Patel dropped into an armchair and released a loud breath. In front of him on the coffee table rested a bowl of brown soup and a glass of orange juice.

The two detectives remained standing, and James nodded at the television.

‘Have you seen or heard the news this morning, Mr Patel?’ he asked.

Patel shook his head. ‘I try to avoid it. Too full of crap. Now what’s this about Lorna Manning and Mum’s grave?’

He appeared genuinely surprised when James told him about the latest murder. But surprise turned to confusion when James showed him a picture he’d taken on his phone of the framed photo against the headstone.

Patel couldn’t see the words written on it so James read them out to him.

‘That’s some weird shit,’ Patel said. ‘But whoever wrote it was right about my mum. She didn’t deserve to die.’

‘Have you seen that photo of Miss Manning before, Mr Patel?’ James asked him.

‘Of course I haven’t. I know who she is and we’ve said hello to each other in passing, but that’s about it. Do you seriously think I put it there?’

James shrugged. ‘It seems odd that of all the graves in the churchyard it should end up on your mother’s.’

‘Well, it’s got sod all to do with me.’

‘So can you tell us if you were anywhere near Miss Manning’s house in Willow Road last night?’ This from Stevens.

‘I haven’t been out of the house since yesterday. My knees have been playing up so I thought I’d rest them. And besides, it’s been years since I walked over to that part of the village. No reason to.’

‘Did your mother know Miss Manning?’ James said.

‘I don’t think so. She was never mentioned and Mum rarely got out of here.’

‘So Miss Manning wasn’t one of the villagers who you believe should have checked up on your mother after her fall.’

‘No, she wasn’t.’

‘And what about Charlie Jenkins, Mr Patel? Did you have a problem with him?’

The question seemed to trigger a warning bell in his head. He bared his teeth and gave James a hard look.

‘I don’t fucking believe this,’ he shouted. ‘The last time you came here you more or less accused me of sending you a threatening message in a Christmas card. Now you’re trying to pin two murders on me. Well, I’ll say what I said before, and that is I won’t be answering any more of your questions unless I’ve got a lawyer with me. So piss off and find some other poor sod to harass.’

After leaving Keith Patel’s house, the two detectives headed straight for the village hall in the patrol car. But they didn’t have time to discuss what the guy had told them because as soon as they set off, James’s phone rang. It was Annie, and she sounded anxious.

‘I need to talk to you, James,’ she said. ‘Is now a good time?’

‘I’ve got a few minutes; fire away.’