Kirby dropped Lottie home to pick up her car. Her mother was busy mopping the kitchen floor.

‘Did you ever hear of a Father Cornelius Mohan?’ Lottie asked, after thanking Rose for looking after the children.

‘I did. He lives out in Ballinacloy. Retired this long time.’

Jesus, her mother really did know everyone. ‘And?’

‘He was a local curate in Ragmullin, back in the seventies.’

‘Do you know anything else about him?’ Lottie watched her mother’s face.

Rose Fitzpatrick stared back.

‘What’s this about?’ she asked, squeezing out the mop.

‘Background information.’

‘As far as I can recall he was one of the chaplains in St Angela’s for a time.’

‘Really?’ Lottie knew her mother was being evasive.

‘Come on, Lottie. I’ve answered your questions about my conversation with Susan Sullivan and I know you’re itching to ask me something else.’

‘Was there ever a hint of scandal surrounding him, especially in St Angela’s?’

Rose turned, put the mop and bucket into the utility room, grabbed and buttoned her coat. She pulled her hat down over her ears and paused at the door.

‘I know full well, Lottie Parker, you already know the answer.’

‘And you know full well that’s where you dumped Eddie after Dad died.’ Lottie stated grimly. This was the first time she’d ever accused her mother.

Rose’s hand dropped from the door handle. She took a step toward Lottie. There were tears in her eyes.

‘You know as well as I do that your precious father killed himself. He didn’t just die.’ A sob broke from her throat. ‘And I didn’t dump anyone anywhere.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Lottie hunched her shoulders, reached out and placed a hand on her mother’s shoulder. She waited for Rose to shake it off. She didn’t.

‘No. I’m sorry. You were too young to understand it all. I could never talk about it and I’ve always grieved for their loss. You know about grief; how hard it is to carry on without a husband by your side. I did everything I could to make things right for you. Everything.’

Lottie did know, but she had lived with the gaping hole in her existence every second of the day. Now she wanted answers.

‘I want to know what happened and why it happened. You owe me that much, at least.’

Rose pulled away from Lottie’s hand and lowered her voice.

‘After all I’ve done for you and your children, I don’t think I owe you anything.’

‘But why did Dad kill himself?’ Lottie persisted.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Okay, I will accept that. For now. But Eddie? My little brother? You put him in that place, left him to rot there. I cannot accept that.’

‘You don’t know what it was like back then. The stigma attached to suicide. I was a widow with two young children. And Eddie, he . . . he was impossible. I had no choice.’

‘There’s always a choice, Mother. You just made the wrong one.’

‘Don’t judge me, Lottie.’

‘Then tell me why you placed Eddie in there.’

‘It was the only place that could handle him.’

Lottie laughed wryly. ‘Only they couldn’t, could they? He ran away, didn’t he? What must it have been like for him?’ She shook herself as images of the horrors of 1970s institutions invaded her senses.

Rose shuffled into her coat and walked to the door. ‘I live with what I did, every day of my life. And now I’m going. I didn’t come here to be interrogated and accused. Goodbye.’

Lottie stood bristling for a long time after her mother left. Wrenching her fingers into her hands, she counted the cobwebs woven over the top of the cupboards. Took deep breaths. Tried to ground herself. How did Rose manage to turn every question into an accusation? She was the one person who could leave her truly shaken.

After checking in on Katie, Chloe and Sean, and still in a stupor, stung by her mother’s unwillingness to give her the answers she had so long coveted, Lottie changed her clothes, dodged a shower and drove to the station. Her lack of sleep was replaced with adrenaline.

She set Kirby and Lynch to work. They needed to keep their minds off Boyd’s critical state and find some concrete evidence to advance the murder inquiries. She was convinced the deaths of the two priests, Cornelius and Angelotti, were connected to Susan Sullivan and James Brown, and the common thread was St Angela’s.

Uploading the ledger photos from her phone to the computer, Lottie squinted with gritty eyes as the entries appeared on the screen. Each held an untold story, every name was someone’s heartache. And that pain had been suffered in the halls, rooms and grounds of St Angela’s. She needed access to the building, to get a feel for the place, to discover if it held the answers she wanted.

‘Print these photos and stick them together chronologically,’ Lottie told Lynch before heading to the makeshift canteen. She boiled the half-empty kettle. Mug in hand, she turned to find Corrigan framing the doorway. Not now, she thought.

‘Morning, sir.’ Lottie sipped her coffee as nonchalantly as she could.

‘You look like shit, Parker.’ He folded his arms.

No escape, he wasn’t going anywhere. She straightened her weary body, raised herself to her full height and mustered up a lame attempt at bravado.

‘Thank you,’ she said, forcing a smile.

‘I’m not stupid,’ Corrigan said, calmly. Too calm. She braced herself for the onslaught.

‘I know,’ she said. What else could she say?

‘Don’t be smart with me,’ he said, unfolding his arms. He leaned in behind her. She flinched and ducked, then noticed he was only switching on the kettle while keeping the exit blocked.

‘You travelled to Rome,’ he growled.

‘Yessir.’ No point in denying it.

‘You disobeyed my direct order. I could suspend you, fire you, have your balls on a plate, if you had any.’

‘Yessir.’ Lottie pulled at the sleeve of her shirt, not about to argue with anything he said.

‘I hope it was worth the trouble you’ve created, for yourself and everyone else,’ he said, pouring the dribble of water.

‘I think it was.’ Lottie handed him a carton, her nose twitching with the smell of milk ready to turn.

‘I’m listening,’ he said, arms folded again, mug on the counter of boxes.

‘Okay sir. The way I see it, the murders relate back to incidents which occurred in St Angela’s in the seventies. Possibly a murder, if not two. And yes, I admit I went to Rome. I was following a lead.’

‘What lead might that be?’

‘Father Burke found ledgers with information. He asked me to go take a look. There was no way he could send the information to me.’

‘Go on.’

‘I saw these ledgers detailing children’s admissions to St Angela’s. Dates, names, adoptions, deaths. I’ve yet to analyse the information and I’ve no idea of the importance of it, but the signature on some of the pages is significant.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘Father Cornelius Mohan.’

‘The Ballinacloy victim from last night?’ Corrigan asked, unfolding his arms, taking his coffee, spilling it on his shirtsleeve.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And in another ledger there’re details of his movements, including his stint in St Angela’s. He moved to over forty different parishes. Tells its own story, don’t you think?’

‘And there he was, living fifteen kilometres outside Ragmullin, next door to a primary school. Madness.’

‘All approved by Bishop Connor. Who, incidentally, arranged for the ledgers to be moved to Rome.’ Lottie watched Corrigan’s face as he digested it all. She added, ‘I contacted Boyd last night, asked him to go to Ballinacloy and interview Cornelius Mohan. I believed he might have information about the victims.’

Corrigan’s lips hovered over the rim of his mug. ‘I don’t believe in coincidences,’ he said, ‘so how did the killer get to Mohan before Boyd? Was he tipped off?’

‘Not sure, but it’s all too convenient,’ Lottie said. ‘I need to find out who knew we were after the priest. He had to know something that warranted his murder.’

Puffing out his cheeks, Corrigan said, ‘I’m giving you a stay of execution. I can’t afford to be down another detective with Boyd out. But when this is all over, you may well end up on indiscipline charges in front of the chief superintendent. For now, get back to work. And Parker,’ he said, drawing his face level with hers.

‘Yes sir?’

‘I’ll be watching your every move.’

His gaze bore tiny holes into the backs of her eyes, almost hollowing them out of their sockets, before he walked off, shaking his head.

Lottie sighed. The threat of disciplinary action was now swinging over her head. But she still had her job. For now. One positive in a mire of negativity.