Free Hymn by Graham Masterton

about a half-hour ago, fifteen miles east of Borrego Springs.’
    Sergeant Houk didn’t reply, but turned to Lloyd, and said, ‘This is typical, you know? A burnt-out bus in the middle of the desert, and they’re telling me? You can bet your ass to a beef burrito, this is going to turn out to be some chore so menial you wouldn’t let your dog do it.’
    Almost as if he could hear him, Lieutenant Pratt said, ‘The State Police have requested assistance in checking the bus rental company. Balboa Hi-Way Bus Rental, 2339 Mark Street.’
    â€˜I know them,’ replied Sergeant Houk, dispassionately. ‘Run by a guy called Dan Browder. Just opposite the Playa Hotel.’
    They’re also asking for assistance in checking the identities of the casualties.’
    â€˜Casualties? How many casualties?’
    â€˜Thirteen, no survivors.’
    â€˜Thirteen? Jesus.’
    There was a long pause. They waited at a pedestrian crossing while a long crocodile of chattering Mexican children crossed in front of them. Sergeant Houk sniffed, then sneezed. ‘What did I tell you? Tourists! I’m allergic.’
    The voice on the radio said, ‘Sergeant? Are you still there?’
    â€˜Still here, Lieutenant.’
    â€˜I want you to check out the bus rental, then I want you to drive out to Borrego Springs and liaise with the Highway Patrol and the State Police and see what you can do to assist. Ask for a Sergeant Jim Griglak.’
    Sergeant Houk sniffed. ‘Can’t you get Rollins to do it? I’m up to my duff.’
    Lieutenant Pratt ignored him. ‘Dave, I want us to keep in touch with this one. We haven’t had the full details yet, but there are two possible explanations for what happened here, and both of them are potentially explosive. All the casualties were burned alive, and the first indications are that it wasn’t an accident. Either this was a crack massacre, some kind of major revenge killing . . . Colombia comes to Southern California. But judging from the way the bodies were found, there’s an even stronger possibility that it could have been a mass suicide.’
    â€˜Hey, come on, Lieutenant,’ Sergeant Houk replied, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘A massacre I can swallow. But thirteen people torch themselves deliberately?’
    â€˜I’m not sure, Sergeant. As of now that’s all we know. They were all burned to death and the circumstances seem to point to the probability that we’re dealing with mass homicide or mass suicide. I’ll give more information as and when.’
    â€˜Okay, I’m coming in now anyway.’
    Sergeant Houk tossed the r/t mike back on to the seat. ‘Jesus. How about a chorus of “I Don’t Want To Set The World On Fire”?’
    He looked across at Lloyd and suddenly realized what he had said. ‘I’m sorry. That was very tasteless. I’m sorry. I apologize.’
    Lloyd’s mouth was dry, and he was shaking with cold and tiredness. ‘Do you think there might be some connection?’
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜Do you think there might be some connection between Celia’s death and these people on the bus?’
    Sergeant Houk wiped his nose with a tiny screwed-up Kleenex. ‘I’ll tell you something, Mr Denman, from now on, every time you switch on your TV or every time you pick up a newspaper you’re going to see a report about somebody burning themselves to death. It’s happening all the time, it’s just that you didn’t notice it before. There’s a certain type of suicide who feels that burning themselves to death is the way they have to do it. Who really knows why? There’s no connection. It’s happening all the time.’
    He turned into police headquarters and parked at an angle next to the steps. ‘About six weeks ago, I investigated a suicide that was exactly similar to your fiancée’s, out in