Chapter One
A young couple sat in the back row of St Peter's. The perambulator in the aisle next to the man was the sole evidence of their reason to be there, but for the moment, its occupants were peaceful and the couple were undisturbed.
This was perhaps as well. His arm was along the back of the pew, and her head rested in the hollow of his shoulder. Their eyes were closed.
They were not enjoying an illicit embrace in the House of God.
They were sound asleep.
As the church clock chimed the hour, the young man stirred and his eyes edged open. Coming to sudden awareness, he turned to his companion.
"Dottie!" he whispered urgently. "Dottie, wake up! We've fallen asleep, and we're due to be seeing Father Ryan!"
His heart wrenched at the very evident struggle she had to open her eyes. He'd been having a tough time getting through his working days on interrupted nights, but she had been taking most of the burden of dealing with their twin babies, and increasingly, when the twins were asleep, her body automatically responded in the most sensible way it could.
"Oh, Hugh …" she breathed wretchedly. "Do you remember what eight hours' sleep at night used to feel like?"
He smiled encouragingly, and passed a thumb around the darkening under her eyes. "It won't be for ever, Dot."
"I know …" she replied. "It feels like it right now, though."
They shared a sympathetic gaze, and as Dot felt her eyelids drooping again, forced herself upright.
"What time is it?"
"Just gone two o'clock – it was the chiming of the clock that woke me."
"That's odd," Dot commented, her brow furrowing. "We were supposed to meet Father Ryan at one thirty. Do you think he's forgotten?"
"Or …" Hugh gave her a shamefaced look, "do you think he found us asleep and decided to leave us be?"
Dot flushed. "We should go and look for him. Come on."
Mr & Mrs Collins pushed the pram containing their two firstborn to the front of the church, and round to the sacristy. Dot hesitated.
"I don't quite like to …"
"Surely we should at least knock, Dot? He might be waiting for us."
She bit her lip, and then nodded. Stepping forward, she tapped hesitantly on the door to the sacristy.
"Hello? Father Ryan?" The door swung slightly open. Greatly daring, she peeked around the corner.
"Father? It's Dorothy and Hugh Collins … we …. Oh!"
She stopped abruptly, because it was very clear that Father Ryan wasn't the slightest bit interested in their presence, or even their children's forthcoming baptism. He would have been more interested in the knife which was currently lodged under his ribcage, were it not for the fact that it had allowed a great deal of blood to be lost.
The briefest of examinations by off-duty Senior Constable Collins confirmed what was rather self-evident:
Father Ryan was dead.