“With all your leads I know you’re gonna write me a scoop, Ella.” It was loud enough for her to suspect he wanted Debbie to hear.
She looked up and saw him standing at the second floor window. “Send the police if you don’t hear back from me.”
There was an uncharacteristic silence on the other end of the line. “Check-in in two hours,” he said softly. “And don’t take any risks.”
“Right. And please don’t tell Debbie where I’m going.”
“The only place I’m telling Debbie to go is back to her desk.”
Ella threw her phone into her bag and pulled out of the car park. A dark shape fluttered around an unlit street lamp. She refused to look at what had to be a bird.
Chapter Eight 24 th October. Late Afternoon.
NOT SURE WHAT she hoped to accomplish by coming here, except maybe put her life in danger, Ella stared at the church. All semblance of welcome had disappeared, and approaching the building took a great deal of willpower. She ran her hand over the stone as she walked down the side to the canal. From this angle, the grotesques showed as no more than an occasional imperfection on the roof ledge. No sign of a potential source. No sign of anyone.
A drop of rain hit her cheek. Ella looked skyward and decided to abandon her examination of the canal. The chance of finding an underground passage when police and divers had failed was practically nil. She backtracked, wiping her hand across her rain-splattered cheek. A jolt of fear coursed through her veins as her fingers came away red. Another drop plopped onto her nose. She jumped away from the wall and rubbed the spot with a hastily withdrawn tissue. A blood stain seeped across the white weave. She dropped the tissue, then promptly snatched it up again and stowed it among the mess in her handbag.
Craning her neck, she noticed a grotesque perched on the ledge directly above, its crooked beak arced outward, its wings half spread from its body. A shadow flitted behind the statue. Ella’s yelp was drowned by an eerie howl, a pained cry that pleaded for release. She pressed closer to the wall. Spots of blood were beginning to congeal on a nearby grassy tuft. Another drop fell, bending the green blade beneath it. Before Ella could collect the evidence, thunder cracked overhead, opening the heavens and releasing a deluge that sent her sprinting for the back doors. She barely avoided the stream of water gushing from the dragon-headed gargoyle as she ducked into the foyer and swung the doors against the stinging wind. Frantic, she wiped the drops from her neck, and sighed when they turned out to be nothing more than water.
Ella listened carefully. Quiet pervaded the church. With the heavy doors firmly shut, the storm was a muted rumble. Her irregular breaths were the only disturbance. She shuddered. It would be a lie to blame her wet hair. Flipping her mobile open, she quick-dialled Rob.
“Hamlyn,” the voice at the other end announced.
“Rob, it’s Ella. I’m at the church. I’ve found some blood.” She realised her voice was low and she was firing her words at twice her normal speed even before he told her to slow down. “I heard a scream. I’m going to the roof to investigate. Meet me here.”
She hung up before he could tell her to stay put and wait for him, eliminating one half of the argument they would later have. With a deep breath, she moved into the belly of the church. Unlit, with little light filtering through the stained-glass, the statues appeared menacing. Glad she didn’t need to pass them, Ella climbed the steps to the gallery. Her footsteps, soft in her trainers, nevertheless squelched louder than she liked. The wind moaned through cracks in the masonry, making the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Creeping over the transept, she noticed a crack in the mural where the door to the roof stood ajar. The damp, musty scent of the belfry assailed her as she eased the panel open.
A missile
She looked up and saw him standing at the second floor window. “Send the police if you don’t hear back from me.”
There was an uncharacteristic silence on the other end of the line. “Check-in in two hours,” he said softly. “And don’t take any risks.”
“Right. And please don’t tell Debbie where I’m going.”
“The only place I’m telling Debbie to go is back to her desk.”
Ella threw her phone into her bag and pulled out of the car park. A dark shape fluttered around an unlit street lamp. She refused to look at what had to be a bird.
Chapter Eight 24 th October. Late Afternoon.
NOT SURE WHAT she hoped to accomplish by coming here, except maybe put her life in danger, Ella stared at the church. All semblance of welcome had disappeared, and approaching the building took a great deal of willpower. She ran her hand over the stone as she walked down the side to the canal. From this angle, the grotesques showed as no more than an occasional imperfection on the roof ledge. No sign of a potential source. No sign of anyone.
A drop of rain hit her cheek. Ella looked skyward and decided to abandon her examination of the canal. The chance of finding an underground passage when police and divers had failed was practically nil. She backtracked, wiping her hand across her rain-splattered cheek. A jolt of fear coursed through her veins as her fingers came away red. Another drop plopped onto her nose. She jumped away from the wall and rubbed the spot with a hastily withdrawn tissue. A blood stain seeped across the white weave. She dropped the tissue, then promptly snatched it up again and stowed it among the mess in her handbag.
Craning her neck, she noticed a grotesque perched on the ledge directly above, its crooked beak arced outward, its wings half spread from its body. A shadow flitted behind the statue. Ella’s yelp was drowned by an eerie howl, a pained cry that pleaded for release. She pressed closer to the wall. Spots of blood were beginning to congeal on a nearby grassy tuft. Another drop fell, bending the green blade beneath it. Before Ella could collect the evidence, thunder cracked overhead, opening the heavens and releasing a deluge that sent her sprinting for the back doors. She barely avoided the stream of water gushing from the dragon-headed gargoyle as she ducked into the foyer and swung the doors against the stinging wind. Frantic, she wiped the drops from her neck, and sighed when they turned out to be nothing more than water.
Ella listened carefully. Quiet pervaded the church. With the heavy doors firmly shut, the storm was a muted rumble. Her irregular breaths were the only disturbance. She shuddered. It would be a lie to blame her wet hair. Flipping her mobile open, she quick-dialled Rob.
“Hamlyn,” the voice at the other end announced.
“Rob, it’s Ella. I’m at the church. I’ve found some blood.” She realised her voice was low and she was firing her words at twice her normal speed even before he told her to slow down. “I heard a scream. I’m going to the roof to investigate. Meet me here.”
She hung up before he could tell her to stay put and wait for him, eliminating one half of the argument they would later have. With a deep breath, she moved into the belly of the church. Unlit, with little light filtering through the stained-glass, the statues appeared menacing. Glad she didn’t need to pass them, Ella climbed the steps to the gallery. Her footsteps, soft in her trainers, nevertheless squelched louder than she liked. The wind moaned through cracks in the masonry, making the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Creeping over the transept, she noticed a crack in the mural where the door to the roof stood ajar. The damp, musty scent of the belfry assailed her as she eased the panel open.
A missile
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