When Tom tuned back in, Conor had moved on to Peggy McGoldrick: ‘Remember Peggy with the limp? God rest her, she wasn’t exactly affair material, so I knew I’d have to look elsewhere. Could there have been another woman who did the church flowers?’

Despite his reassurance about not playing games, that was exactly what Conor was doing. He was teasing Tom, telling a tale but drawing back before the punchline. Tom was reminded of the fable about the scorpion and the frog. The frog is carrying the scorpion across the river when his passenger stings him. ‘Why did you do that?’ asks the frog. ‘Now we’ll both drown.’ The scorpion says, ‘I know, but I couldn’t help myself. It’s in my nature.’ That was Conor. Even though reopening the Father Galvin investigation meant hurting his family and friends, he couldn’t help himself. It was in his nature.

Tom folded his arms, told himself to stop thinking about scorpions. ‘Listen, I’ll be straight with you. I don’t know where this is going. What Hannah told you is very sad, but it’s no more than a theory. Now the time is ticking on, so maybe you should get to the point.’

Conor nodded. ‘I wouldn’t blame you for being sceptical. The last time we spoke I got it wrong. I admit that. You deserve an apology. So does your father, come to think of it. What I’m doing here is laying everything out in front of you. I want you to see where I’m coming from.’

Tom went to speak, but Conor was more forceful. A slight flick of the hand, as if dismissing a gnat, and he continued: ‘Since last summer, I’ve been saying to myself, “Tom saw something – or somebody – and decided to keep schtum. Did he see the priest’s body, was that it? Or did he see something more? Did he see someone else in the room?” I’ve been trying to figure out why you’d stayed quiet. Well, to begin with, you must have been confused. Scared too, I’d imagine. You were twelve years old, for God’s sake. And twelve-year-olds nowadays are much more grown-up than we were. I mean, we were still reading comics and climbing trees. Then, when you’d had time to consider the repercussions, you must have concluded that saying nothing was the smartest approach. After all, people would question your motives. They’d ask why you hadn’t said something before. They might suspect you had a score to settle.’

Tom flinched. He hoped it hadn’t been obvious, yet feared it had. ‘We’ve been through this before,’ he said, ‘so tell me—’