Breaking the seal of the confessional

is under debate here. There has been an attempt to legislate to force priests to go to the relevant authorities if they hear a confession from someone who states they have committed sexual abuse of a child.
Three of the local priests bailed me up yesterday. They were having coffee in the local shopping centre and I passed them on the way to the bank.
     "What's your view Cat?" one of them asked me. It is the sort of question they don't seem to hesitate in putting to me.
This time though I think I had a response.
     "Have any of you ever  heard such a confession?"
No, they had not. They all thought it was extremely likely that they would ever hear such a confession - so unlikely that they were not aware of anyone who had heard anything like it.
We all agreed it is something a paedophile is unlikely to confess to having committed. If by some unlikely chance such a person did confess to a priest it would not be to one they knew. Does the priest go to the police and say,
    "A paedophile came to me and confessed but I don't know who he is." ? 
Paedophiles get caught. They don't confess. That's the widely held view among psychologists, psychiatrists, and many others involved in dealing with the vile problem.
The three priests I saw yesterday come from different branches of the church. They are good friends and they are, I believe, good men.  It is not unusual for them to get together and discuss common problems. It is not unusual for any of them to stop me and say something like, "Cat, do you know X or Y or Z?" and then tell me that they might need a little more than a friendly hello as I pass. I have a good relationship with all of them. 
More importantly I note that they seem to have a good relationship with their parishioners. People seem pleased to see them. Even more importantly I have noticed children running towards two of them excited to tell them something. I have no reason to believe it does  not happen to the third. 
That has nothing to do with belief or lack of belief. It is about them as individuals, about the way they carry out their duty of caring for others. They have extraordinarily difficult jobs and they are constantly on call. On their day off - usually Monday - the only way to get away from everything is to turn the mobile off and leave the house. People still expect them to be available. They still go to visit the dying on Mondays. They still go to meetings and still hold funerals on Mondays. They attempt to make their own medical and dental appointments for Mondays.
      "You know what it's like Cat," they have told me more than once. They are referring to the fact that, although I am slowly passing on some responsibilities to other people, I can still be called on to drop everything and work on something so that someone else can go and do their job. 
But I don't really know. I am once removed from the situation of saving a life and the danger and the utter physical exhaustion, poor food and appalling conditions under which some of the people I try to help are working. I doubt that two of the priests know either. One does. He's been there and done that in the past.  
It doesn't matter though. They have all seen some of the worst of human nature as well as a great deal of the best.
They were waiting for my answer though and I finally said,
     "I think the answer for me would be to say, "You must go to the police but I will go with you."
I left them talking.