‘That’s not the point and you know it,’ Patel spat back. ‘The people in this village ignored my mother when she was alive, partly because she was Indian and they felt she didn’t fit in. That’s why she died sooner than she should have. And now that she’s in her grave they still treat her with total disrespect.’

When James saw why the man was so upset, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Red paint had been sprayed on the white granite headstone, obliterating the epitaph that was inscribed on it. The paint also stained the marble chippings within the grave’s kerb surround, and a memorial vase was on its side. The flowers that had been in it were scattered across the ground and most of them had been damaged.

Patel suddenly seemed to notice James standing behind the priest, and the lines around his watery eyes deepened into a frown.

‘I know who you are,’ he said. ‘You’re the copper who married Annie Kellerman. Are you here because of this?’

James shook his head. ‘I just happened to be with Father Silver in his office, Mr Patel. But I’ll certainly put the wheels in motion so that it can be investigated.’

‘A fat lot of good that’ll do. The police got involved before, but could never prove who was responsible. Not that they spent much time trying. So, I don’t expect it to be any different this time.’

Patel turned his back on them, knelt down and began picking up the flowers.

‘You’re in no fit state to do that, Keith,’ Father Silver said. ‘I insist you go home and leave it to me. It’s my responsibility. I’ve got a bottle of white spirit in the office and some fresh flowers to replace those.’

It seemed at first as if Patel was going to ignore the priest, but after a few seconds he heaved himself to his feet, which seemed to require a great deal of effort.

‘I’ll come back later this afternoon then,’ he said, after taking a shivering breath. ‘And by then I expect you to have it sorted.’

The priest nodded. ‘I will, Keith. I promise. And I’m so sorry. This is simply not acceptable.’

Patel then turned to James. ‘I heard on the grapevine that your wife persuaded you to move here from London. She probably told you that this is a quiet place where everyone is pleasant and friendly. Well, that couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s a shithole, and most of the people are heartless scumbags and racists. But I reckon you’ll soon find that out for yourself. Meanwhile, give my regards to Annie. Her mother was one of the very few people who gave my mum the time of day.’

‘Annie told me that you bumped into each other early yesterday evening,’ James said. ‘You were pulling a shopping trolley and heading towards your house.’

Patel frowned. ‘I don’t remember that.’

‘She said hi to you.’

‘Did she? I obviously didn’t hear. I’d been to stock up at the store and was in a hurry to get home.’