This is where they did him/ Fischig said with certainty.
'No sign of cult markings or Chaos symbology/1 mused.
'Maybe not/ said Bequin, crossing the room, being careful not to step on the smeared plastic sheet. For the sake of her shoes, not the crime scene, I was sure. "What's this? Something was hung here/
Two rusty hooks in the wall, scraped enough to show something had been hanging there recently. On the floor below was a curious cross drawn in yellow chalk.
'I've seen that before somewhere/ I said. My vox bleeped. It was Wrex.
I've got that worker roster you asked for/
'Good. Where are you?'
'Coming to find you at the tannery, if you're still there/
We'll meet you on the corner of Xerxes Street. Tell your staff we have a crime scene here in the agricultural warehouse/
We walked out of the killing room towards the stairwell.
Fischig froze, and brought up his gun.
'Again?' I whispered.
He nodded, and pushed Bequin into the cover of a door jamb.
Silence, apart from the rain and the scurry of vermin. Gun braced, Fischig looked up at the derelict roof. It may have been my imagination, but it seemed as if a shadow had moved across the bare rafters.
I moved forward, scanning the shadows with my pistol.
Something creaked. A floorboard.
Fischig pointed to the stairs. I nodded I understood, but the last thing I wanted was a mistaken shooting. I carefully keyed my vox and whispered, 'Wrex. You're not coming into the warehouse to find us, are you?'
'Negative, inquisitor.'
'Standby'
Fischig had reached the top of the staircase. He peered down, aiming his weapon.
Las fire erupted through the floorboards next to him and he threw himself flat.
I put a trio of shots into the mouth of the staircase, but my angle was bad.
Two hard round shots spat back up the stairs and then the roar and flash of the las came again, raking the floor.
From above, I realised belatedly. Whoever was on the stairs had a hard-slug side arm, but the las fire was coming down from the roof.
I heard steps running on the floor below. Fischig scrambled up to give chase but another salvo of las fire sent him ducking again.
I raised my aim and fired up into the roof tiles, blowing out holes through which the pale light poked.
Something slithered and scrambled on the roof.
Fischig was on the stairs now, running after the second assailant.
I hurried across the third floor, following the sounds of the man on the roof.
I saw a silhouette against the sky through a hole in the tiles and fired again. Las-fire replied in a bright burst, but then there was a thump and further slithering.
'Cease fire! Give yourself up! Inquisition!' I bellowed, using the will.
There came a much more substantial crash sounding like a whole portion of the roof had come down. Tiles avalanched down and smashed in a room nearby.
I slammed into the doorway, gun aimed, about to yell out a further will command. But there was no one in the room. Piles of shattered roofslates and bricks covered the floor beneath a gaping hole in the roof itself, and a battered lasrifle lay amongst the debris. On the far side of the room were some of the broken windows that Bequin had pointed out as overlooking the tannery roof.
I ran to one. Down below, a powerful figure in dark overalls was running for cover. The killer, escaping from me in just the same way his last victim had escaped him – through the windows onto the tannery roof.
The distance was too far to use the will again with any effect, but my aim and angle were good. 1 lined up on the back of the head a second before it disappeared, began to apply pressure-
– and the world exploded behind me.
* * *
I came round cradled in Bequin's arms. 'Don't move, Eisenhorn. The medics are coming/
4Vhat happened?' I asked.
'Booby trap. The gun that guy left behind? It exploded behind you. Pow-ercell overload/
'Did Fischig get his man?'
'Of course he did/
He hadn't, in fact. He'd chased the man hard down two flights of stairs and through the main floor of the warehall. At the outer door onto the street, the man had wheeled around and emptied his autopistol's clip at the chastener, forcing him into cover.
