‘Exactly,’ said Nicky. ‘I put my fair share of Hubba Bubba under the seats in the chapel at my old school, and now it feels like I’m back to face the music.’

Fleet turned as he walked. ‘Your school was Catholic?’

‘C of E,’ Nicky replied. ‘But to be honest it’s all the same to me. I’m going to hell either way.’

They reached the altar, and still there was no sign of Father Steiner.

‘What about you, boss? Didn’t you grow up Catholic?’

‘I did.’

‘So what made you stop believing? Assuming you ever believed in the first place.’

‘Oh, I believed,’ Fleet told her. ‘My mother made sure of that. She used to terrify me with stories about what happens to non-believers – or, worse, Protestants – when they die; what would happen to me if God doubted my faith. But the older I got, the more it started to sound like a fairy tale. And also like … Well. Like wishful thinking.’

What Fleet didn’t say was that, after Jeannie died, he’d tried desperately to rediscover his belief in heaven. But no matter how hard he worked to convince himself, the conclusion he reached was always the same: his little sister was gone forever. He hadn’t been there when she needed him, and there was nothing he could do to bring her back.

Fleet had noticed something on the wall behind the altar, and he circled to get a closer look.

‘Seems the place could do with some TLC,’ said Nicky.

Fleet looked up, around. The church was spotless, the wood well-polished and the walls relatively recently painted, and yet there were several large cracks in the plasterwork running diagonally from the ceiling. They were too high for him to touch, but in places he would have been able to reach a hand into the gaps.

‘Subsidence,’ came a voice, and Fleet turned. A man who could only be Father Steiner had appeared through a doorway off to one side, presumably one leading to the vestry. ‘It’s always been a problem, though apparently not one serious enough to do anything about. From what I’ve been led to understand, it’s one of the perils of building on a hill. Although perhaps now we know the real reason.’ He tipped his head slightly to his right. Towards the graveyard outside, and the remains of the original chapel’s crypt.

Father Steiner stepped forward and extended his hand. Nicky was closest, and she shook it first.

‘At the risk of sounding like a Bond villain,’ said the chaplain, ‘I’ve been expecting you. You’re the detectives investigating what happened to Ben, I’m guessing.’