The tape whirred and clicked to signal the end of the recording. With a flick of his thumb and forefinger, Peter hit the rewind key and pressed play again.

He couldn't be certain how many times he'd listened to it. There were multiple recordings, he discovered, each a kind of stream of consciousness that was impossible to follow. The first alluded to something Dermot saw in Fitzgerald's kitchen. A kiss – no, more than a kiss – between Mrs Magarvey and the Priest. He asked Leo what he should do about it. Was this a matter for the Garda?

Peter could only assume that Leo either missed or ignored this message because the next recording – occurring just as few hours later – had revealed a very different Dermot to the first. Panicked and tormented, his voice thick with sadness, Dermot was conflicted over what he saw – what he thought he saw. In his version of events, Assumpta had taken on the guise of a wicked temptress and Leo, the cuckolded husband. But it was Peter who Dermot was truly concerned for. In his mind, Father Peter Clifford was teetering on the edge of eternal damnation. Someone had to do something; someone had to save him – save the Church, save his soul.

If only he had known.

A third recording, lasting mere seconds, confirmed his intentions. Just as Jesus sacrificed himself for mankind, Dermot would sacrifice himself for Peter. He'd stop Assumpta from leading him into temptation. He would deliver him from evil.

Peter held his head in his hands, his suspicions confirmed. This was all his fault.

After days of blind ignorance, weeks of people refusing to believe this was nothing but a senseless tragedy, at last he had the proof. There was a reason for this; it was all because of him.

The tape whirred to the end but this time Peter didn't rewind it. He'd heard enough. Instead, he pressed the eject key and walked over to the bureau. Hastily scribbling Ambrose's title on an envelope, he popped the cassette inside and sealed it.

This tape would ruin him, Peter knew this. Its contents could even harm the already-dented reputation of the Catholic Church. A young woman struck down because of the sexual appetites of her village Priest... the Press would be all over this.

The Church would retaliate in kind; Peter was sure of this but he didn't care. Excommunication, defamation – it was the very least he deserved.

With a new sense of determination, Peter set out to drop the envelope through the Garda's door.

xxxxxx

Niamh yawned into her cup of weak hospital tea. Looking at her watch, she was well aware of the hell she'd pay tomorrow for staying out so late. Leo was with Assumpta and had been for almost an hour. Saying goodbye to his wife. Niamh choked at his words. How could it be that it was just she who was still routing for Assumpta? These days the hospital staff had been turning a blind eye to their extended visiting hours – even they seemed to assume the visits were nothing more than a long goodbye.

She paced the hallway in irritation before deciding to see what was taking Leo so long. To her surprise, when she looked through the glass Leo was gone, replaced it seemed by a large white envelope on the visitor chair.

Irritated, Niamh stormed into the room. Leo was supposed to be her lift home.

"Your husband Assumpta... just wait until I see him." she tutted, half expecting her friend to correct her use of the word 'husband'.

As she dialled Ambrose's number, Niamh studied the envelope more carefully. The letter had been sent and presumably opened by Leo but the envelope bore Assumpta's name in hastily-scribbled biro. On the top left-hand corner was a Solicitors address in Dublin.

It couldn't be...

I'm going to say goodbye to my wife. Suddenly it all made sense. Without thinking, Niamh tore open the paper. On thick white stock was printed the words Annulment of Marriage with Leo's copper-plate signature beneath it. All Assumpta had to do was sign.

Niamh looked at her friend and thought of Peter's revelation earlier that day – just what had Assumpta got herself into? Too tired to consider this any further, Niamh hit send on her mobile and waited for her husband to pick up.