householder came back while he was torching the place, caught him unawares, called the cops and almost trapped him in a burning room. At that point the guy acted off script and was thinking only about survival and escape, hence why he disabled but didn’t kill PC Jones and forgot the tool bag.’
Featherby’s seen enough burglaries and car break-ins to know she’s making sense.
Megan’s not finished. ‘Arson wasn’t the original intention. It was an afterthought. He was looking for something, something that presumably he didn’t find.’
‘So why set the fire?’
She thinks. ‘So no one else could find it. Meaning whatever it is, threatens him or whoever he’s working with.’
Featherby nods towards the hall and staircase. ‘Did he give you a description?’
She screws up her face. ‘Don’t even go there. He couldn’t remember a thing about the way the man looked.’
‘Pity.’
‘Forget it for now. Concentrate on the offender. As well as not having a criminal record, he’s not too bright. But he is bold. It takes balls to break into a house, especially one where someone’s just died. So let’s presume our individual is confident, strong and relatively mature. I guess he’s thirty to forty-five years old, works doing some kind of physical labour. Given that only about six per cent of Wiltshire is ethnically diverse, we can assume he’s white.’
The PC puts it together. ‘White male, manual worker, thirty to forty-five, smoker, no criminal record. That’s amazing, given that you’re just looking at a burned-out room.’
She almost starts explaining that the room is the last thing she’s looking at. What she’s really studying is the invisible clues that all offenders leave about their behaviour.
‘What do you think is the guy’s connection to the deceased?’
She takes a beat. ‘Smart question. And if we crack it, we solve all the mysteries of this case.’
‘But there is a connection, right?’
‘At least one. Probably several.’
He looks confused.
Megan explains. ‘The intruder may have professional links to the deceased. He might be a gardener, window cleaner, car mechanic. He probably knew the professor because he regularly did jobs for him or delivered to his house. That would also make him more confident about coming up here and breaking in. But I think he may also have known Nathaniel Chase because he was mixed up in whatever the old man was.’
‘I don’t get it.’
She expands. ‘Chase had a lot of money. Too much for a man like him. He was dirty, I’m sure of it. The only question is, what kind of dirt?’
Sitting at the top of the stairs, Gideon feels like someone’s stabbed a pin in his heart. But deep down he knows she’s right. His father was involved in something bad. Bad enough to keep secret.
34
Just before midnight they come for him.
They move quickly and don’t speak. There’s no going back now. Lee Johns will soon be known only as Lacerta. But the change of name is going to be painful. He’s been blindfolded and driven for miles in preparation. He’s about to be initiated.
He has earned the right to know of the Sanctuary’s existence but it will be some time before he is entrusted with its location. The strong hands of unseen men lead him through the Descending Passage and into an antechamber. Still blindfolded, he is stripped and washed, led naked to the Great Room. It is vast. Cavernous. More than a hundred square metres. So high, the ceiling is invisible, a black shroud somewhere up above.
The smell of hundreds of burning candles fills the cool air. Fear and nakedness heighten his senses. The stone slabs beneath his feet feel as hard and cold as ice.
The Henge Master raises a hammer, a symbol of the craft of the ancients who created the resting place of the Sacreds and the Sanctuary. He looks across the congregation and lets it fall. A gigantic marble block is pushed across the single entrance and seals the chamber.
‘Let the eyes of the child be opened.’
The blindfold is removed. The initiation has begun.
Lee’s heart pounds. He is in an entirely circular room. Through blinking eyes he sees in front of him a life-size replica of Stonehenge. It is complete. As perfect as it was on the day it was finished. At the centre is a cloaked and hooded figure, his face covered in shade and unrecognisable.
The Henge Master speaks: ‘Behold the embodiment of the Sacreds. The divinities rested here centuries ago, when our forefathers, the founding Followers, built this cosmic circle and this Sanctuary. In here, you are in their presence. Out of respect, once initiated, you will ensure your head is always covered and your eyes always lowered. Do you understand?’
He knows how to respond. ‘Yes, Master.’
‘You are brought before us because you are deemed fit by members of our Craft to become a lifelong Follower. Is that your will?’
‘Yes, Master.’
‘And are you ready to pledge your life, your soul and your loyalty to the Sacreds and to those who protect them?’
‘Yes, Master.’
‘The Sacreds renew us only as long as we renew them. We honour them with our flesh and blood and in return they protect and renew our flesh and blood. Do you pledge your flesh and blood to their immortal holiness?’
‘Yes, Master.’
From behind him, incense begins to burn inside handheld copper thuribles swung on heavy chains. The air fills with the smells of sweet spices, onycha and galbanum. The Henge Master spreads his arms wide. ‘Bring he who wishes to Follow to the Slaughter Stone.’
Lee Johns is led through the circle to the stone. He feels an urge to look at those around him. Sean warned that he must not do this, must not look into the face of any of those inside the Great Room, especially that of the Master.