Lambert stood up, his breath coming in gasps.
'Tom, what is it?' called Debbie, advancing towards him along the path.
He ignored the question, looking instead at the small metal marker on the grave next to that of Brooks. Barely readable was the name:
'We've got to find Father Ridley,' he said, tersely.
'What's wrong?' she asked, puzzled.
'I think some sick bastard has been mucking about with Mackenzie's grave.'
He walked past her, then suddenly hesitated.
'You'd better come with me,' he told her, and the two of them hurried across the road to the vicarage.
The curtains were open, and as he headed towards the front door, Lambert hoped that Ridley was in. He rapped hard, three times on the front door, and when he got no answer, went round the back.
'Damn,' he growled. 'He must be in the church.'
Debbie found that she almost had to run to keep up with him.
'Tom, what's going on around here?' she demanded.
'I wish I knew,' he said.
They reached the broken path which led up to the church door and hurried towards it, Debbie's high heels clicking noisily in the silence.
The church towered above them and Lambert pushed the door, noticing, as he did, that there was more blood on the great brass handle of the door. He swallowed hard and popped his head around the door.
'Tom.'
Her single word hung in the air as the policeman stepped cautiously into the great building. His footsteps echoed on the cold stone floor and he shivered at the coldness of the place. Debbie stepped in behind him, pushing the door closed.
The church ran a good fifty yards from door to altar. Pews arranged with soldierly precision On either side formed a narrow aisle down the centre which led straight to the altar. Dust particles danced in the light shining through the stained glass windows on both sides of the building. It smelt musty in there, a smell which reminded Debbie of Madame Tussaud's Chamber of Horrors. She quickly dismissed the thought, making sure she kept close to Lambert as he advanced down the central aisle. To the left stood the pulpit with a huge Bible open on it.
There was no sign of Ridley. Lambert called him, his voice echoing off the walls and ceiling, turning the huge room into a vast stone echo chamber.
'Father Ridley,' he called again.
Silence.
It was then that he noticed the pieces of earth scattered around the base of the altar. The Inspector crossed quickly to them and prodded a large lump with his index finger. He exhaled deeply. Where the hell was Ridley? There was one place left in the church he hadn't looked. The bell tower. A flight of stone steps ran up to the belfry from just behind the altar. Lambert looked up. A wooden floor hid the belfry itself from view below. He would have been able to see from where he stood whether or not the priest was up there, but the wooden slats obscured his view. He would have to go up and take a look for himself. He was suddenly filled with a feeling which he took to be fear, but why such a feeling should take hold of him, he didn't know.
'Wait here,' he told Debbie, and set off up the stone steps which would take him into the belfry.
Debbie nodded and watched him go, edging back so that she leant against the altar, looking out into the church. Hundreds of invisible eyes seemed to be fixed on her and she shuddered involuntarily.
Lambert, meantime, found that the staircase spiralled as it rose. The walls on either side hemmed him in so that he could not even extend his arms without touching them.
He slipped and nearly fell, but regained his footing cursing, and looked to see what had made him stumble.
There was a slippery streak of blood on the step on which he stood. And the one above it. Lambert gritted his teeth. The cold seemed to have intensified and he was also beginning to notice a strange smell which grew stronger as he neared the top of the stairs. Mixed with the cloying odour of damp wood was something more pungent. A coppery, choking smell which stung his nostrils and made him cough.
He reached the top of the stairs and peered round into the belfry.
It was small. No more than ten feet square and Lambert felt as if the walls were closing in around him. The bell, a large brass object, lay discarded in one corner, torn from the thick hemp which secured it.
Lambert gasped and backed against the wall, his heart thumping.
Dangling from the bell rope, the hemp knotted tightly around his neck, was Father Ridley.
His face was bloated, the blackened tongue protruding from his mouth. Blood had splashed down his chest, turning his coat red and the rope which supported him had cut deeply into the thick flesh of his neck, drawing blood in places. He hung like some obscene puppet, his own blood puddled beneath him, soaking into the ancient timbers of the belfry floor.
But, the thing which finally made Lambert turn away in horrified disgust was the face. Splattered with gore, it seemed to glare mockingly at the policeman who noticed with mounting terror that there was something horribly familiar about it.
Both the eyes had been torn out.
Lambert turned and raced down the stairs, almost running past Debbie who caught his arm. Her eyes searched his, looking for an answer which she already suspected.
'He's dead,' said Lambert flatly. 'Come on.' They ran from the church, chased by a fear beyond their understanding.
They ran to the car and climbed in. Lambert burned rubber as he spun the Capri round. The needle on the speedometer touched sixty as he drove for Medworth, his face set in an expression of fearful resignation. Debbie studied his profile. 'Tom.'
'What?' His voice was tense, sharp.
'What's happening?' There was a note of something near to pleading in her voice.
'The graves,' he snapped, 'the graves of Mackenzie and Brooks were disturbed. It looked as if somone dug them up.' The words trailed off. 'Oh Jesus,' he said, his voice catching.
She reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder.
'What are you going to do, Tom?'
'Open the graves.'
'What?' She swallowed hard, not quite believing what she had heard. 'But you can't. I mean, why?'
'Someone tampered with those graves, Debbie. There must be a reason for that. I want to know what it is.'
'But don't you need an exhumation order?'
'Why?'
'It's the law.'
He looked at her. 'I am the law.'
Lambert stood beside Sergeant Hayes, watching as Davies and Briggs threw shovelfuls of earth into the air in an effort to reach the coffin of Ray Mackenzie.
Lambert was smoking. His third that morning. He'd been trying to give up just lately, but the events of the day so far had suddenly persuaded him that he needed something to calm him down. He sucked hard on the cigarette, holding the smoke in his mouth for a second before expelling it in a long grey stream which mingled with his own frosted breath in the crispness of the morning air.
He had driven home after finding Ridley's body, left Debbie there and told her he would be in touch. At first he had been reluctant to leave her alone, a fear which he couldn't understand nagging at the back of his mind. She had assured him that she would be all right and he had driven to the station. Taking a Panda, he, Hayes and the two constables had driven back to the cemetery armed with shovels. As Davies drove, Lambert recounted what he and Debbie had found that morning and when he got to the part about the eyeless corpse of Ridley, Briggs had found himself struggling to keep his poached eggs down. Hayes had said nothing, only looked questioningly at the
