Before Mariana could reply, they were interrupted by Julian. He emerged from a forensic tent, and waved at the officer. ‘It’s alright. She’s with me. She’s a colleague.’

The police officer gave Mariana a mistrustful look, but stepped aside. Mariana watched him depart and she turned to Julian. ‘Thanks.’

Julian smiled. ‘Not easily discouraged, are you? I like that. Let’s hope we don’t bump into the inspector.’ He winked at her. ‘Do you want to have a look? The pathologist’s an old friend of mine.’

They walked to the tent. The pathologist was standing in front of it, texting on his phone. He was a man in his forties, tall, completely bald, with piercing blue eyes.

‘Kuba,’ said Julian, ‘I’ve brought a colleague, if that’s okay.’

‘By all means.’ Kuba glanced at Mariana. He spoke with a slight Polish accent. ‘I warn you, it’s not a pretty sight. Worse than last time.’

He gestured around the back of the tent with his gloved hand. Mariana took a deep breath and walked around.

And there it was.

It was the most horrible thing Mariana had ever seen. She felt afraid to look at it. It didn’t seem real.

The body of a young woman, or the remains of one, was stretched out in the grass. The torso was slashed beyond recognition – all that was left was a mixture of blood and guts, mud and earth. The head was untouched, and the eyes were open, seeing and unseeing – in this gaze, a path led to oblivion.

Mariana kept staring at the eyes, unable to look away; transfixed by this Medusa’s look – eyes that had the power to petrify even after death …

A line from The Duchess of Malfi flashed into her mind – ‘Cover her face, mine eyes dazzle – she died young.’

She did die young. Too young. She was only twenty. It was her birthday next week – she was organising a party.

Mariana knew this because she recognised her at once.

It was Veronica.

2

Mariana started walking away from the body.

She felt physically sick. She had to put some distance between herself and what she had seen. She wanted to get away, but she knew there was no running away – it was a sight that would haunt her for the rest of her days. The blood, the head, those gaping eyes—

Stop it, she thought. Stop thinking.

She kept walking until she reached a rickety wooden fence, forming a boundary between this field and the next. It felt unsteady and liable to collapse; she leaned against it – flimsy support, but better than nothing.

‘You alright?’

Julian appeared at her side. He gave her a concerned look.

Mariana nodded. She realised her eyes were full of tears. She brushed them away, embarrassed. ‘I’m fine.’

‘When you’ve seen as many crime scenes as I have, you get used to it. For what it’s worth, I think you’re brave.’

Mariana shook her head. ‘I’m not, not at all.’

‘And you were right about Conrad Ellis. He was in custody at the time of the murder, so that lets him off the hook …’ Julian glanced at Kuba as he approached them. ‘Unless you don’t think they were killed by the same person?’

Kuba shook his head, pulling out a vape from his pocket. ‘No, it’s the same guy. Same MO – I counted twenty-two stab wounds.’ He took a drag and exhaled clouds of vapour.

Mariana peered at him. ‘There was something in her hand. What was it?’

‘Ah. You noticed that? A pinecone.’

‘I thought so. How odd.’

Julian glanced at her. ‘Why do you say that?’

Mariana shrugged. ‘Just there aren’t any pine trees around here.’ She thought for a second. ‘I’m wondering if there’s an inventory of everything found with Tara’s body?’

‘Funny you say that,’ Kuba said. ‘The same thing occurred to me – so I checked. And there was also a pinecone found with Tara’s body.’

‘A pinecone?’ said Julian. ‘How interesting. It must mean something to him … But what, I wonder?’

As he said that, Mariana suddenly remembered one of the slides Professor Fosca had showed in his lecture on Eleusis: a marble relief of a pinecone.

Yes, she thought. It does mean something.

Julian was looking around, frustrated. He shook his head. ‘How does he do it? Kills them in the open air – then vanishes, covered in blood, leaving no witnesses, no murder weapon, no discernible evidence … nothing.’

‘Just a glimpse into hell,’ said Kuba. ‘But you’re wrong about the blood. He wouldn’t necessarily be covered in blood. After all, the stabbing takes place post-mortem.’

‘What?’ Mariana stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Exactly that. He cut their throats first.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Kuba nodded. ‘In both cases, the cause of death was a deep incision – severing the tissues all the way to the bone in the neck. Death must have been instantaneous. Judging by the depth of the wound … I suspect he struck from behind. If I may?’

He stepped behind Julian, and elegantly demonstrated – using his vape as a knife. Mariana winced as he mimed slashing Julian’s throat.

‘You see? The arterial spray goes forward. Then, laying the body on the ground, during the stabbing, the blood just trickles downwards, into the earth. So he might have no blood on him at all.’

Mariana shook her head. ‘But – that doesn’t make any sense.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because that’s not – a frenzy. That’s not losing control, that’s not rage—’

Kuba shook his head. ‘No. The opposite. He’s very calm, in control – like he’s performing a kind of dance. It’s very precise. It’s … rytualistyczny …’ He searched for the word in English. ‘Ritualistic …? Is that correct?’

‘Ritualistic?’

Mariana stared at him – as a series of images flashed through her mind: Edward Fosca onstage, lecturing about religious rites; the postcard in Tara’s room, with an Ancient Greek oracle demanding sacrifice; and – at the back of her mind – the indelible memory of a bright blue sky, with a burning sun and a ruined temple dedicated to a vengeful goddess.

There was something – something she needed to think about. But before she could press Kuba further, there was a voice behind her.

‘What’s going on here?’

They all turned around. Chief Inspector Sangha was standing there. He did not look happy.

3

‘What’s she doing here?’ said Sangha, frowning.

Julian stepped forward. ‘Mariana’s with me. I thought she might have some insight – and she’s been extremely helpful.’

Sangha unscrewed the lid from his flask, balanced it precariously on the fence post, and poured some tea. He looked tired, Mariana thought – she didn’t envy him his job. His investigation had just doubled in size, and he’d lost his only suspect. She was hesitant to make things worse, but had no choice.

‘Chief Inspector,’ she said, ‘are you aware the victim is Veronica Drake? She was a student at St Christopher’s.’

The inspector stared at her with a slight look of dismay. ‘Are you sure?’

Mariana nodded. ‘And are you also aware Professor Fosca taught both victims? They were both part of his special group.’

‘What special group?’

‘I really think you should ask him about it.’

Inspector Sangha drained his tea before responding. ‘I see. Any more tips, Mariana?’

Mariana didn’t like his tone, but she smiled politely. ‘That’s it for the moment.’

Sangha poured the dregs from the cup onto the ground. He shook the lid and screwed it back on.

‘I have already asked you once not to intrude on my investigation. So let me put it like this. If I catch you trespassing on another crime scene, I will arrest you myself. Okay?’

Mariana opened her mouth to reply. But Julian responded first.

‘Sorry. Won’t happen again. Come on, Mariana.’

He guided a reluctant Mariana away from the others, back towards the police cordon.

‘I’m afraid Sangha’s got it in for you,’ Julian said. ‘If I were you, I’d keep out of his way. His bite is infinitely worse than his bark.’ He winked at her. ‘Don’t worry – I’ll keep you informed about any developments.’

‘Thanks. I’m grateful.’

Julian smiled. ‘Where are you staying? They’re putting me up at a hotel by the station.’

‘I’m staying in college.’

‘Very nice. Fancy a drink tonight? We can catch up?’

Mariana shook her head. ‘No – I’m sorry, I can’t.’

‘Oh, why not?’ Julian flashed a smile at her – but then he followed her gaze … And he saw she was looking at Fred, waving at her from the other side of the cordon.

‘Ah.’ Julian frowned. ‘I see you already have plans.’

‘What?’ Mariana shook her head. ‘No. He’s just a friend – of Zoe’s.’

‘Sure.’ Julian gave her a disbelieving smile. ‘No worries. I’ll be seeing you, Mariana.’

Julian looked a little annoyed. He turned and walked away.

Mariana was also feeling annoyed – with herself. She ducked under the cordon and walked back towards Fred. She felt increasingly angry. Why tell that stupid lie about Fred being Zoe’s friend? Mariana wasn’t guilty of anything; she had nothing to hide – so why lie?

Unless, of course, she wasn’t being honest with herself about her feelings for Fred. Was that possible? If so, it was a deeply unnerving thought.

What else was she lying to herself about?