A number of wooden pews lined either side of the aisle, hymn books lying here and there on them. The pews were empty and the chapel appeared to be completely devoid of inmates.

Dominating the front of the chapel was the altar. Resting on top of the altar block was a large wooden cross, upon which was a model of the crucified Jesus painted in full gory colour.

Also at the front of the chapel was a simple wooden lectern and to one side of that was an organ festooned with pipes and buttons. On the far left-hand side of the chapel were two carved wooden confessional booths, side by side, one for the chaplain and one for the confessor. On the right-hand side of the chapel, Bailey noticed a door which was slightly ajar.

She sat down on a pew and reflected on things. Why would Toni have come here, and only for ten minutes? There were no other inmates in the chapel, so she couldn’t have been meeting anyone.

Perhaps she was being too cynical. Perhaps even a brutal bully like Toni was religious. Religion didn’t always engender the most rational behaviour in people.

Bailey’s own mother was a great example. Although she had always been religious, Jennifer’s abduction had tipped her gradually into an almost fanatical devotion to the Christian faith, to the point where it had now become impossible to reason with her about anything which remotely contravened her very literal interpretation of its doctrines. She’d forced Bailey to attend Sunday school throughout the majority of her childhood, giving her a great knowledge of the Bible, along with a strong awareness of the fact that she couldn’t bring herself to believe in God, however hard she tried. How could He let bad things happen to good people like Jennifer? She still felt much the same way today.

As she sat there, she slowly became aware of a strange snorting noise. She tilted her head to try and better ascertain what it was. Perhaps she wasn’t alone in here after all. She stood up slowly and looked around, trying to locate its source.

After a few moments, she realised that it was emanating from the partially open door on the right side of the chapel.

She walked up the aisle and approached the door. She leaned in. The noise was definitely coming from the other side. Gently, she pushed the door and it silently swung open to reveal a small wood-panelled office. Sprawled in a chair by the desk, asleep, was the prison chaplain, Father O’Malley. The noise she had heard was that of his snoring, a horrible nasal, rasping sound.

During her induction process, she’d been informed about Father O’Malley and the spiritual services he provided. She had only ever seen him from a distance, but even then he cut a distinctive figure, lumbering along in his cassock, constantly muttering to himself. Up close here, she could see that beneath the receding tangle of grey hair he had the veined face of a heavy drinker.