As the organ music began, Cooper recalled one of the sheepdogs at Bridge End dying when he was child. His great-uncle had buried the dog behind the barn, out of sight. But Ben had known something was wrong the instant he arrived home from school. He’d prowled the farm buildings until he found the disturbed ground. He’d never needed to ask anyone. The very soil and air had talked to him and told him all he needed to know.

Cooper murmured under his breath. ‘Raymond, there’s no way you could forget that. You know exactly what happened.’

The parents and godparents of the child had finally gathered around the font at the back of the church for the climax of the service.

‘We thank you, Father, for the water of baptism. In it we are buried with Christ in his death.’

And the baby, who had been so quiet and well behaved throughout the service, began to scream as the water hit her face.

It looked as though residents in the care home had been having a good time at their Christmas party. Cooper found Raymond Sutton sitting in the lounge wearing a paper party hat, the kind that came out of a cracker and only lasted an hour or so before it fell off or got ripped. Mr Sutton’s hat was green. His fellow residents had got the red and yellow ones.

‘We have the party before Christmas because some of the residents spend the day itself with their families,’ explained Elaine. ‘It means all the staff can come in, too.’

‘Mr Sutton won’t be going anywhere on Christmas Day, I presume?’ said Cooper.

‘I don’t know. Does he have any family locally?’

‘Not that I’m aware of. But I’d be interested to hear if he gets any visitors.’

‘I’ll let you know. But you come here so often yourself, Detective Constable Cooper, that you’re already his most frequent visitor.’

Cooper smiled at her, noticing her properly for the first time. ‘I’m sorry if I’m being a nuisance, Elaine.’

‘Not at all. In fact …’

‘Yes?’

‘I wondered what you’d be doing after work?’

‘More work, probably.’

She gave him a quizzical smile. ‘They must let you have some time off? But never mind.’

In the lounge, Cooper allowed an old lady to persuade him to pull a cracker with her. She read him the joke, and he laughed to please her. But he drew the line at wearing the paper hat, and she went away in disgust.

‘You never had any children, did you, Mr Sutton?’

‘No, I was never married.’

‘I understand marriage isn’t necessary any more, sir.’

‘A child out of wedlock? It would be shameful.’

‘No one would care these days, you know. Not in the least.’

‘So they tell me. But I’ve never understood it. When was it that decent behaviour went out of fashion?’