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room. Time itself was stilled. The disciples sat like statues, their hands folded neatly in their laps. Warrior felt his spirits soothed by their serenity. In the leader’s presence all his fears faded away, and he could breathe freely for the first time in years.

    The leader broke the silence. His voice was like rippling water, enveloping them in its tranquillity.
    ‘All around us people are engaged in struggle. Here we are at peace.’ He had stared directly at Warrior. ‘You are a true follower. Your soul has begun its journey to the eternal light. You will be with us for all eternity. Through sacrifice you will attain salvation.’
    The other disciples took up the chant, repeating it over and over again.
    ‘Through sacrifice we will attain salvation.’

9
    T HE FOLLOWING MORNING, I AN checked to see who else was around that weekend. He hated viewing cadavers in the mortuary. It was worst when he had to go alone. Even the dour presence of his detective inspector offered some distraction from a body, but Rob had been called away to a meeting that morning. Ian’s spirits lifted when he discovered that Polly was on duty. He found her in the canteen.
    ‘Late breakfast or early morning break?’ he asked as he joined her.
    He nodded at her large glass of orange juice and plain buttered toast.
    ‘You look like you’ve got a hangover. I mean because you’re drinking orange juice,’ he added quickly, seeing her face twist in exasperation.

    ‘A date at the morgue?’ she laughed, when he invited her to accompany him. ‘You certainly know how to give a girl a good time.’
    He smiled, pleased to see her good mood restored.
    ‘Do you want to come? Or are you busy?’
    ‘Sure I’ll come. Why not? Anything’s better than being stuck here.’
    ‘Thanks, Polly. Only Rob’s tied up and it’s good to have someone else to bounce ideas off.’
    He didn’t tell her how much he would value the diversion of her company. She chatted happily in the car and he hardly thought about the viewing on the way to the mortuary. But as they stepped into the cold hushed building, a familiar dread took hold of him.

    He led Polly along the corridor, determined not to show his feelings. It was embarrassing, and pathetic, for a detective working on murder investigations to experience a physical revulsion at the sight of a corpse at an autopsy. He could cope without difficulty at crime scenes – as long as the murder wasn’t too gruesome – but seeing a victim carved up on a slab, like the carcass of a cow or a sheep being prepared for the butcher, made him heave. Sometimes he had to dash to the toilet to throw up. He wondered what Polly would think of him if that happened, and told himself fiercely that he would be fine.
    ‘Do you always put on a mask?’ she asked him and he nodded.
    ‘It’s just as well to be protected,’ he replied, aware that he sounded pompous. ‘And it helps with the smell.’
    The truth was that with the lower part of his face covered, it was easier to conceal his revulsion.

    The pathologist was leaning back against a table, chatting to one of his colleagues, mask dangling carelessly from one ear. His relaxed attitude calmed Ian, who was familiar with Dr Millard from previous cases. It was reassuring to know the post mortem was in his reliable hands. The pathologist’s nickname at the station, Dr Death, was a good-natured reference to his skeletal physique, an impression heightened by his bald head. But he was friendly and helpful, as well as competent. After an exchange of greetings they stood in silence for a moment, gazing at the body displayed on the table. She looked very small, like a plastic model of a person, so that Ian felt a curious sense of detachment from her. He wondered if this was how other officers always felt when they viewed autopsies, and whether he had finally managed to master his emotional response at the sight of a cadaver.
    ‘This is a woman in her fifties,’ Millard began