His head came off with a single pass of the blade, sliced from back to front, then tossed unceremoniously onto the floor. It lay on its side, staring open-mouthed at Heather as she cowered in the corner. The skinning was horrific and fast. The Flesher peeled him with swift, economical movements, then opened him up from stem to stern. The bulging white sack of Mr New's innards came free in one slithery lump ... His body was a hollow shell in less than five minutes. Then came the axe: hacking down along the spine, splitting the body in half lengthways. With nothing left to hold the two pieces together they swung outwards on the chains around each leg, clanging into the metal wall on one side and the bars on the other. And just like that, Mr New was a carcass. Nothing more than meat. Just the hands and feet to show that this was once a human being. And his head, staring accusingly up from the floor.
'Do we really have to do this?' The IB technician held the crowbar tight against his chest, eying the septic tank's lid as if it were the trapdoor to hell. 'Aye, DS McRae's got a thing for other people's jobbies, don't you Laz?' Steel took a deep draw on her cigarette and pointed at the concrete slab. 'Just make sure you don't sod up them scrape marks.' They'd reversed the IB's van down the lane, the little diesel generator in the back chugging away, powering a pair of halogen spotlights. The technician adjusted his breathing mask and tightened his grip on the crowbar. Steel pointed at the septic tank cover. 'Some time today would be nice.' 'OK, OK, Jesus ...' He slid the end of the crowbar between the lid and the base - his SOC suit glaring in the harsh lights - and heaved. There was a grinding noise as the concrete slab shifted--'Ah,
