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‘How did you come to work as the housekeeper here?’

‘I was born in the laundry. My poor mother was raped by some bastard – that’s the story I heard from the nuns, which may or may not be true.’ Brigid blessed herself. ‘What is true is that she worked herself to the bone in that horrible place. Fought tooth and nail so that I wouldn’t be taken off her. She died in there. I don’t even know where they buried her. The nuns made me cook and wash and sew for them. Eventually they sent me to work for parish priests. Housekeeping’s the only job I’ve everknown.’ A solitary tear escaped her eye and tracked a lonely trail down the crevices in her drawn face. ‘She was a good woman, my mother, and the nuns treated her like a criminal.’

Lottie poured the tea. ‘And still you have your faith. How do you do that?’

‘I have nothing else. I used to pray to be saved, to have a life. That didn’t happen. Now, I pray for all sinners, especially those bitches who professed to be daughters of God, sisters of forgiveness. Give me strength. They were hard and mean and cruel. I often wonder if that’s how they were brought up. If they knew no different. But then I think, evil like that lives in the soul. It’s rooted there by the long claws of Satan. I was one of the lucky ones.’

‘Brigid, I wouldn’t call what happened to you and your mother lucky. I think it was cruel.’

‘Worse fates befell children in those places. No, I was lucky, but my mother wasn’t. They called her names. Those upright religious bigots said she was a whore and a sinner. No mention of the man who got her pregnant. Was he absolved of his sin? The sin of impregnating a teenager? What about the sin of her parents for abandoning her in her hour of need? The sin of the nuns keeping her captive, working her as a slave in a laundry? No. My mother paid the price for others’ sins.’ She stopped, breathless, then sipped her tea.

Lottie knew Brigid was not the woman Bryan had asked her to find, but she still wanted to know more.

‘What was your mother’s name?’ she asked.

‘I only knew her by the name they gave her in the convent. They called her Paul.’

‘You never found her grave?’

‘No. They said she was buried in a pauper’s grave, but they probably threw her in a septic tank, like they did all the littlebabbies over in Tuam. Unfortunate women didn’t survive the hardship meted out.’

Lottie felt a deep sense of remorse and pain at the memory of what had happened to her own brother in such a place. ‘Who were these people who treated humans so much worse than animals?’ She discovered her voice was choked with tears. She put her hand on Brigid’s. The woman squeezed hers back.

‘Satan’s brood,’ she whispered. ‘That’s what they were. Each and every last one of them. Not a decent bone among them.’

‘Do you know where any of the nuns are today?’

‘Rotting in unmarked graves, I hope.’

‘Can you recall any of their names?’

‘They’d all be dead now.’

‘The more recent ones, from Robert Hayes’s time there?’

‘You can ask him, if you find him.’

‘I believe he became a chef and worked in Ragmullin for a time. A woman was murdered there this week and Robert has disappeared.’

‘The other guards who called here mentioned something about that. What was the woman’s name?’

‘Edie Butler. She was a hairdresser in Ragmullin.’

Brigid’s face drained of all colour.

‘What is it? Do you want some water?’ Lottie thought the older woman was about to pass out. ‘Put your head between your knees.’

Brigid gave a strangled laugh. ‘I would if I was able to.’ Then she sobered. ‘What do you know about Edie Butler?’

‘A colleague is investigating her murder. He asked me to see if anyone could locate Robert Hayes. I don’t have all the details, but I think he was her boyfriend at one stage. Other than that, I know very little about her.’

Brigid took a gulp of tea. ‘I remember Edie from the laundry.’

Lottie felt her heart lurch. Edie’s murder in Ragmullin must be connected to the two in Galway. Brigid was still talking.

‘I was assigned to housekeeping in the convent and Edie was in the laundry. I remember her well. She was much younger than me. Her real name stood out when I first met her. Not many Edies in my time. They were all Marys, Anns, Ruths. Bible names, and the nuns gave saints’ names to those whose own names they deemed not holy enough. There was one young lass they called Gabriel after the archangel. Poor little thing couldn’t understand why she had to bear that name. They called Edie something like Joseph, or maybe James. Yes, I think she was called James. Dear God, do you think Robert killed her?’

‘I don’t know, Brigid, but one thing is certain. He has to be found.’