PROLOGUE
Bryant averted his gaze from the hole in the ground. He couldn’t force himself to imagine the coffin descending into darkness.
He shrugged further into his jacket as the cold wind gusted around the small group of mourners at the top of Powke Lane Cemetery. The coffin was being placed into the hearse for its final journey up the hill to where they awaited its arrival.
Nice spot, people always said about the highest point of the cemetery. Mourners drew comfort from a good view from where they buried their loved ones. He suspected that the dead didn’t care.
He knew his mind was rambling away with inconsequential thoughts to avoid facing what was actually going on right in front of him.
Was Stacey doing the same thing? he wondered as she met his gaze. Their eyes locked for a moment. Each wondering how they had got to this point. Both of them were original members of the team; the fourth one buried already after heroically saving a young boy’s life. He wasn’t surprised to see tears forming in the detective constable’s eyes before she broke the hold of their gaze. Their thoughts were also with the late Detective Sergeant Kevin Dawson.
Not far away from Stacey stood Alison Lowe, a behaviourist who had consulted on numerous cases, during which she had formed a strong bond with Stacey. A few sideways glances at her best friend offered quiet reassurance.
His eyes moved across to Penn and noted the stoicism in his demeanour. The most recent addition to the team and a man Bryant felt to be emotionless and cold with a sprinkling of weird. Recently he had come to know him better and understood him a whole lot more. The man was not as infallible as he’d once thought. Before they’d walked into the service, he had taken Penn aside to reassure him that he hadn’t fucked up during their most recent case.
She would have wanted him to do that.
Two feet away from Penn stood Woody – DCI Woodward, their boss. His arms had not moved from his side, and his gaze remained fixed ahead. What memories was he reliving right now? Bryant wondered.
His gaze swept across the rest of the mourners. Local pathologist Keats stood to the right of Woody. To his right was Doctor A, the Macedonian forensic anthropologist who had assisted them on many cases. Beside her was their lead forensic technician, Mitch, present at every crime scene. A gap of three feet separated him from Ted Morgan, a child psychologist, now in his seventies, and as much a part of this family as any one of them.
And that was it. The total number of people surrounding the grave.
Bryant was struck that they had all chosen to stand singly. There were no small huddles. It was as though they had all spaced themselves evenly around the grave, forming a barrier, protection.
He shook the thought away. It was too late for that now.
The minister finished the prayer and stood aside to reveal a temporary wooden cross. Bryant’s breath caught in his throat. His conscious mind knew what they were here for – what they had come here to do – but his brain wasn’t ready to see the black-and-white proof of it. His gaze passed over the dates and went to the words inscribed into the wood.
Even through the tears in his eyes, he could make out the name and, once again he asked himself one question:
How the hell had they ended up here?
ONE
THIRTEEN DAYS EARLIER
Kim’s voice got lost against the cloth that was tied loosely around her mouth, but the tie wrap that bound her hands behind her back prevented her from pulling it away.
She growled in desperation at her powerlessness and her inability to help prevent her team from danger.
Danger of coming last at this rate, she realised as she spat out the gag.
‘Bryant, make the same knot as Stacey,’ she cried. ‘It’ll be stronger.’
The outburst earned her a stern look from the course coordinator, Jock, a short-haired, strapping ex-SAS member who now taught teams how to work together more effectively.
‘Last warning, Stone,’ he said as he placed the cloth loosely back into her mouth.
How the hell removing her ability to instruct her team was going to help anyone she had no idea. Of course she got the logic of it all – cut off the head to ensure the rest of the body could function – but it wasn’t like she was planning on going anywhere.
When they’d arrived the previous morning, or what felt like three weeks ago, they’d checked in to the camping site on the outskirts of Hay-on-Wye, where Bryant and Stacey had walked to the top of the hill to peruse the view of Black Mountain and beyond to the Brecon Beacons.
Three other police teams had eventually rolled up before Jock had arrived with his small team and told them what the weekend would entail. When one of the members of the other teams had asked for an express ticket to 5p.m. the following day, Kim had finally understood that all four teams were here to tick boxes.
She had argued her point with Woody. Her team didn’t need to grow closer or bond over a campfire and marshmallows. They were perfectly cohesive, and their statistics should speak for themselves.
Woody had told her to look closer before instructing her that it was not negotiable.