The man shook his head and stood up, taking his time. ‘There’s no vicar in this parish any more, hasn’t been since the Reverend Fortinbrass passed away, back in 2015. Now we have a rector, Reverend Whitely – he covers four local parishes and he’s a useless bugger. Not a good situation, if you ask me – he only does two services a month in this church. Mind you, most times he doesn’t get more than four people, I’m afraid. It’s his teeth, they say, he scares them all. Old Mrs Blackthorne, in the village, told me it’s like being preached at by a blooming skeleton with rattling teeth!’

Jason grinned, fleetingly. ‘It just doesn’t make any sense.’

The gardener squinted at him. ‘Sir, I may be old, but I’ve still got me marbles. That over there is – or was – the only Reverend Fortinbrass.’

‘Who lives in the vicarage now?’

‘No one, that’s been empty these last years. I’ve heard rumours the Church are planning on selling it.’

Jason thanked him for his time, turned and walked back to the grave of the former vicar, and took a photograph of the headstone.

There had to be an explanation. Was the man who came to see them yesterday a conman? Identity theft? Was that it? Going around posing as a vicar, preying on the vulnerable, the elderly, the bereaved, and the troubled?

But if he was clever enough to carry that off, why on earth do it in the one parish where most people would know the real Reverend Fortinbrass was long dead?

He walked, very puzzled, back to his car, and drove the short distance home.

45

Tuesday 18 December

The Penze-Weedells were faffing around in their front garden when Jason arrived home a few minutes later. Maurice was standing on top of a precarious-looking stepladder, trying to reach one of the Christmas lights that was above him and clearly out of reach, while Claudette hung onto the base of the ladder, shouting instructions to her hapless husband.

If he’d been in a neighbourly mood, Jason would have gone over and offered to help, especially as he was the best part of a foot taller than the older man, but he did not want to get involved. He was just relieved that Emily’s van wasn’t in the drive, because he badly needed to collect his thoughts. He climbed out of his car and was just unlocking the front door when Matt Johns rang.

‘Jason, what’s your problem?’

Entering the house and hurrying up to his office, he told his computer guru about the numbers on his screen.

‘Can you fire up TeamViewer?’ Johns asked.

As soon as he was at his desk and logged in, Jason opened the app and gave Johns the ID numbers and password.

Moments later the cursor began to move across the screen, seemingly on its own, as Johns looked for the problem.

Putting the phone on loudspeaker, and letting him get on with it, Jason thought back to yesterday morning. When he had met Roland Fortinbrass, the vicar had reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t think who. A name suddenly sprang to mind.