Driving home, Jane felt her stomach rumbling. She stopped at the fish and chip shop in Chislehurst High Street and ordered cod and chips, then nipped to the nearby off-licence. Looking in the refrigerated section, she noticed a bottle of Blue Nun Liebfraumilch. ‘Must be a sign from God,’ she said to herself as she picked it up, along with a bottle of white wine for her neighbour, Gerry.

After parking on her driveway, she popped round to Gerry’s to give him the wine.

‘Hello, Jane, has the light bulb blown again?’ he asked.

‘No, it’s working fine. I bought this as a thank you. I hope you like Chardonnay,’ she said, handing him the bottle.

‘It’s mine and Vi’s favourite. Thank you so much. Why don’t you come in and have a glass with us?’

‘I’ve just bought some fish and chips and I don’t want them to get cold, but I’d love to another time.’

He smiled. ‘I look forward to it. And don’t forget I’m here if you need me.’

‘Actually, as it happens, the cold water tap in my kitchen sink is dripping all the time . . .’

‘I’ll get my toolkit,’ he said instantly.

‘No. It’s OK, tomorrow will be fine. I’m not working, so morning or afternoon would be great.’

‘I’ll pop round after I’ve taken Spud for his morning walk. Goodnight.’

What a lovely man, she decided as she walked to her door.

*

Jane thought the fish and chips were pretty good and the Blue Nun wasn’t too bad, either, if a bit sweet for her liking.

She washed and changed into her pyjamas, before pouring herself another glass of wine, then fetched the exhibits bag containing the plan drawings and documents file from the hallway. She didn’t feel like reading through the documents, so randomly pulled a plan out of the bag, unrolled it, and laid it out on the living-room floor. It was a copy of the original plans for the redevelopment of the convent buildings, dated August 1964. Looking at the plan, Jane remembered she’d promised Nick Durham she’d call him after her meeting with the bishop. She looked at the wall clock. It was nearly nine and she wondered if he’d be out on the town on a Friday evening, unlike herself. Removing his business card from her coat pocket, she dialled the home number.

He picked up after two rings. ‘Nick Durham speaking.’

‘Mr Durham, it’s Detective Sergeant Tennison. Sorry it’s late, but I thought I should call and update you.’

‘Is it good news or bad news?’

‘A bit of both,’ she said. ‘My DI said it’s OK to knock down the burnt-out buildings but don’t do any digging there.’

‘Thanks, that’ll keep the lads on the site busy for now. What did the bishop say?’