‘It is true! And the point is, if Ben found the crypt, anyone could have! Any of the teachers, or the pupils, or … or the grounds staff, or even the workmen who surveyed the site! Why didn’t anyone find it? Either before … or … or even afterwards. If someone had, you wouldn’t have had to resort to guessing all this time later. To blaming me when I didn’t do anything wrong!’

From looking lost and desperate, the chaplain’s expression turned to one of anger.

‘Why didn’t the police find the crypt, Detective Inspector? You knew Ben was missing twenty-two years ago. You even searched the grounds at the time! Why did it take you and your colleagues so long to do your job? You drag me from my bed, in the middle of the night practically, and you make these … these foul accusations, when … when really you should be looking at yourselves!’

Fleet could have answered Father Steiner had he chosen to. He could have said that he agreed, that the police had failed Ben, just as the school had, as well as his family. He could have offered excuses as to why the crypt wasn’t found sooner: that the likelihood was, whoever had covered up the entrance after hiding Ben’s body had made sure it was even more concealed than it had been before; that the search after Ben went missing had been half-hearted at best, and that the crypt was anyway almost the perfect place to conceal a body.

Instead, Fleet found himself focusing on the one thing Father Steiner had said that had snagged. ‘Which workmen?’

The chaplain was clearly struggling to come to terms with his fury. He didn’t seem to know which way to look.

‘What?’

‘You mentioned workmen. Which workmen surveyed the site? When?’

The chaplain shook his head in apparent exasperation. ‘Just … the workmen. The structural engineers. The ones who checked the subsidence in the chapel.’

Fleet recalled the cracks he’d seen in the wall of the chapel behind the altar. Some, he remembered, were wide enough that he would have been able to fit a hand in. It’s always been a problem, though apparently not one serious enough to do anything about, the chaplain had said. One of the perils of building on a hill. Although perhaps now we know the real reason …

‘When did structural engineers investigate the subsidence, Father Steiner?’

Fleet was leaning forward in his seat, and the chaplain seemed confused by his sudden interest. From the look he gave Fleet, he was clearly expecting some sort of trick.

‘I couldn’t tell you precisely. Not off the top of my head.’

‘But was it before or after Ben went missing?’