‘I don’t know. He never said.’

‘Where’s he gone?’

‘Leeds. He has properties there,’ she said. She sounded defensive and he wondered why.

‘Were you here on Saturday night?’

‘I went out to visit a friend but I came back later . . . about half past eleven.’

‘Was Mr McNeil here when you got home?’

She hesitated, unsure of herself. ‘I think so. But I did not see him. They were in the room with the door shut. Business. I went to bed early.’

‘So Mr Cassidy was definitely here?’

She nodded warily.

‘Your English is really good,’ he said with an encouraging smile. ‘How did you meet Mr Cassidy?’

‘I apply for a job as his cleaner. He advertise in the newsagent’s window.’

‘And you became . . . involved?’

She thought for a moment and in the end she decided on a nod.

In view of what they’d learned about Cassidy’s past, there were questions they had to ask. ‘Would you say he has a temper? Has he ever been violent towards you?’

She looked up sharply. ‘No. What kind of a man do you think he is?’

In the face of this spirited defence, Joe backed down. It was clear that Anna wasn’t going to dish any dirt on her lover. And perhaps even her story about him being there at eleven thirty on Saturday night couldn’t really be trusted. Cassidy had an alibi for Pet’s murder alright – from a man who might well be stretching the truth out of a misplaced sense of loyalty and from a young woman who had a lot to lose. He looked around the tastefully opulent room. Everything comes at a price.

Emily’s phone began to ring and she answered it. Her only words were ‘Right’ and ‘Thanks’. She ended the call and gave him a nod of triumph. Cassidy had arrived home.

Emily put a hand on Anna’s arm when they heard the front door open. But even if she called out a warning, there were a couple of DCs outside in an unmarked car who’d do the necessary.

When the door to the drawing room opened, Cassidy hovered on the threshold. ‘What can I do for you this time?’ He addressed Joe, ignoring Emily.

George Merryweather had arrived at thirteen Torland Place at midday and, fortunately, Matt had managed to get home just in time. He hardly wanted to leave the clergyman to the mercy of Caro or Jason who were sceptical at best, hostile at worst.

Matt had expected to see a cadaverous figure in a cloak rather than a round, middle aged, good-natured man in casual slacks and an open-necked shirt. He felt a little disappointed, as though the church were short-changing him. But on the other hand, he was rather relieved that the clergyman seemed so easy to talk to.

He had told George about the seance, the history of the house, the police enquiries about Jasmine and Pet’s murder, and he was surprised when George said he’d already looked up Obediah Shrowton on the Internet. Somehow he hadn’t associated exorcists with computer technology but then he remembered that he’d contacted him by email. Even those who deal with that most ancient of mysteries, the human soul, have to keep up to date these days.

‘So you think there’s a hostile presence in this house?’ George asked gently.

Matt thought it sounded rather ridiculous when someone put it into words but he nodded.

‘I’ll begin by saying a prayer. It often does the trick, you know.’

Matt hadn’t been in a church in years, not since his days in the cub scouts. But he sat there with his head bowed while George spoke softly to a God Matt hadn’t really given a second thought to since childhood. He was surprised that, somehow, the words seemed comforting. And he was glad that Caro and Jason weren’t there to sneer, as he knew they would.

When George finished Matt sensed that the atmosphere was a little lighter. Or maybe he was imagining it.

George was just finishing his mug of tea when the door opened.

‘Who’s this?’ Caro stood there, arms folded, glaring at George.

George stood up and put out his hand. ‘George Merryweather. Matt here asked me to pop round.’

‘So who are you?’ Jason stood behind Caro, looking as though he was ready to back her up and eject the interloper if necessary.

‘I work at the cathedral.’ George turned to Matt. ‘You have my number. Get in touch any time, won’t you. Don’t bother to see me out.’ He gave the two newcomers a friendly smile and left the room.

Once they’d heard the front door close Caro spoke. ‘Who the hell was that?’

‘Just someone I read about in the local paper. I thought he might be able to help.’

‘With what?’

‘This house. With Obediah Shrowton.’ Suddenly Matt suspected that he’d gone over the top and felt his face redden with embarrassment.

‘Who is he? Some weirdo psychic?’

Matt fished the newspaper cutting out of the pocket of his jeans and handed it to Caro. She read it then handed it to Jason who scanned it then gave a derisive snort.

‘Deliverance Ministry. You don’t believe all that crap do you?’

Matt glared at him. ‘You seemed happy to believe in it when you were organizing that bloody seance.’

Jason shrugged, unable to think of an answer.

‘Anyway, I think it’s already working,’ said Matt, gaining in courage. ‘I think the place seems less. . . .’

‘Less what?’ said Jason, his face forming a sneer.

‘Less . . . threatening.’ He paused. ‘Anyway, where were you when Pet died?’

Cassidy was downstairs waiting to be interviewed. Joe had been in favour of doing it right away but Emily had disagreed. She wanted to keep him in a state of nervous suspense to soften him up. It wasn’t the first time he and Emily had disagreed on tactics, and he imagined it wouldn’t be the last.

Joe needed some fresh air so he left police headquarters and walked towards the city centre. As he walked he could see the cathedral towers protruding above the rooftops reminding him that it was time he spoke to George to find out how he’d got on at Torland Place. There was something in that house that wasn’t right. But could it have anything to do with Pet Ferribie’s death? In the circumstances, every small possibility was worth following up.

When he reached the cathedral he entered by the main door and he was greeted by a row of counters issuing tickets to tourists. He watched for a while. All his instincts told him it was wrong to charge admission to what was, principally, a place of worship. On the other hand, the upkeep of the vast architectural treasure ate up millions of pounds each year so he supposed there was little option. But he hadn’t just come to look so he sidled up to one of the staff and said he was there to see Canon Merryweather. He was admitted with a polite nod and he made his way into the nave.

He had been inside the cathedral so many times but its beauty never failed to astound him. He paused for a while and sat down, bowing his head, unsure what he was praying for: the bringing of Pet’s killer to justice; a resolution to the twelve-year-old case of the two missing girls; or that Kirsten would get out of his life and stay out. He tried to concentrate. But it was useless.

He made for the north aisle, heading for the oasis of chaos that George Merryweather optimistically referred to as his office.

He pushed open the door and saw that George was still wearing his old anorak.

‘Come in, come in. I’ve just got back from Torland Place.’

‘How did you get on?’

George’s smile vanished. ‘I’m not sure.’

Joe cleared a pile of books off a chair and made himself as comfortable as possible.

‘Matt seems a nice lad. More sensitive than his housemates, I’d say.’

‘You met all of them?’

‘Briefly. They seemed rather hostile to the idea of spiritual help. Not that I can blame them. The violent death of a friend must have come as a dreadful shock.’

‘According to them, the dead girl wasn’t really a friend. Apparently they all got on well in the hall of residence but when they moved into Torland Place, things changed.’

‘I certainly sensed hostility in that house and I don’t think it was just the sceptical housemates. Matt’s right: there’s something deeply unpleasant there.’

‘You know about its history?’

‘You mean Obediah Shrowton? Matt told me about the seance.’

‘There’s another case connected with that house.’

George leaned forward. ‘Really?’

Joe told him about the two missing girls who’d vanished from the wood behind the house but he was careful not to mention Barrington Jenks, even though he knew George was the soul of discretion. When he had finished George sat in silence for a while, thinking.

‘I remember those girls disappearing,’ George said after a few moments. ‘But I didn’t realize that there was any connection with that particular house. It’s strange how a location can become the hub of a series of unfortunate events,’ he added quietly.

‘You think that house is at the centre of all this?’

George smiled. ‘I always keep an open mind.’ He looked Joe in the eye. ‘Is something else bothering you, Joe?’

Joe stood up and walked over to the far side of the room where he stood staring at a copy of Holman Hunt’s ‘Light of the World’, the picture that graced a thousand vestries and vicarages throughout the land.

Then he turned to face George who was wearing an expression of patient expectation. ‘Kaitlin’s sister’s contacted me.’

‘Is that bad?’

‘She’s accusing me of Kaitlin’s murder.’

George sat for a few seconds, still and silent. ‘Where did she get this idea from?’

‘She’s been nosing around and she thinks she’s come up with evidence.’ He paused. When he’d first come to Eborby George had helped him through his grief – the combined grief caused by Kaitlin’s death and the tragic shooting of his colleague, Kevin, some time later, an incident in which Joe himself had been seriously injured. Joe had shared his feelings and George had provided a sympathetic ear.

But there were some things he hadn’t told George. Things that he’d been too ashamed to admit to. Things that, somehow, Kirsten had managed to discover.

‘It’s all nonsense, of course,’ said George.

‘Of course,’ Joe replied quickly.

‘Then tell her.’

‘I have but she can still make life uncomfortable for me.’

‘You must remember that she’s lost a sister so she’ll be looking round for someone to blame.’

‘It was a long time ago.’

‘The pain doesn’t go away. You should know that.’

‘She and Kaitlin never got on. She disappeared abroad just after our wedding and never bothered to keep in touch so I had no way of contacting her when . . . She’s only recently found out that Kaitlin’s dead.’

‘That explains why she’s behaving like this. She feels guilty that she didn’t treat her sister better while she was alive. Be patient with her, Joe. That’s all you can do.’

Joe stood there, wondering whether to share the truth with George. He was one of the few people he trusted absolutely but something made him hold back. He drained his mug and looked at his watch. It was time to get back to the incident room.