Free The Devil's Moon by Peter Guttridge Page A

investigation. Detective Inspector Gilchrist.’
    He looked at her warrant card and frowned.
    â€˜All right,’ she said. ‘Acting DI. And you are?’
    â€˜Constable Heap, ma’am.’
    â€˜First name?’
    â€˜Bellamy, ma’am.’
    â€˜Bellamy?’
    â€˜Ma’am.’
    â€˜That’s quite unusual?’
    â€˜Actually quite common, ma’am.’
    â€˜As a first name?’
    â€˜Not quite so common.’
    â€˜So how come?’
    He shrugged. ‘I wish I knew. I never thought to ask my parents when I was young and when I thought of it they weren’t around to ask.’
    â€˜I’m sorry.’
    He gestured to the smoking debris behind him. ‘There are worse things in life.’
    Gilchrist grimaced. ‘I understand there are human remains.’
    â€˜Remains, certainly, ma’am. What exactly they are I don’t believe we know yet. Scenes of crime and Mr Bilson from forensics are here.’
    Gilchrist nodded and walked over to a familiar figure. ‘Frank Bilson.’
    â€˜Sarah Gilchrist,’ the forensic analyst said. He was a tall, lean man, some ten years her senior, with a sharp face and intelligent eyes.
    â€˜Human remains?’
    â€˜Possibly. Badly burned. The fire was particularly intense around the body. Probably an accelerant. It’s slow work separating it out from the other remains. Should have it back in the lab by late afternoon. I’ll start on it first thing in the morning.’
    Gilchrist nodded and looked at the crowd of the curious gathered in small groups along the ridge of shingle some ten yards away. She walked back over to Constable Heap.
    â€˜You were first on the scene?’
    He nodded.
    â€˜Statements?’
    â€˜Not written up yet.’
    â€˜Anything of particular note?’
    â€˜Some clubbers claim to have heard someone inside the Wicker Man screaming, then yell, “Why hast thou forsaken me?”’
    â€˜Biblical.’
    â€˜King James’ Bible, ma’am.
Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?
Jesus said it on the cross, according to Matthew’s Gospel. “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”’
    Gilchrist examined Heap’s pink face. ‘You a churchgoer, Bellamy?’
    â€˜Sometimes, ma’am.’
    â€˜Sounds like our victim was a churchgoer. Did they say whether it was a male or a female voice?’
    â€˜They couldn’t tell, ma’am. The poor soul would have been in agony.’
    She nodded.
    â€˜I should point out, ma’am, that only two people heard the voice calling out. Nobody else around them heard anything but screams.’
    Gilchrist was trying to remember what the martyred policeman in the film called out. As if he’d read her mind, Heap said: ‘He sang, ma’am. In
The Wicker Man
. Called out a few “Oh Gods” and “Oh Lords”.’ He blushed at her surprised look. ‘I thought that might be your train of thought.’
    â€˜Did you indeed?’ Gilchrist said. ‘Have you got much on at the moment?’
    â€˜Someone stole something from the council’s museum and art gallery. I’m trying to find the thief on CCTV.’
    She nodded. ‘Put that to one side for the moment. Call the station and say I want a replacement for you down here then get off and write up those statements. I want them on my desk by teatime.’
    â€˜Where is your desk, ma’am?’
    Gilchrist laughed. ‘Good point.’
    She walked away a few yards and phoned Hewitt. When she got through she said: ‘This Wicker Man thing, ma’am – I’m going to need an incident room and a team.’
    â€˜I’ll assign you Sergeant Donaldson,’ Hewitt said. ‘It’ll take him a day or so to tie up his other cases but then he’s yours. Have you worked with Donaldson before?’
    â€˜No, ma’am, but I know him.’
    â€˜A capable man,’ Hewitt