She should really be with her son and the girls, but her mother told her to do what she had to do, then come back.

Sitting at her desk, Lottie felt totally at odds with herself, but at least her son was safe with his granny entrenched in his room, taking control as usual. But for once, she was glad of her mother’s help. Conflicted though she was, Lottie knew she had to end this case. Afterwards, she would make the space to spend time with her children. Sean needed her, Katie needed her and even Chloe, in her own obstinate way, needed her. As for Rose Fitzpatrick, Lottie knew her mother was a survivor, with or without her. For the first time, she acknowledged the grief and trauma her mother had endured. It couldn’t have been easy for her. She had battled through it all. Now she must do the same.

Kirby dropped a Happy Meal on her desk.

‘Lunchtime,’ he said.

Lottie glanced at the clock. So it was. She yawned and couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten or slept. A false energy was keeping her going so she didn’t stop to think about it.

She read through the copies Father Joe had given her.

‘Boyd, I think I know how Derek Harte, James Brown’s lover, became involved in all this.’

He sat on the edge of her desk. She welcomed his easy familiarity and at the same time she hoped he wouldn’t keel over.

‘Right, Sherlock,’ he said. ‘Explain.’

‘He’s a wrong number.’

‘You can say that again.’

‘Seriously Boyd, look at this.’ She pointed to an entry on one of the ledger pages. ‘The reference number attached to Susan Sullivan is AA113.’ She lifted up another copy. ‘So look at the records for the babies and check reference AA113.’

Boyd scanned the page and found the number. ‘It says Derek Harte.’

‘But that number was changed.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Look at it carefully. You can see where the ink was rubbed away and a three put in place of a five. I believe this was changed intentionally. Someone didn’t want the true identity of Susan Sullivan’s child discovered.’

‘So, Harte wasn’t Susan Sullivan’s offspring after all,’ Boyd said. ‘Looking at it, I can understand how Father Angelotti made his mistake. But who is her child?’

Lottie pointed to the correct reference number and Boyd stared, his jaw dropping.

‘Are you serious?’ he asked.

‘Unless someone tampered with the other numbers, I’m very serious.’ Lottie shook her head wistfully. ‘It’s so sad.’

‘Does he know?’ Boyd asked.

‘I don’t think so.’

Boyd rubbed his hand over his scarred neck and said, ‘So all these people were killed to keep this fact a secret?’

‘That’s part of it.’

‘What’s the rest of it?’

Lottie pulled the old file out of her bag. She picked up the photograph of the young boy with the wry smile, freckled nose and crooked shirt collar. ‘This is the other reason.’

‘The missing kid?’ Boyd asked.

‘I think so.’

‘Are you going to wait until I go on bended knees to beg for the answers?’

Lottie smiled. She had really missed Boyd.

‘His mother reported him missing in early 1976, having put him in St Angela’s months earlier. The Church authorities branded him a runaway. He was never found.’ That was enough information for Boyd for now, she thought.

‘So what does James Brown’s information confirm?’

‘James Brown and others witnessed a murder in St Angela’s, perpetrated by Father Cornelius Mohan, aided and abetted by Brian. And when James and Susan threatened to expose it, they were murdered to keep the fact buried.’

‘Okay. Let me get this straight. Mike O’Brien, originally called Brian, was coerced by Father Con to take part in some sick ritual which resulted in the death of a boy, nearly forty years ago.’

‘Yes,’ Lottie said.

‘So who is the kid in the photo?’ Boyd asked.

‘Not now, Boyd.’

‘Lottie, I’ve read the file.’

‘Then why ask stupid questions? Let’s talk to Patrick O’Malley,’ Lottie said, closing the file. She shoved it back into her bag.

‘But we know O’Brien was the murdering bastard,’ Boyd said, once again rubbing the scars on his throat.

‘He only admitted to killing Father Con.’

‘Yes. And he half-killed me too. He didn’t admit to that, did he?’

‘No, but I believe someone else murdered Father Angelotti, Susan Sullivan and James Brown.’

‘I’m lost now, Lottie.’

Lynch rushed into the office, hair loose, flying around her face.

‘We looked everywhere. There’s not a sign of O’Malley.’

‘He can’t just disappear,’ Lottie said. ‘He’s out there somewhere.’ She turned to Boyd. ‘Think. Where would O’Malley go? His past has come back to haunt him. Where would a tormented soul go?’

‘Back to the source of his torment?’ asked Boyd.

Lottie sprang out of the chair, wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek. ‘You’re right. Come on.’

‘If you say so,’ he said with a grimace. ‘Next time you hug me, mind my wounds.’

‘Next time?’ She winked at him. ‘I’ll drive.’

She checked in with her mother at the hospital. Sean was doing fine.

Dumping the Happy Meal in the bin, Lottie followed her team out the door.