‘Robert Meade, I am arresting you—’ Barnes stopped, aghast at what he saw.

A motionless Meade, eyes bulging and tongue protruding, was hanging from the tall bookshelf, his red cloth cincture tied round his neck as a noose.

‘No!’ Barnes exclaimed, grabbing a pair of scissors off the desk. He quickly climbed up the library ladder. The uniformed officers supported Meade to ease the tension on the cincture as Barnes hurriedly cut through it.

Jane noticed a six-by-four-inch photograph on the desk. Looking closer she could see it was a copy of the 1962 Sisters of Mercy group photograph, where Meade was standing next to Sister Melissa with their little fingers entwined. She turned it over and was shocked to see ‘May God forgive me my sins’ written on the back. Jane put the photograph in her coat pocket.

As Meade was laid on the floor, Barnes jumped down from the ladder.

‘Don’t you dare die on me!’ Barnes said, kneeling beside Meade. He started mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and chest compressions.

Jane knew Meade was dead. She placed two fingers on his wrist to feel for a pulse, then looked at Barnes.

‘He’s gone,’ she said softly.

‘No, he’s not getting away with it like this!’ Barnes said, continuing the resuscitation attempt.

Jane gently put her hand on Barnes’s arm. ‘Sir, I can assure you he’s dead . . . you can’t save him.’

Barnes clenched his fist and slammed it down on Meade’s chest in anger. ‘That bastard was our best hope of finding Becky Rogers.’

He stood up and walked over to the young priest who was in a state of shock. ‘Did Meade leave this building yesterday afternoon?’

The priest nodded.

‘He left here just after two. He didn’t say where he was going.’

Jane recalled Boon saying Becky had left her office at about the same time to meet someone from the diocese.

‘I want you to remember his exact words,’ Barnes said.

‘He asked me to hail him a cab, then said, “I’m going out to see someone. I’ll be back in a few hours.”’

‘Did you hear him say to the cab driver where he wanted to go?’

‘No.’

‘Did you see him when he got back?’

‘Yes, it was between seven thirty and eight.’

‘Can you be more exact with the time?’

‘I went to his apartment just before seven thirty to see if he wanted some supper, but he wasn’t there. I called on him again at eight and he was there. He said he didn’t feel hungry, so I left and didn’t see him again until this morning in his office.’

‘What sort of mood was he in last night?’

‘He was fairly quiet and looked tired.’

‘And this morning?’