‘And do you know if there was any ill-feeling between her and Keith Patel? Was she one of the people he blamed for not calling on his mother while the woman was lying on the floor after her accident?’

‘You will have to ask him about that, Inspector. I wouldn’t know. But they weren’t neighbours. Mr Patel lives on the opposite side of the village to Willow Road.’

The priest paused before changing the subject abruptly. ‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the card I received. And now that we’ve had two murders in the village, I’m inclined to believe it was a statement of fact and not some baseless threat.’

James saw no reason not to be honest with the man. After all, they were both on the murderer’s Christmas card list.

‘I accept that the evidence is now overwhelming, Father,’ he said. ‘It’s a frightening thought, I know, and for that reason we have to think carefully about how much information we release to the public. Myself and other senior officers will be discussing all the options at a meeting this afternoon. The safety of the villagers is paramount, but we have to balance that against the likelihood that if people know about the threat it could trigger serious panic.’

‘You’re faced with an agonising dilemma, Inspector,’ the priest replied. ‘And I know that you’ll do everything you can to protect the people of Kirkby Abbey. But surely they have a right to know what the situation is. Those who feel threatened can then take extra precautions to keep themselves safe, which may well entail going to stay with friends or relatives until the killer is caught.’

DS Stevens arrived back with a plastic bag for the photograph just then and James thanked the priest for calling him.

‘Could you please keep this development to yourself, just as you have the card containing the funeral message, Father?’ he said.

‘Of course,’ Father Silver said. ‘Will you be going to speak to Keith Patel?’

‘His house is our next stop after leaving here,’ James told him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Keith Patel was none too pleased to see them. He complained that he was in the middle of his lunch and asked them to come back later.

‘That won’t be possible, Mr Patel,’ James said. ‘Either you allow us to come in so we can ask you some questions or we’ll be forced to take you for a ride, all the way to the station in Kendal.’

‘Are you kidding? What do you want to talk to me about?’

‘It’s in relation to the death of Lorna Manning and the photograph of her that was placed on your mother’s grave at some point during the night.’

His demeanour shifted. ‘Are you talking about the schoolteacher woman? I didn’t know she was dead. And what the fuck else has happened to Mum’s grave?’

James refused to go into the details on the doorstep so Patel allowed them in. They followed him to the living room where the television was on.