‘I see you have brought the cavalry with you, Inspector.’

Bishop Connor indicated two chairs in front of his desk. Lottie and Boyd sat.

‘When are you going to release Father Angelotti’s body?’ he asked.

‘That’s up to the pathologist,’ Lottie said. ‘Is there anything you can add to our investigation regarding his murder?’

‘I am devastated,’ he said. ‘To think he was only here a few weeks, then this abomination happens.’

‘Why was he at James Brown’s home?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Did he ever mention James Brown or Susan Sullivan to you?’ Lottie pressured.

‘He never mentioned anything, Inspector. He barely communicated with me.’

‘Did he have access to a car?’

‘I am sure he could have got one if he needed it.’

‘But there was no car at Brown’s house. How did he get there?’

Connor hesitated. Imperceptible eye movement, but Lottie caught it.

‘A taxi?’ he said. ‘I’m sure you can check with the local companies.’

‘Doing it as we speak,’ Lottie said, making a mental note to follow this up.

‘You told me you’d no knowledge of Susan Sullivan. Is that correct?’ she asked, flicking through her notebook, for effect rather than substance. The intense green eyes that had tried to intimidate her on her first visit were now eyeing her with suspicion.

‘I believe that to be correct,’ he said, emulating Lottie’s words.

‘You need to think very carefully,’ she emphasised. ‘I have proof you met with Ms Sullivan on at least two occasions.’ Hearsay, but he didn’t know that.

‘And what proof might that be?’ The bishop’s eyes flared.

Lottie gave Boyd the floor. He was better at fudging the truth.

‘We have phone records, proving Susan Sullivan rang you. And her computer diary, detailing a scheduled meeting with you,’ Boyd said, bluffing with confidence.

‘I thought you could not find her phone.’ Bishop Connor sat back and smiled.

‘And how would you know whether we did or not?’ asked Lottie.

‘My sources are very good.’

‘Your sources are incorrect and you lied to me,’ Lottie said.

‘I did not know Susan Sullivan. I will admit, however, that I did meet with her. There is a difference between knowing someone and meeting with them.’ He caressed his fingers over his smooth chin.

‘You’re being evasive. I could arrest you for obstruction.’ Arsehole, thought Lottie.

‘I do not believe I have any information that could help you,’ said the bishop.

‘Let me be the judge of that. What were the meetings about?’ She was fed up with the pussy-footing.

‘Private matters. I do not have to tell you anything further.’

‘Bishop Connor, you were acquainted with two of our three murder victims. One of whom, Susan Sullivan, I know met with you, the other, Father Angelotti, was in your care. And you say you don’t have to tell us anything.’ Lottie kept her voice strong and challenging. ‘The longer you play this game, the more I think you’re guilty of something. And believe me, if I get a sniff that you’re giving us the run-around, you might begin to experience what hell on earth is like.’ She leaned forward, breathing rapidly.

‘Are you threatening me, Inspector?’ The bishop returned her glare.

Boyd broke the confrontation.

‘We’re not threatening you, Bishop Connor. We’re telling it like it is and we’d like to know why you denied having met with Susan Sullivan. You must admit it all looks very suspicious.’

Bishop Connor took a breath and reclined into the comfort of his chair. Lottie remained forward, coiled so tight she could spring across the desk any minute. Boyd put a hand on her arm. She refused to move. Damned if she would let Connor away this time.

‘And don’t invoke the superintendent threat,’ she said. ‘I don’t give a flying fuck how many golf balls you and Superintendent Corrigan have hit together. Or how many whiskeys you’ve downed on the nineteenth hole or how many birdies, eagles or albatrosses you can claim. It doesn’t wash with me. I want answers. If I’ve to haul your unholy arse down to the station, so be it. But one way or another, you will talk to me.’

Bishop Connor smiled, incensing Lottie further.

Boyd said, ‘Allow me to outline our position. Father Angelotti arrived here from Rome on December first. On Christmas Eve, you met with Susan Sullivan following a meeting earlier in the year. Our best estimate is that Father Angelotti was murdered on Christmas Eve. I think it’s time you started talking.’

‘And I think it is time for you to leave,’ Bishop Connor said.

‘What are you hiding?’ asked Lottie, keeping her eyes locked on the bishop’s darting emeralds.

‘I have nothing to hide,’ he said, a pink shadow creeping up his cheekbones.

‘But you won’t talk to us,’ Boyd said.

‘I am busy . . . if you would be so kind . . .’ He pointed to the door, his phone already in his hand.

‘You’re wasting your time talking to Superintendent Corrigan,’ Lottie said, stomping out the door.

‘And you are wasting your time talking to me.’

He shut the door behind them.

Settling into the car, Lottie said, ‘If I was so inclined, I could murder that bastard, myself.’

‘Me too,’ said Boyd. ‘And how do you know so much about golf?’

‘Sean went through a Rory McIlroy phase with his PlayStation games.’

Boyd nodded as if he understood.

‘Connor’s hiding something,’ Lottie said.

‘I need a drink,’ Boyd said.

Lottie looked out over the lake as they drove away, the water rippling silver under the moon’s reflections. ‘It’s almost seven. I should check in at home.’

Boyd concentrated on the road.

‘On second thoughts, why not?’ she said, reclining the seat. She planted her feet on the dashboard and closed her eyes.

He remained quiet.

She was glad of his silence. Rickard and Connor were giving her the run-around and, after today, she was convinced they were hiding something. But what? She was almost certain it related to St Angela’s. She didn’t know if it had to do with the past or the present. One thing was sure though, she was determined to find out. She owed it to the victims.