‘Forensics are just finishing off,’ said Milton, his rich baritone voice amplified under the low ceiling of the passageway. Blake and Milton walked quickly towards the light at the end of the corridor. Moments later, the two men emerged into the bell-shaped cave. Blake blinked, his eyes adjusting to the white light of the portable lighting rig reflecting off the walls. The cave stood about 25 feet high and spanned a diameter of roughly the same distance. As he tried to take in the scene, his breath left him.
‘Holy shit,’ he said finally through clenched teeth.
Marcus Sabatini’s body was propped against the wall. His limbs had buckled into a mess of tangled positions. It was as if a colossal wave had picked him up and dashed his body onto the side of the cave. Milton dismissed the forensic photographer with a nod, and Blake slowly approached the body. Sabatini’s face was beaten into a ragged mosaic of bruises and dried blood. His throat had been cut, and the back wall was sprayed with blood.
Silence hung in the air before the crackle of the police radio shook Blake from his thoughts.
‘Did Carla ever mention her father?’ asked Milton.
Blake’s mind whirred. Carla Sabatini and Blake had worked a dangerous case together some time back. He let out a long sigh. ‘Not that I can remember. What do we know about him?’
Milton retrieved his notebook from his jacket and flipped the pages. ‘Marcus Sabatini, 61, retired, ex-foreign office. Lived just down the street from here. I’ve got a team there now. Looks like some kind of altercation. The back door was forced, and the French windows overlooking the garden were smashed, not as a way of entry into the property, but as a means of escape. According to a neighbour, he was a trustee of the cave. That’s why he had a key. Probably tried to hide out down here. The door should have provided him with good protection, but not against a machine gun. There’s one other thing,’ said Milton, as he paused and snapped the notebook shut. ‘He was a prominent Freemason.’ The DCI noticed a small change in Blake’s expression. ‘Significant?’
Blake didn’t answer, as his attention had now been drawn to their unusual surroundings. He had known of Royston Cave for years, but he had never visited despite its intriguing history.
The bottle-shaped cave hollowed out of the chalk had remained an enigma since its accidental discovery in 1742. No written records of its age or purpose existed, nevertheless the cave was obviously man-made and had a long unexplained association with the Knights Templar, which had owned several large buildings in the area.
The cave’s most unusual features, however, were the remarkable carvings chiselled into its chalk walls. The subjects were mostly religious in character: representations of the Crucifixion; portrayals of individual saints like St Katherine, St Laurence and St Christopher; and likenesses of Jesus’ family and his disciples. Other figures and symbols were less easily identifiable and possibly pagan. Whatever its origins and function, Royston Cave had remained a mystery for hundreds of years.
‘Fascinating,’ said Blake under his breath.
When the police photographer packed up his camera equipment and dimmed the overhead spotlight, Blake noticed something out of the corner of his eye. He cocked his head sideways. His attention landed on a mark bordering a shallow recess in the stone that was previously cast in shadow.
Milton watched quizzically as his friend approached the wall. Blake dropped to his knees to study the mark. He bit his lip, thinking hard.
‘It’s blood. Something has been written in blood.’
The DCI flared his nostrils and joined Blake on his knees. ‘Written?’
‘Take a look.’
Milton shuffled forwards. His eyes narrowed as he tried to decrypt the red smears. ‘The first bit looks like MATT and then 4 I’s. MATTIIII?’
Blake was only half-listening, as he was already thinking over the possibilities. With a thought settling over him, he stood up and searched for his mobile phone.
‘MATTIIII,’ repeated the DCI.
Blake checked his phone and tutted disappointedly through his teeth. ‘You got any phone reception down here?’
Milton hauled his large frame off the floor and checked his mobile. ‘Sod all,’ said Milton. ‘What is it?’
As if on cue, the radio of the police photographer fizzed into life. The officer’s voice on the other end was crackly but intelligible. The forensics officer acknowledged the call. The voice came back after a second of static.
‘You need some coffee down there?’
Blake gestured to the forensics officer to hand him the radio. The officer complied, and Blake put the handset to his mouth. ‘This is Dr Blake. You got a pen?’ Blake waited until the confirmation came. ‘Write this down. Matthew chapter 11, verse 11.’
‘Okay?’ said the voice blankly on the other end.
‘Get your phone and do an internet search on the Bible verse. Read the result back to me.’
There was a long pause as the police radio whirred with empty sound.
‘Right, got it. It says, “Truly I tell you, among those born of women, there has not yet risen anyone greater than John the Baptist”.’
‘John the Baptist,’ said Blake with a glint in his eye. ‘Thanks.’
‘Anything else?’
‘No, thank you.’ Blake handed the radio back to the forensics officer, who quietly accepted the offer of coffee and rang off.
‘John the Baptist,’ mused Blake, his eyes darting around the cave. ‘One of these figures must be John the Baptist.’
The DCI’s focus expanded out to the hundreds of figures carved into the cave walls. Blake slowly turned on his heels and scanned for some clue as to the identity of the etched characters. His pulse quickened as his eyes landed on a small collection of figures at the opposite end of the cave. He moved closer and scrutinised one of the figures in the group.
‘Bingo,’ said Blake, pointing up to a rough representation of a man carved into the white stone.
‘How can you tell?’ asked the DCI.
The carving was crude but distinct from its neighbours. Milton studied the figure as Blake took a step to the side. It was about 5 inches tall and depicted a bearded, dishevelled man with his hand raised up in testimony.
‘His body is emaciated from living and fasting in the desert. Look; his ribs are visible, and see how he’s dressed.’ Blake touched the cool stone. ‘A garment of camel hair with a girdle of leather.’
Though simple in execution, the engraver had managed to capture an expression of wild zeal on the man’s face. Above the figure was a curious symbol composed of four concentric circles of differing diameters, like an archery target. Probably some kind of halo, Blake thought.
‘Okay, I’m convinced,’ said Milton. ‘But why point us to John the Baptist?’
Blake’s focus tracked back to Sabatini’s body as he took a few steps backwards into the centre of the cave. ‘John the Baptist. Why John the Baptist?’ His eyes flicked around the wall as he momentarily thought about and rejected different connections.
Milton just watched his friend. Suddenly Blake became perfectly still, his focus now on a specific area of the wall, not directly on the figure of John the Baptist, but some four inches under it.
Cut into the wall below the carving of John the Baptist was a small notch. Blake moved closer, his eyes not wavering from the spot. The rectangular hole was edged in black. Blake drew a perimeter around the hole with his fingertip.
‘Candle soot,’ he said. ‘This is how the cave used to be lit.’
Milton did a 360-degree sweep of the circular cave. At the same height in the wall, like the cardinal points of a compass, were three other notches carved into the stone.
The notch positioned directly under the figure of John the Baptist was cast in shadow by the angle of the lighting rig. Blake scratched his chin for a second. ‘I wonder?’ he breathed to himself. Peering forward, Blake reached his hand into the dark rectangular cavity. His fingers walked along the stone and explored the uneven surface before he touched something. The quiet scraping of an object moving against the stone was clearly audible. Blake shot a glance to Milton and then crouched down so that his eyes were in line with the rectangular opening. He peered into the shadowy recess, but it was difficult to see. Soon his hand was guiding the object along the side of the recess and into his palm. He stepped back and turned towards Milton.
‘You got something?’ frowned the DCI.
Slowly Blake opened his hand. Sitting in the well of his palm was a gold signet ring.