As the crowd dispersed into the car park, they left only Cooper, the two Hudson and Slack limousines and their drivers, who were taking the chance to have a break. They were standing in their black suits near the cars, smoking cigarettes and chatting. Or, rather, three of them were – Billy McGowan and the other two whose names he didn’t know. The exception was Vernon Slack, who’d lifted the bonnet of the leading limousine and was tinkering with something inside the engine compartment, checking the oil level or testing the tension of the fan belt.

Cooper began to walk towards him. Slack didn’t look up, though he was aware of somebody approaching. He surreptitiously disposed of his cigarette in the nearest flower bed and moved back towards his limousine, pulling a yellow cloth from the pocket of his jacket. If he kept that sort of thing in his pockets, it was no wonder his suit didn’t fit too well.

By the time Cooper reached him, Vernon had put the bulk of the limousine between them and was bending down to rub at the bodywork, wiping off the raindrops. He seemed to be trying to hide his face behind the wing mirror, as if afraid to look anybody in the eye.

‘Mr Slack?’

From the other side of the car, the young man’s head came up. He looked worried, but he didn’t answer immediately. His hand kept moving automatically over the bodywork, rubbing at the same patch with his cloth.

‘Vernon, isn’t it?’ said Cooper. ‘Vernon Slack?’

‘Yes.’

The hand stopped at last. Vernon let it fall by his side, still holding the cloth.

Cooper held out his warrant card. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. I’m here to make some enquiries with the crematorium manager, Mr Lloyd. But I thought I recognized you from the other day. I was at Hudson and Slack with a colleague, DS Fry. Do you remember?’

‘You were talking to Melvyn. It wasn’t anything to do with me, was it?’

‘Of course not.’

Vernon was standing in front of a back door to the chapel, or possibly it was a staff entrance to the cremation suite, which stood at right angles to it. On the door was a notice warning that anyone caught taking floral tributes would be prosecuted. Cooper wondered what sort of person would want to steal flowers from a crematorium. He hoped no one would make a mad grab for the Pearly Gates and run off with them right under his nose.

‘You must spend quite a bit of time here in your job, Mr Slack,’ said Cooper, smiling in an effort to put Vernon at his ease.

‘Here, or at Brimington or Sheffield. It depends where they want to go.’