DI Walker

THE DAY AFTER THE SOLSTICE

IT'S A RELIEF TO BE out of the trees again, back in daylight. The air's still filled with smoke but to Walker it seems easier to breathe here, out on the lawns in front of The Manor.

Heyer strides over.

"You OK, boss?" She peers at Walker. "You're looking kind of pale."

"Yeah. What was it you had before in the car? Low blood sugar. Think that must be it."

"If you're sure." But she doesn't look convinced, and there's also something deliberate about her stance that suggests she has news to break. "They didn't make it," she says. "The two they found trapped inside the building. Stopped resuscitation attempts a few minutes ago. So that's three now. One at the bottom of the cliffs, two locked inside in the wine store."

"Four," Walker says, but quiet enough that he doesn't think she hears it.

"And they've found some accelerants round the back of the property. Clear signs it was started deliberately."

"Right," Walker says, "so our arsonist also has blood on their hands. I'll come and take a look at the victims."

Walker follows her over to the ambulance where the two gurneys stand. The oxygen masks have been removed now and the paramedics are readying the body bags. He glances from one body to the other. Back again. Checks and rechecks. He's right.

The bodies—the faces—are identical. Except for one thing: a macabre spot-the-difference. The one nearest to him has a distinctive streak of white hair.