‘Yes, sir. You spoke very well. Stephen Phillips’ death and the Church’s cover-up certainly got the press’s attention. It will no doubt cause a bit of a stir in the diocesan offices.’

‘Good. It was my intention to put the cat amongst the pigeons. Help yourselves.’

Once everyone had picked up a glass, he said, ‘Cheers. Here’s to putting Bishop Meade and his co-conspirators behind bars.’

Everyone raised their glasses and said ‘Cheers’. Barnes downed his whisky in one, poured another and lit one of his Black Russian cigarettes, then looked at Boon.

‘Good work with Annette Gorman today, son. I thought it best not to mention her in the conference. Her statement will be another nail in Meade’s coffin. Stanley also told me you’ve traced a Sister Julie who lived at the convent.’

‘Julie Dorton. She’s no longer a nun. She lives in Sidcup,’ Boon replied.

‘I’d be interested to know why she left,’ Barnes said.

‘Annette Gorman gave me the impression she’d had enough of the way the Mother Superior and some of the other nuns treated the children,’ Boon told him.

‘Abusing kids seems to be a way of life in the Catholic Church,’ Stanley remarked.

‘There may be other reasons she left. I want Boon and Tennison to interview her this evening after the office meeting,’ Barnes said.

‘Yes, sir,’ they replied in unison.

‘Thanks for coming in, DS Jackson. I know you’re busy dealing with the forensics on a number of murder investigations, so I won’t keep you long. Can you bring us up to speed with what you have so far?’ Barnes asked.

Lloyd looked at Jane. ‘Your hunch about the nun’s cincture matching the fibres around her neck was spot on.’

‘What’s a cincture?’ Boon asked.

‘It’s the brown, rope-like cord the dead nun was wearing round her waist,’ Lloyd told him.

Boon looked at Jane with a bemused expression. ‘You think she was strangled with her own rope, then someone took the time and effort to tie it neatly around her waist?’

‘Of course not,’ she said, ‘though I suppose it’s not an impossibility. Nuns of the same order have the same cinctures.’

Boon twigged. ‘Ah, I get it. A nun using her own rope to strangle our victim, thus the matching fibres.’

‘Hemp fibres to be precise,’ Lloyd said.

‘What, as in cannabis?’ Boon asked.

‘Hemp is a variety of the same plant, used to make rope,’ Lloyd replied.

‘Would you two shut up and let Tennison finish?’ Barnes said.

Jane continued. ‘I saw a priest at the diocesan offices wearing a cincture like our victim’s.’

Barnes sat up. ‘Which means the fibres on the nun’s neck could be from Meade’s cincture.’