sorry,” she said , slightly out of breath. “It was the smell.”
Ash had led her out to the porch where there was some shelter from the wind. He put his hand on her shoulder, examined her face. She looked very small and pale all of a sudden . He resisted the urge to put his arm around her. PC Fenn was sat on the other side looking just as pale but at least he was managing to drink from a bottle of water.
“You okay?” Ash asked.
“Ye ah, I’m fine.” She smiled wanly, liking the fuss but not liking the fuss. Then suddenly she felt guilty. Ash needed to be doing his job, not sitting with her.
“O kay. I need to get hold of the DCI. You gonna’ be okay for a moment?”
“Yes. I’ll be fine.” She felt relieved he wasn’t lingering.
He touched her arm lightly; she felt the contact and smiled. He disappeared out into the snowstorm, phone already at his ear.
She looked around the porch. At the faded newsletters with pictures of smiling children, at the leather-bound hymn books discarded in the corner. Everything was caked in dust. Above the arch over the interior doors, some wording had been carved into the stone. The work was crude, the letters jolty and misplaced:
Damn the flesh that depends on the soul. Damn the soul that depends on the flesh.
She considered it for a while but the scripture meant nothing to her. Religion had always held a strange position in Alix’s life. Her mother had been Catholic, her father indifferent. Their differing views had caused a strain in their marriage anyway. And Zara was the last exertion of force that snapped the wires holding them altogether. It wasn’t long before her mother succumbed to illness and drifted away, both physically and emotionally from all of them. She filled her time in between asking God why her child had been taken from her. Asking for her to be returned. It was her father who had led the campaign for Zara’s return. Press conferences, interviews, appeals for information, charity events, private investigators. There was even talk of a book deal at one point. Thank goodness he never went through with it. But for all the time that Vaughn Franchot invested trying to find his youngest daughter, he let his eldest slip quietly away from him.
She felt stupid, annoyed with herself for causing a scene. She was supposed to be helping and so far she had pissed off a leading Q.C., stormed out of her first meeting with her new boss, got them all taken off a high profile job and puked up on a crime scene.
“Good start,” she mumbled under her breath. The mistake, perhaps, was drinking that can of Dr Pepper this morning.
She sighed heavily, knowing that she would have to go back into the church if she were to salvage any dignity from today. Keera Julian brushed past her as if she weren’t even there as she walked to the back of the church. She slurred something inaudible as she past. It was unlikely to be a compliment on her dress sense, Alix concluded.
From the back of the church, the human pyre loomed high above the altar like some deformed demon, a mash of mangled flesh fused together with congealed blood and gristle. A few tortured faces were visible, their eyes seemingly locked on to her. It was just her and the bodies. And the flies.
She approached the front of the church apprehensively, pausing a moment at the crossing. The bodies were piled in front of the altar, in an area of the church known as the apse. To her left and right the church building hollowed out into two rooms – the north and south transept – to form the cross. She took a deep breath and stepped beyond the final pew, walked forward, close enough to reach out and touch.
Wedged through the centre of the pyre, hung inanimately over the edge, was a boy of no more than fourteen. There was a deep gouge under his neck. Alix put her hand up to him. She had no intention of touching but she felt that she needed to acknowledge this child in some small way other than by staring at him. The
Ash had led her out to the porch where there was some shelter from the wind. He put his hand on her shoulder, examined her face. She looked very small and pale all of a sudden . He resisted the urge to put his arm around her. PC Fenn was sat on the other side looking just as pale but at least he was managing to drink from a bottle of water.
“You okay?” Ash asked.
“Ye ah, I’m fine.” She smiled wanly, liking the fuss but not liking the fuss. Then suddenly she felt guilty. Ash needed to be doing his job, not sitting with her.
“O kay. I need to get hold of the DCI. You gonna’ be okay for a moment?”
“Yes. I’ll be fine.” She felt relieved he wasn’t lingering.
He touched her arm lightly; she felt the contact and smiled. He disappeared out into the snowstorm, phone already at his ear.
She looked around the porch. At the faded newsletters with pictures of smiling children, at the leather-bound hymn books discarded in the corner. Everything was caked in dust. Above the arch over the interior doors, some wording had been carved into the stone. The work was crude, the letters jolty and misplaced:
Damn the flesh that depends on the soul. Damn the soul that depends on the flesh.
She considered it for a while but the scripture meant nothing to her. Religion had always held a strange position in Alix’s life. Her mother had been Catholic, her father indifferent. Their differing views had caused a strain in their marriage anyway. And Zara was the last exertion of force that snapped the wires holding them altogether. It wasn’t long before her mother succumbed to illness and drifted away, both physically and emotionally from all of them. She filled her time in between asking God why her child had been taken from her. Asking for her to be returned. It was her father who had led the campaign for Zara’s return. Press conferences, interviews, appeals for information, charity events, private investigators. There was even talk of a book deal at one point. Thank goodness he never went through with it. But for all the time that Vaughn Franchot invested trying to find his youngest daughter, he let his eldest slip quietly away from him.
She felt stupid, annoyed with herself for causing a scene. She was supposed to be helping and so far she had pissed off a leading Q.C., stormed out of her first meeting with her new boss, got them all taken off a high profile job and puked up on a crime scene.
“Good start,” she mumbled under her breath. The mistake, perhaps, was drinking that can of Dr Pepper this morning.
She sighed heavily, knowing that she would have to go back into the church if she were to salvage any dignity from today. Keera Julian brushed past her as if she weren’t even there as she walked to the back of the church. She slurred something inaudible as she past. It was unlikely to be a compliment on her dress sense, Alix concluded.
From the back of the church, the human pyre loomed high above the altar like some deformed demon, a mash of mangled flesh fused together with congealed blood and gristle. A few tortured faces were visible, their eyes seemingly locked on to her. It was just her and the bodies. And the flies.
She approached the front of the church apprehensively, pausing a moment at the crossing. The bodies were piled in front of the altar, in an area of the church known as the apse. To her left and right the church building hollowed out into two rooms – the north and south transept – to form the cross. She took a deep breath and stepped beyond the final pew, walked forward, close enough to reach out and touch.
Wedged through the centre of the pyre, hung inanimately over the edge, was a boy of no more than fourteen. There was a deep gouge under his neck. Alix put her hand up to him. She had no intention of touching but she felt that she needed to acknowledge this child in some small way other than by staring at him. The
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