“The whole thing is only vague. Anyway, we employed a Croatian refugee here as a sexton. He turned out to be a complete mistake. He drank, he was abusive and he frightened people.”

“In what way?”

“He used to leer at the schoolgirls, make lewd gestures. One girl even saw him urinating on a grave.” Charters shook his head. “That sort of thing. He never actually touched anyone as far as we know, but some of the girls complained to Dr. Green, and she and I had a long talk. The upshot was, I decided to get rid of him. As soon as he’d gone, he went to the church authorities and claimed that I fired him because he refused to have sex with me.”

“And the church authorities believed him?”

“It doesn’t matter what they believed,” said Charters, with a bitter glance at his wife. “Once the accusation is made, the wheels start to grind, inquiries have to be made. And the accused is put immediately on the defensive. You ought to know how it works, Chief Inspector.”

“Like ‘when did you stop beating your wife?’”

“Exactly.”

“And you think he might have been in the mausoleum?”

“He’s the only one I can think of. And he had better access to the key than most. Also, as I remember, vodka was his drink of preference because he believed people couldn’t smell it on his breath.”

“What do you think of all this, Mrs. Charters?”

Rebecca shook her head, looked away and drank more brandy.

“My wife, as you can see,” said Charters, “has been a pillar of strength.”

Banks decided to leave that one well alone. “What’s he called, this man you fired?”

“Ive Jelačić.”

“How do you spell that?”

Charters told him, explaining the diacritical marks. Banks wrote it down.

“What does he look like?”

“He’s tall, about my height, solidly built. He has black hair, which always needed cutting, a dark complexion, a slightly hooked nose.” He shrugged. “I don’t know what else to say.”

“Where is he now?”

“ Leeds.”

“Has he ever threatened or bothered you at all since you fired him?”

“Yes. He’s been back a couple of times.”

“Why?”

“To offer me a deal. He suggested that he would drop the charges if I gave him money.”

“How much?”

Charters snorted. “More than I can afford, I’m afraid.”

“And how would he get the charges dropped?”

“Say he misinterpreted my gesture. Cultural differences. I told him to go away. The man’s a liar and a drunk, Chief Inspector. What difference does it make?”

“It might make a lot of difference,” said Banks slowly, “if he had a reputation for bothering the St. Mary’s girls and he had a grudge against you. Do you know his address?”

Charters went over and opened a sideboard drawer. “I ought to,” he muttered, flipping through a pile of envelopes. “There’s been enough correspondence on the matter. Ah, here it is.”

Banks looked at the address. It was in the Burmantofts area of Leeds, but he didn’t recognize the street. “Mind if I use your phone?” he asked.

“Go ahead,” said Charters. “There’s an extension in my study, if you want some privacy. It’s just across the hall.”

Banks went into the study and sat at the desk. He was impressed how tidy it was-no papers scattered all around, no chewed pencils, no reference books open face down, no errant paperclips or rubber bands, the way his own desk usually looked when he was working on something. Even the ruler was lined up parallel with the edge of the blotter. A neat man, the Reverend Charters. So neat that he had even tidied his desk after his wife came in screaming about a murder in the graveyard?

Banks consulted his notebook and phoned Detective Inspector Ken Blackstone at home. Blackstone, a good friend, worked for West Yorkshire CID out of Millgarth, Leeds. Banks explained what had happened and asked Blackstone if he could arrange to have a couple of officers go around to the address Charters had given him. First, he wanted to know if Jelačić was at home, and secondly, whether he had an alibi for this evening. Blackstone said it would be no problem, and Banks hung up.

When he went back into the living-room he obviously interrupted Daniel and Rebecca Charters in the midst of a hissed argument. Rebecca, he noticed, had refilled her brandy glass.

Banks had nothing more to ask, so he knocked back the rest of his lukewarm coffee and headed out into the graveyard.

As soon as Banks had gone, Daniel Charters looked disgustedly at the empty wine bottle and the remains of the brandy, then at Rebecca. “I asked you why you did that,” he said. “Why on earth did you lie to him?”

“You know why.”

Daniel leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped between his knees. “No, I don’t. You didn’t even give me a chance to answer. You just jumped right in with your stupid lie.”

Rebecca sipped her brandy. “I didn’t notice you rushing to correct me.”

Daniel reddened. “It was too late by then. It would have looked suspicious.”

“Shpicious? Oh, that’s a good one, Daniel. And how do you think it looks already?”

Daniel’s face contorted in pain. “Do you think I did it? Do you really believe I killed that girl out there?” He pointed a long, bony finger towards the graveyard. “Is that what you think you were protecting me from? Giving me an alibi for?”

Rebecca turned away. “Don’t be silly.”

“Then why did you lie?”

“To make things easier.”

“Lies never make things easier.”

Oh, don’t they? Rebecca thought. Shows what you know. “We’ve got enough problems,” she said with a sigh, “without having you as a suspect in a murder investigation.”

“Don’t you want to know where I was?”

“No. I don’t care where you were.”

“But you lied for me.”

“For us. Yes.” She ran her hand through her hair. “Look, Daniel, I saw something horrible out there in the graveyard. I’m tired, I’m upset and I feel sick. Can’t you just leave me alone?”

Daniel remained silent for a moment. Rebecca could hear the clock ticking on the mantelpiece. Ezekiel stirred briefly then settled down to sleep again.

“You think I did it, don’t you?” Daniel persisted.

“Please, Daniel, just let it drop. Of course I don’t think you did it.”

“Not the murder. The other business.”

“I don’t think anything of the kind. I told you. Haven’t I stuck by you? Do you think I’d still be here if I thought you did it?”

“Here? You’re not here. You haven’t been here since it happened. Oh, you may actually be physically present in this room. Yes, I’ll admit that. But you’re not really here, not with me. Most of the time you’re in the bottle, the rest you’re…God knows where.”

“Oh, right, and we all know you’re such a bloody saint you haven’t touched a drop throughout all our troubles. Well, maybe I’m not as strong as you, Daniel. Maybe we’re not all so bloody devout. Some of us might just show a little human weakness every now and again. But you wouldn’t know about that, would you?”

Rebecca topped up her brandy with a shaking hand. Daniel reached forward and knocked the glass out of her hand. The brandy spilled on the coffee-table and the sofa, and the glass bounced on the carpet.

Rebecca didn’t know what to say. Her breath caught in her throat. It was the first time since she had known him that Daniel had shown even the slightest sign of violence.

His face was red, and his frown knitted his thick dark eyebrows together at the bridge of his nose. “You have your doubts don’t you?” he insisted. “Go on. Admit it. I’m waiting.”

Rebecca bent down, picked up the glass and poured herself another shot with shaking hands. This time Daniel did nothing.

“Answer me,” he said. “Tell me the truth.”

Rebecca let the silence stretch, then she took a long sip of brandy and said, in a parody of a prostitute’s tone, “Well, you know what they say, don’t you, ducky? There’s no smoke without fire.”