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moved closer to the wall and took off his glasses. Lieutenant Harris came and stood close behind him, shaking his head in disbelief.
    Printed directly on to the paint was a life-size black-and-white image of Bobby and Sara. They were lying side by side on the bed, both of them half-naked. Sara had her right arm raised as if she were trying to protect her face, and her hair was on fire, so that a shower of tiny sparks was spraying out of the top of her head. Bobby had his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth clenched. It was difficult to tell, but it looked as if his ears were already burned off.
    â€˜This is like a photograph,’ said Jim with undisguised wonder. ‘It
is
a photograph.’
    Jack Billings coughed and nodded. ‘I’d say that this is an exact image of the moment that Bobby Tubbs and Sara Miller were killed.’
    â€˜What’s this wall made of?’ asked Lieutenant Harris, knocking it with his knuckle.
    â€˜Seasoned pine – two-and-a half inches thick, painted with regular white emulsion. We’ve taken samples, but it doesn’t appear to have been treated with any kind of photo-sensitive chemicals.’
    Jim stepped back. ‘This is exactly what you would have seen if you had been standing at the foot of the bed when Bobby and Sara were killed. It’s like somebody took a photograph the instant it happened, and then brought it in here, and printed it on to the wall.’
    â€˜But
who
?’ asked Lieutenant Harris.
    Jack Billings shrugged. ‘I don’t personally know of any photographic technique that could have been used to produce an image like this. But here it is in front of our eyes, so there must be
some
way of doing it, and that’s what we have to find out. If you ask me, Lieutenant, once we know how, it won’t take us long to discover who, or why. This is highly advanced, highly specialized stuff … There can’t be more than a handful of people who have the technology to produce this kind of imaging.’
    Jim couldn’t take his eyes off the picture of Bobby and Sara. They didn’t have the terrified expressions of people who suddenly realize they’re just about to die. They were simply reacting to a devastating blast of light and heat – eyes shut tight, face muscles clenched, hands protectively lifted. When this picture was taken, it was already a split-second too late to save them.
    He went back into the bedroom. The acrid reek of burned bedding made his sinuses run. He discovered a paper napkin from Roy’s Rib Shack in his pocket, and wiped his nose. The napkin smelled strongly of barbecue sauce.
    â€˜Sense anything?’ asked Lieutenant Harris hopefully.
    Jim shook his head.
    â€˜No spiritual vibes or nothing? No ghostly echoes? No auras?’
    â€˜No, nothing like that.’
    â€˜You ever hear of anything like this before? People getting cremated while they’re lying in bed.’
    â€˜I’ve heard about spontaneous human combustion – people catching fire for no apparent reason and burning to ashes. Scientists call it SHC or “ultra-rapid holocaust.”’
    â€˜Do you think something like that might have happened here?’
    â€˜I don’t know,’ said Jim. ‘It’s quite a famous phenomenon. Even Charles Dickens wrote about it. There’s a character in
Bleak House,
a rag-and-bone dealer called Krook, who gets burned to a pile of ashes while he’s sitting in his chair by the fire. But I don’t think there’s a whole lot of serious research to back it up.’
    â€˜What about that picture on the closet wall?’ said Lieutenant Harris. ‘Damned if I know what to make of that.’
    â€˜Damned if I know, either. Sorry.’
    â€˜Well, if you think of anything at all – if you get any hunches, or funny feelings – you know how to get in touch with me. Just don’t talk about any of this to the media,
please.
Especially that