‘Take your time and describe the man to me, please.’

‘He was about five feet six, in his fifties, with a round face, black hair and slightly balding.’ He paused. ‘Can I ask why you need to know all these details?’

‘I can’t tell you at the moment, Jack. I’m really grateful for everything you’ve told me, and I’d ask that you keep it between us for now.’

‘My lips are sealed, sergeant.’

Jane’s heart was racing as she put the phone down. The man who’d been at the mortuary seemed very different from the serene and confident man she had met two days ago, but she was now certain it was Bishop Meade.

Chapter Eighteen

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Jane had a restless night thinking about Bishop Meade, Thomas Durham and Lee Holland. She woke at six and couldn’t get back to sleep, so she decided to have a shower and go to work.

Sitting in a peaceful, empty office, with a sausage sandwich and cup of tea for breakfast, she started reading through the convent planning documents.

Jane came across something of interest and immediately phoned Nick. He sounded groggy.

‘You not out of bed yet?’ she asked.

‘I was just about to get up.’

‘Pull the other one.’

‘What are you doing up so early?’ he asked, yawning.

‘Working!’ she said. ‘I’ve just found a solicitor’s document which says the convent chapel and grounds were deconsecrated by the diocese in 1964, which was just after the nuns moved out and prior to the purchase of the land by your father. I’ll have to run it by my DCS first, but hopefully you might be able start digging again.’

‘That’s great news, Jane,’ he said. ‘I could kiss you all over.’

‘You’ll have to wait until tonight for that. Got to go.’ She looked up and saw Boon, who was limping badly and had a black eye.

‘What happened to you?’ Jane asked.

‘Essex police. One of their players deliberately kicked me in the bloody shin. I had a row with him, then he head-butted me.’

‘And there was me thinking rugby was a rough game,’ she said, shaking her head.

He grinned. ‘It was worth it, though. The twat got sent off and we won the game three-one.’ He raised his leg, struggling to sit comfortably at his desk.

‘Do you really think you’re fit enough to work?’

He looked offended. ‘I’ve never gone sick because of a football injury.’

‘I admire your attitude, especially as some officers go sick at the first sniff of a cold.’

‘Can you do me a favour, sarge?’

‘Depends what it is.’

‘Would you mind nipping up to the canteen and getting me a bacon sarnie and a coffee? The first flight of stairs took forever, and my legs are killing me.’

‘I thought you were fit enough to work, Boony . . .’