“He has connections here still?”

“No family here. He married a French woman. They have grown-up children, two sons and a daughter.” The vicar took a sip of coffee. “But what is this about, Mr. Sykes?”

It was time for Sykes to come clean. “I’m sorry to say, I have reason to believe that Mr. Aspinall has met with harm.” Sykes took the artist’s drawing from his pocket. “Would you be able to identify him from a sketch?”

“I should think so. I saw him in Lille last year.”

Sykes set the portrait on the desk.

The vicar’s mouth tightened. “That’s Aspinall.” He stared a moment longer. “He’s dead.”

“What makes you say that?”

“The eyes. This was by a halfway good artist. The colour is right, but the eyes are wrong. He had such life in his eyes.”

There was no point in lying, or evading. “Yes, he is dead.”

“When did he die, and under what circumstances?”

“I regret I am not at liberty to say at present.”

“This was nothing to do with golf and Americans was it?”

“Oh yes, that part was true.”

“Are you with the police?”

“I am helping Scotland Yard with the investigation.”

“Why the secrecy?”

“Not secrecy, sir. Mr. Aspinall was found without identification. Now that you and his American acquaintance have identified him, there is something to go on. It would be helpful to know the purpose of his visit, and the details of his next of kin.”

The vicar lowered his head. He ran his hands through his hair. “Mr. Sykes, this has come as a shock. I need to ask you more questions, just as you may wish to ask me. I came home late last night from burying my father. Tomorrow I will be conducting a funeral. Please allow me time to check your credentials before I say more.”

“Of course. The most direct way to check on my credentials would be to call Chief Superintendent Hood at Wakefield Police Headquarters. His number is on the back of my card. I am very sorry to have brought bad news at a difficult time.”

“Drink your coffee, Mr. Sykes. Such niceties matter to housekeepers.” The vicar looked again at the portrait. He turned over the business card where Sykes had written Mr. Hood’s name, title and number. For a moment, Sykes thought Mr. Branscombe would pick up the telephone but he did not.

“The parishioner who wrote to Mr. Aspinall was Helen Farrar, a shopkeeper. You may have heard what happened to her?”

“Thank you for telling me. I do know about the death.”