Father Silver was waiting for them just inside the churchyard gate. He was rubbing his hands together and stamping his feet against the cold.

‘We got here as quickly as we could, Father,’ James said. ‘What’s turned up? Is it another Christmas card?’

The ashen-faced priest shook his head. ‘It’s worse than that, Inspector. To say I’m shocked would be a gross understatement. Whoever is behind what is going on is one sick individual.’

Gravel crunched under their shoes as they followed the priest along a path that led to the rear of the church.

‘I happened upon what you’re about to see during a walk around the churchyard,’ he said. ‘I needed some space to think because I learned about what had happened to Miss Manning while I was preparing for the service for Mr Jenkins. I found it hard to take in.’

‘I can well understand that, Father,’ James said. ‘This has come as a shock to all of us.’

He took them to a spot that James was familiar with. It was the grave of Nadia Patel.

On Saturday morning her son Keith had kicked up a stink because the white headstone had been sprayed with paint by vandals. Well, now the paint was gone, but resting up against the headstone was a colour photo of Lorna Manning. It was about eight inches square and in a thin silver frame. There were several spots of what looked like dried blood on the glass. And a message in black marker ink that read:

Lorna Manning deserved to die. The woman in this grave did not.

Father Silver had known Lorna Manning reasonably well. She had practised Catholicism and had occasionally attended Sunday Mass. They’d also worked together helping to organise various events in the village.

‘I’ve been to Lorna’s home several times,’ he told James, pointing to the framed photo that was lying against the headstone. ‘I’m certain that picture was on the display unit in the living room alongside photos of her son and granddaughter.’

While DS Stevens went back to the patrol car to get a bag to put the photo in, James asked Father Silver if anyone had been in the churchyard this morning or last night.

‘I left here at seven o’clock last evening and arrived back at nine this morning,’ the priest answered. ‘If someone was here between those times, I wouldn’t have seen them.’

‘Is the gate locked at night?’

‘If it was, it wouldn’t keep people out. As you can see, the surrounding wall is only a few feet high.’

‘Annie said that Lorna appeared to be unsettled and not very happy. Do you know what might have been the cause?’ James asked.

‘Sometimes she struck me as quite depressed. I tried a number of times to get her to open up, but she wouldn’t. She was a very private person, but immensely likeable. She’ll be greatly missed.’

‘Do you know if she was in a relationship?’

‘I don’t think so. Whenever I saw her out in the village she was by herself and never mentioned a partner. But she was married at one time.’