Lottie’s phone rang at quarter to midnight.

She was going over her case notes, cursing the fact that she’d left Mrs Murtagh’s brown bread in Boyd’s car. Superintendent Corrigan’s name flashed on the screen. She ignored it. Too late to listen to a tirade. The phone stopped. Instantly, it rang again. Knowing Corrigan wouldn’t give up, she answered without looking at the caller ID.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘That’s a very official-sounding greeting.’

Lottie smiled and folded up her notes.

‘Father Joe. Good to hear from you.’

‘How’s the investigation going?’

‘Slow is an understatement.’

‘Come visit me in Rome. The weather is beautiful. Cold with blue skies.’

‘Sounds nice. But—’

‘You’re wondering what I’m doing ringing you at this hour, right?’

‘Mind reader.’

He laughed. ‘How’re you keeping?’

‘I’m okay,’ Lottie lied.

She wasn’t okay at all. She’d cradled Katie to sleep before returning to the kitchen with her daughter’s words reverberating in her brain. A drunk? Was the girl correct? Wasn’t that what she’d become since Adam died? She controlled it most of the time but not totally and she was becoming more dependent on her pills. Great role model for her teenage children. She sighed.

‘You’re not okay. I can hear it in your voice,’ he said. ‘Come to Rome. I’ve sourced interesting information. You need to look at it, first hand.’

‘Have you uncovered another Da Vinci code?’ joked Lottie.

‘Not quite. I found St Angela’s records. They’re in a secure location, all hard copy. It would be impossible to photograph them to fax or email. It would take forever. And if I was caught I’d be excommunicated. In all seriousness, you need to look at them yourself. Could you swing it with your superintendent?’

‘Not a chance,’ Lottie said. ‘I’ve been stepping clumsily on your bishop’s toes. I think he’s reported me again.’

‘You’re only doing your job.’

‘He is Superintendent Corrigan’s golf buddy.’

‘If I were you I’d stand very hard on said bishop’s toes. Believe it or not, he’s not the goody two shoes he makes himself out to be.’

‘Do you honestly think what you’ve found will help?’

‘I don’t know. But it will provide you with background information. Fill in a few gaps, maybe.’

‘Bishop Connor is definitely being economical with the truth,’ Lottie said.

‘I’m not surprised, after the documents I’ve seen.’

‘You have me interested now. Anything relating to Father Angelotti?’

‘I met a friend of his. He thinks maybe Father Angelotti was sent over there to keep an eye on Bishop Connor; not the other way around, as we were led to believe.’

‘Then Father Angelotti goes and gets himself murdered.’

Father Joe had piqued her interest and now she wanted to see what he had found. She wanted to see him.

‘Lottie, the stuff I’ve seen here tells me there might also be another reason why Father Angelotti was in Ragmullin.’

‘Tell me.’

‘I’m not comfortable discussing this on the phone,’ Father Joe whispered.

‘Are you in bed?’ Lottie asked.

‘Now who’s the mind reader?’ He laughed. ‘I’ve to go. I hear my roommate coming up the stairs.’

‘Not got your own room?’

‘I don’t intend being here long enough to warrant having my own place,’ he said. ‘Just bunking in the Irish College for a couple of nights. Lottie, see what Superintendent Corrigan says, okay?’

‘Right. Will I get you on this number?’ She looked at the line of digits on the screen.

‘Leave a message if I don’t answer. I could be saying Mass.’

Lottie imagined his smile.

‘Good night, Lottie.’

She said goodnight and disconnected the call.

She tidied up the last of her notes and went upstairs to check on Katie. Fast asleep. She feathered a kiss on her hair and went to switch off the lamp. A photograph on the locker, framed with seashells, caught her attention. She lifted it up to have a better look. The five of them. Lanzarote. Four years ago. The last time they’d had a holiday together. She ran her finger over the dusty glass. All smiling. Happy. Taken as they began a jeep trip up Timanfaya volcano.

She slumped down on the bed and Katie sighed in her sleep.

The photograph had stirred a vision of a time when things were so different. Routine, secure and loving. Conflict raged inside her. She was torn between her stable past and uncertain future. Three years and she couldn’t let Adam go. But contemplating flying to Rome to meet up with a priest she’d only met a week ago made her think that maybe the wheels on her wagon were well and truly coming off.

30th January 1976

Sally cried in her sleep and awoke.

She half-expected to see her mother standing at her bed. It was Patrick.

He put his finger to his lips and made a shushing sound. She sat up, inquisitive as to why he was in the girls’ dorm. She scanned the room through the darkness, hearing only the soft murmur of sleep.

‘Come with me,’ Patrick whispered, yanking off her blanket. ‘I need to show you something.’

She crept out of bed, pulling her flowery flannelette nightdress tight to her chest. He didn’t give her time to fetch her dressing gown.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

‘Ssh,’ he said and grabbed her hand.

Outside the dorm, a muted light escaped from beneath a dusty lampshade hanging over the staircase. The duty nun’s room was at the opposite end of the corridor and Patrick led Sally down to the second floor. They crept to the end of the hall and through a door. She had not been here before. They scurried in the darkness and he opened another door heralding a short passageway. Moonlight shone through the three windows, lighting up their faces like corpses. An archway lay before her.

She stopped.

‘I’m afraid, Patrick.’

He turned and, still holding her hand, said, ‘This is serious, Sally. Please. You have to see it.’

She sighed and allowed herself to be led through the archway, down the narrow, stone staircase. Her feet were cold. She had forgotten to put on her slippers. On the bottom step, Patrick paused. They were in the chapel. She turned to look at him. He shook his head, a warning to be silent. This was the first time she’d come this way.

She noticed the altar lit up with burning candles and she smelled their grease. Then she saw Father Con. She gripped Patrick’s hand tighter. The priest was kneeling on the steps of the altar, wrapped in a heavy cream and gold cape, the one he wore for benediction. His hands, outstretched toward the mosaic of the Virgin Mary holding the baby Jesus, in an alcove in front of him. His long leather belt was sitting on top of his neatly folded clothes, on the step.

Sally sidled up to Patrick, leaning into him. Though the air was cold, he wore thin pyjamas and she could feel heat rising from his body.

‘Patrick, what’s going on?’ she whispered.

He shook his head, shrugged his shoulders and led her to the right, along the last row of kneelers. He pulled her into the corner behind a wooden confessional. Someone else was there. Two people. She almost screamed. Patrick looked at her, anger flaring in his eyes. She held her breath, hoping the scream would die somewhere in her belly.

As her eyes became accustomed to the shadows cast by the candles, she recognised the boys in the corner. James and Fitzy. Patrick shoved her in beside them and they huddled together. She wanted to ask a thousand questions but kept her silence. Patrick continued to hold her hand. She was glad.

A low hum rose to a crescendo then fell again. She widened her eyes and bit her tongue between her teeth, willing herself to be silent.

The priest bowed, up and down, chanting. A curtain, at the side of the altar, opened. Brian stood there, naked, his body crisscrossed in deep, red welts. She looked away, then back again and tightened her hold on Patrick’s hand in case he might leave her there. The priest stood up and beckoned Brian to him. The naked boy shuffled forward, arms tight against his sides. He must be freezing, Sally thought.

The boy was pushed to his knees and the priest enclosed him in the gold cape. She couldn’t bear it and this time she did scream.

Patrick clamped a hand over her mouth. Father Con swung round, his nakedness emblazoned by the candle light. His eyes were black. This frightened Sally more than the fact that they were all in deep trouble.

‘Run,’ Patrick shouted, dragging Sally behind him.

She ran, Fitzy clipping her bare heels. James brought up the rear. As they raced up the stairs, the image of Brian imprinted itself on her brain. Naked body. Open mouth. Dead eyes.

In the room with two doors they stopped to catch their breath. Sally began to cry. Fitzy put his arm around her shoulder. James stood beside Patrick, uttering over and over, ‘Jeepers creepers. Jeepers creepers.’

‘What was he doing to Brian?’ Sally asked, but she knew. Father Con had forced her to do the same thing numerous times. She couldn’t quell the image of the boy with his mouth open and the white stuff stuck to his lips.

‘He’s a big shite, that’s what he is,’ Patrick said.

‘I’ll burn the bastard with one of them frigging candles. Burn him in the goolies,’ Fitzy said. His voice echoed off the walls.

Sally heard the fear crawling around in their breathing, smelled it oozing from their skin. It manifested itself so painfully clear, she believed she could see it, touch it even. She listened at the door, hoping the priest hadn’t followed them. She didn’t like the dark.

‘We have to do something,’ she whispered.

‘Yeah,’ Patrick said, ‘like what?’

‘I mean it. Honestly. What can we do?’ Sally sobbed, gulping down her tears.

The slap of bare feet thumped up the stairs. She swirled round and saw the whites of the boys’ eyes shining in the moonlight. Terror had struck them immobile.

‘Lads, what are we going to do?’ she cried.

James began to sob.