‘A nun …?’ Fleetingly, Beardmore was lost for words.

‘That’s right, sir,’ Daisy replied. ‘A proper one. With all the gear on.’

Beardmore recovered himself. ‘Get rid of her politely then. We’re still busy.’

‘It’s all right,’ Lucy said, knowing who this caller would be. She folded her paperwork and slid it back into her pocket. ‘I’ll go through. She’s not a real nun. I mean, she was a real nun once. Well, a sister rather than a nun. Anyway, she’s neither now, because … well, it’s a long story.’

Beardmore was blank-faced. ‘Are we talking some kind of crackpot?’

‘That’s the problem.’ Lucy headed to the door. ‘With Sister Cassiopeia, you’re never quite sure.’

Chapter 3

Sister Cassiopeia, or Sister Cassie as she was better known, was seated on one of the benches in the waiting room. Given the lateness of the hour, she was there alone, but she’d have stood out even in a riotous crowd.

She wasn’t particularly tall, perhaps five-foot-seven, and never wore makeup, but she possessed a natural elfin beauty, a shadow of which remained even now, in her forties and after much hardship. She was thin, these days, rather than slim, but who wouldn’t be after living on the streets for a time, and yet her distinctive female shape remained visible, in fact was almost accentuated by her monastic clothing: the long black habit and brown scapular, the white wimple, black cloak and black veil. It was only when you were close to her, and the odour of her rank, unwashed clothes reached you, or when you noticed the patches, and the ragged hems of her skirts, and the mud spattered up them, that you realised there was a problem here. By then it probably wouldn’t surprise you to learn that if her arms were ever exposed, you’d see patterns of needle tracks.

‘Lucy, my child,’ she said in her soft Irish accent. She got up and crossed the room, her ever-present satchel swinging by its shoulder strap. As usual, she seemed remarkably energised for such a scarecrow of a person. ‘My, my … you’ve all been very naughty, this time, haven’t you?’

‘Oh … have we?’ Lucy replied.

Sister Cassie eyed Daisy Dobson with undisguised irritation. The big blonde girl, still noisily chewing, stood behind the desk openly and unashamedly eavesdropping. ‘May we speak somewhere a little more private, child?’

Lucy nodded. ‘I think we’d better.’

She led the ex-nun to a side-door, tapped in the combination and diverted her towards one of the station’s non-custodial interview rooms. ‘I have to tell you, though,’ she said over her shoulder, ‘I haven’t got a lot of time.’