‘You thought I would cover for Callum Richardson? That I ever gave a damn about this school?’ Harris turned from the chapel and looked up the hill to the main building, where the fire was steadily beginning to spread. He was clearly still in shock, but for the first time there was a hint of bitter satisfaction in his eyes – as though he was finally beginning to comprehend what was happening.

‘My son came to me for help, Detective Inspector,’ he said, turning back. ‘Tell me, what would you have done?’

And there it was. Fleet met Bevan’s eye, as both men grasped the subtext of what Harris had said: the confession he had implicitly conveyed.

The headmaster appeared to register it himself.

‘He … he was hurt,’ Harris said. ‘And he never came to me for anything. It was always Father Steiner he went to.’ He spoke the chaplain’s name like a jealous child. ‘He … he acted like he resented me. Like he hated me. He never seemed to understand that I was only ever trying to protect him! If the other pupils had found out he was my son, they would have made his life hell. I’ve seen what children are capable of, Detective Inspector. I know!’

Anger flared in his voice – but it faded just as rapidly.

‘It was the middle of the night when he came to my room,’ he went on. ‘He’d been sitting down in that hole for hours. And when he told me what had happened, I … I was appalled, obviously, but I … I loved him, and … and so I helped him. I washed him, just like I used to do when he was a baby. I cleared up the vestry, and covered up the crypt. I made sure it would never be found.’ He was shaking his head as he spoke, looking down at the ground, and abruptly he raised his head. ‘He didn’t mean to kill anyone. Benjamin Draper was the one to attack him! And I couldn’t let an accident ruin my son’s life. Benjamin was just a … a … I mean, compared to Isaac, he … he would never have amounted to—’

‘His name was Ben, Mr Harris,’ Fleet interrupted, any sympathy he’d been starting to feel for Harris quickly evaporating. ‘And whatever justification you’ve been clinging on to for all these years, the reality is you’re an accessory to murder. You will be arrested, and charged – but in the meantime you need to do the right thing. You need to help us find your son.’

Harris started shaking his head again, whether as a refusal or a denial about what was happening, Fleet wasn’t sure.

‘There are lives at stake, Mr Harris! Tell me where he is.’