Driving to Julie Dorton’s, Jane couldn’t help but feel concerned about her brief conversation with Nick. She knew he was close to his father, but his curt replies were out of character. She racked her brain but couldn’t think of anything she’d done that could have upset him. She wondered if the whole business of the nun’s murder, the site being closed and his father’s illness was getting to him more than he was letting on.

‘You all right, sarge?’ Boon asked, but she didn’t answer. ‘Hello, Boon to DS Tennison, are you receiving . . . over?’ he joked.

She bit back a sharp reply. ‘Sorry, I was thinking about what we need to ask Julie Dorton.’

‘I was surprised Barnes never had a pop at me about Becky Rogers being at the press conference,’ Boon remarked.

‘I think his mind was on more important things. Personally, I was quite impressed with her. She’s dogged and she certainly speaks her mind.’

‘Not dissimilar to you then, sarge,’ Boon grinned.

‘Don’t be cheeky,’ Jane said.

‘Dorton’s house should be just up here on the left,’ Boon said as they drove along Hurst Road.

*

Julie Dorton was an attractive, fresh-faced woman in her late forties, with dark curly auburn hair and bright eyes. She was wearing a dark blue hospital dress and a nurse’s belt around her slim waist. Jane noticed she also wore wedding and engagement rings.

‘I’ve not long been back from work. Please come through to the living room,’ she said nervously.

‘Are you all right, Mrs Dorton?’ Jane asked.

‘I just watched the evening news. I think I know who the nun is, but . . . it just doesn’t seem possible she was murdered.’ Her voice trembled. ‘The artist’s impression they showed looked familiar, but I wasn’t sure it was her. Then when they showed a picture of the cross with the initials on it . . .’ Julie started to cry.

Jane and Boon looked at each other, realising this was a significant development. Boon got out his notebook and pen, having agreed that Jane would interview Julie and he would take notes to be made into a full statement later. Jane sat next to Julie on the settee.

‘Who do you think MB is, Julie?’ Jane asked, handing her a tissue.

‘Sister Melissa . . . but we all called her Missy.’

‘Do you know her surname?’

‘It was Bailey.’

‘And you were at the convent together?’ Jane asked.

Julie blew her nose and nodded. ‘She was my best friend.’

‘I know this must be difficult for you, Julie, but I need to ask you some questions about Missy . . . is that OK?’

‘Yes. I want to help . . . but I can’t believe she was murdered . . . I thought Missy left the convent because she’d had enough of the way it was run. Do you really think it’s her body you found?’