‘Can you tell us where you were on Friday night last between half past eleven and midnight?’ Swallow asked after an interval. ‘And I’m reminding you again that while you’re not obliged to say anything, anything you do say will be recorded and may be used in evidence.’

‘Yes, I can answer your question, Inspector. I was on duty in the parish that night. As the priest on duty, I was on a sick call. I went to administer the Last Rites to a parishioner at Belgrave Square. And you will find that all of this is recorded here in the pastoral diary in this house.’

If the priest was telling the truth about being at Belgrave Square, Swallow calculated, he would have been at most a ten-minute walk from Blackberry Lane. But diaries only reflect what people write into them.

‘I presume, Father Cavendish, apart from the parish books, that someone else can corroborate that? In particular, I’d be glad to have someone confirm the times at which you arrived at Belgrave Square and when you left.’

‘Yes, the elderly lady in question has lingered, although her condition is very frail. I stayed with the family and we prayed by the bedside until well after midnight. The other members of her family were present, and they will confirm what I say if you doubt me.’

‘In my work, Father Cavendish, one doubts everyone and everything. I’ll ask you later to give details of the address and the family to Sergeant Mossop and we will make inquiries. If your account is verified, so much the better.’

The priest smiled, a little too comfortably for Swallow’s liking.

‘Is there anything else I can help on, Inspector? I’ve told you what I can. I cared deeply for Alice, in the pastoral sense, of course. Her brother appears to have had a very warped view of that. It’s regrettable, but I can’t alter his thinking.’

‘Of course,’ Swallow said non-committedly. ‘What would you say was his relationship with his sister?’

‘I think that relationship was . . . well . . . obsessive. He seemed to think he needed to protect her from some unspecified threat.’

‘That’s not so different from what you’ve told us about your own relationship with the girl,’ Swallow said.

Cavendish seemed genuinely puzzled.

‘Do you not understand, Inspector? I am a priest of God; my motives and intentions can only be the purest.’

Swallow grimaced.

‘I meet many people, not all of them priests, who would describe their motives in a great many circumstances as pure. So let me ask you, Father Cavendish, can you think of anyone who would have wanted to harm Alice Flannery? We don’t think this was a random attack.’

Cavendish shrugged.

‘Frankly, no. But are you ruling out a random act of violence? As far as I am aware she was not keeping company, so there would not have been issues of jealousies or any crime of passion.’