‘But …’ Ben’s eyes swept the doorframe for gaps, but it seemed to be sealed tight. ‘What about the window?’

‘What about it?’

‘The curtains aren’t even drawn!’

‘So draw them! Jesus Christ, Ben, get a grip, would you?’

Ben stood rooted, terrified of being spotted from the grounds.

‘For fuck’s sake,’ Lance muttered, and he crossed to the window himself. But rather than drawing the curtains, he faced Ben and jabbed a thumb towards the glass. ‘See?’ he said. ‘Nobody’s going to be outside at this time of night.’

‘But …’ Ben repeated, and even to his ear it sounded like a nervous stutter.

Lance rolled his eyes, and whipped the curtains across. ‘There. Satisfied? Now let’s get on with what we came here to do. The longer you stand there bleating, the greater the chance someone will hear you.’

Lance went back to what he’d been doing. As well as the bed, the room contained a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, a reading chair by the window, a bedside table and a desk. Lance seemed to be scouring the desk’s cluttered surface.

‘What are you doing?’ Ben asked him.

‘Never you mind,’ Lance replied. After a moment he turned. ‘Well?’ he said, when he saw Ben still standing in the same spot. ‘Don’t you have something to be doing, too?’

Ben’s hand went to his back pocket. ‘Right,’ he mumbled. ‘Sorry.’

Lance was obviously looking for something, but Ben had no idea what. After a moment Lance seemed to feel Ben watching him, and his chin dipped towards his shoulder. Ben turned hastily away, and moved towards the chest of drawers.

He took the photographs Melissa had developed from his back pocket.

‘Put them in with his underwear or something,’ said Lance snidely.

Ben opened the topmost drawer. It was full of Father Steiner’s pants and socks, and ordinarily Ben might have scrunched his nose up in disgust. But he was too focused on what it was he was about to do. Even though he’d known exactly why they’d come here, and they’d been planning this part for weeks, Ben wasn’t sure he’d ever really believed things would get this far.

He risked a glance over his shoulder. Lance was continuing his search of Father Steiner’s desk. But as Ben watched him, Lance stopped moving, as though he’d found whatever it was he’d been looking for. Once again his chin moved towards his shoulder, and Ben quickly turned away.

He looked at the photographs in his hand. He was deliberately holding them face down.

Just do it, he told himself. Just do what you came here to do.

This time when he considered the contents of the drawer in front of him, he allowed his expression to curl into one of disgust.