It was a larger room than Kate had expected, its French windows looking out on a small garden. Obviously no attempt at cultivating the beds or mowing the lawn had been made. The small space had been given over to the children, with a climbing frame, a sandpit and a swing. Various toys were strewn across the grass. The study itself smelled of books and, she thought, faintly of incense. There was a crowded desk, a table piled with books and magazines set against the wall, a modern gas fire, at present lit with only one bar, and, to the right of the desk, a crucifix with a stool for kneeling before it. There were two rather battered armchairs in front of the fire.

Mr. Curtis said, “I think you’ll find these two chairs reasonably comfortable.”

Seating himself at the desk, he edged round the swivel chair to face them, hands on knees. He looked a little puzzled but completely unworried.

Dalgliesh said, “We wanted to ask you about your car.”

“My old Ford? I don’t think it can have been taken and used in the commission of a crime. It’s very reliable for its age, but it doesn’t go very fast. I can’t believe anyone has taken it with evil intent. As you probably saw, it’s in the garage. It’s perfectly all right.”

Dalgliesh said, “It was seen parked late on Friday night close to the scene of a serious crime. I’m hoping that whoever was driving might have seen something that would help our enquiries. Perhaps another parked car or someone acting suspiciously. Were you in Dorset on Friday night, Father?”

“Dorset? No, I was here with the PCC on Friday from five o’clock. As it happens, I wasn’t driving the car myself that evening. I’d lent it to a friend. He’d taken his in for servicing and its MOT, but I gather there were things that needed to be done. He had an urgent appointment he was very anxious to keep, so he asked if he could borrow mine. I said I could use my wife’s bike if I was called out. I’m sure he’ll be happy to help in any way he can.”

“When did he return the car?”

“It must have been very early yesterday morning, before we got up. I remember that it was back when I went out to seven o’clock Mass. He left a thank-you note on the dashboard, and he’d filled it with petrol. I thought he would; he’s always considerate. Dorset, you say? That was a long journey. I think if he’d seen anything suspicious or had witnessed an incident he would have phoned and told me. Actually, we haven’t spoken since he returned.”