As he walked slowly between the pews, somewhere inside a voice berated him for going it alone. He should have called on one of the officers in the village to come in here with him. But it was too late now. He had already reached the office and he could see that the door was ajar and the light he’d glimpsed was coming from inside.

He held his breath and eased it open, ready to defend himself if he came under attack.

But he didn’t. The room wasn’t empty, though. A man wearing a black polo sweater and loose grey trousers was standing in front of the desk with his back to the door. James was about to say something when the man spun around. At once, relief flooded through James when he saw that it was Father Silver.

The priest almost jumped out of his skin, and his mouth gaped open.

‘I’m so sorry, Father,’ James said, stepping farther into the room. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’

It took the priest a couple of beats to recover.

‘Why are you here?’ he said, his voice shaky.

‘I went to the rectory to have a word with you. When there was no answer, I was about to leave but then saw footprints in the snow and I feared – thankfully wrongly, as it turns out – that the killer might have paid you a visit. So, I followed the footprints and they led me here. I can’t tell you how relieved I am.’

The priest appeared lost for words as he stood there staring at James whilst hauling in ragged gasps of air.

‘Are you okay, Father?’ James said.

The priest swallowed. ‘I am now. You just gave me a shock. So why is it you felt the need to come and see me so late in the day?’

James took Lorna Manning’s diary from his pocket and held it up.

‘You told me that you had no idea why Lorna Manning was always showing signs of depression. You said you’d tried to get her to open up.’

‘That’s true.’

‘But this is her diary and just eighteen months ago she wrote that she went to you and confessed to killing that young woman with her car. Which means that you did know what was ailing her.’

‘I am not at liberty to disclose what someone reveals to me in a confessional booth. You should know that, Detective.’

James moved towards him to hand him the diary. But as he did so the priest’s eyes shifted sharply to the left. James instinctively followed their line of sight and saw an overcoat resting on one of the chairs. Lying on top was what looked like a large ornamental dagger.

‘What the hell is that?’ James blurted, pointing to it.

The priest cleared his throat. ‘That, sir, is a genuine Knights Templar dagger. The Templars, as you may know, were once a powerful Catholic military order. Their relics are much sought after by collectors.’