‘Not in the sense I think you mean,’ Bevan replied. ‘He was still half asleep when he answered his door, and there were a few grumbles after that about the timing. Said something about having to prepare for his sermon. But other than that he’s been as good as gold since we brought him in’ – the DC checked the clock on the wall – ‘just under two hours ago. It’s only in the past thirty minutes or so he’s started pacing.’

Fleet wasn’t surprised. The memorial service for Ben was due to start at ten o’clock, and Father Steiner was no doubt getting twitchy. Which was exactly the way Fleet wanted him.

‘Have you offered him coffee? Something to eat?’

‘Um, no, sorry, I—’

‘Good,’ said Fleet, cutting off the young DC’s apology. He stood up straight, and took a sip from his own mug. Despite having been awake for the past twenty-seven and a half hours, and having averaged probably four or five hours’ sleep a night since the Ben Draper investigation had begun, Fleet didn’t feel tired. But he didn’t feel sharp, either. Anxiety about Nicky kept cutting in on his thought processes, welling in him unexpectedly and knocking him off balance. Speed was of the essence, he knew, but he was also painfully aware of the potential consequences of rushing headlong in the wrong direction entirely.

When he entered the interview room, Father Steiner was in the corner furthest from the door, midway through one of the laps he’d been making around the table.

‘Detective Inspector Fleet,’ he said, turning, and sounding simultaneously anxious and relieved.

‘Thank you for making yourself available, Father Steiner.’

The chaplain baulked slightly at Fleet’s frosty demeanour. ‘Well, I … I didn’t feel as though I had much of a choice.’

Fleet took a seat, and he stared at Father Steiner until the chaplain moved warily to do the same.

‘I have to stress,’ Fleet began, ‘you are here voluntarily, meaning you are free to leave whenever you wish. It is also your right to have a solicitor present.’

‘A solicitor?’ the chaplain echoed, halfway to sitting. Some of the colour drained from his features.

‘Do you need a solicitor, Father Steiner?’

‘What? No, I … No, of course not.’

Fleet laid out the files he’d carried in with him, on his side of the table. ‘Let’s start with Callum Richardson,’ he said. ‘When we spoke last time … That is, me, you and Detective Sergeant Nicola Collins – you remember her, don’t you, Father Steiner?’

‘What? Yes. Of course I do. And I … I saw the news. That she … that she may have …’

‘She’s missing,’ said Fleet. ‘But we’ll find her. Don’t you worry about that.’

The chaplain closed his open mouth.