The initial impression of the ageing vicar was that of a convivial man. He appeared to be in his mid-seventies, tall and slim. If Janssen hadn't already looked him up, he would most certainly have thought he was much younger than his years. But then again, he often found those who were strong in their chosen faith appeared to be more settled in themselves with a positive outlook. The thought was a sweeping generalisation but it was his experience.
"Detective Inspector Janssen and DS Knight from Norfolk Police," he said, not feeling the need to offer his warrant card unless asked.
"Good morning, detectives," Reverend Ebling repeated. "Please, do come in."
"Thank you," Janssen replied as the vicar stepped to one side and gestured for them to enter.
"What can I do for you on this fine day?" Ebling said, closing the front door behind them.
"We just have a few questions regarding the food bank that you run, if you don't mind?" Janssen said.
"Not at all," Ebling replied. His expression demonstrated mild confusion as to why they might be asking but also a measure of curiosity.
They were in the entrance hall, a wall-mounted clock ticked in the background. Whether it was the highly polished parquet flooring or the lack of furnishings to deaden the sound was unclear. Ebling directed them through a nearby door and into a sitting room. This was much as one might expect. The walls were painted a shade of dark green, but dominated by paintings of sailing ships at sea. An open fire crackled away in the hearth. Despite the sunshine and largely blue skies, the day was not warm and here, in a house built long before any thought was given to insulation or air-tightness. The house felt cold.
Ebling offered them a seat on either of the two floral-print sofas facing one another adjacent to the fireplace.
"Now, what is it I can do for Norfolk's finest?" Ebling said, addressing Janssen.
"Unfortunately, we have some sad news. This morning, a body was found at the foot of Sheringham cliffs and we were hoping that you might be able to help us identify him."
"Oh, that's dreadful news, Inspector. Truly dreadful," Ebling said, the attentive, warm smile dispersing to be replaced with a look of genuine concern. "Do you suspect this to be one of my parishioners?"
"We don't know as yet, is the honest answer," Janssen said. "However, we found this in what we believe to be the victim's car."
Janssen produced an evidence bag containing the food bank's leaflet, offering it to Ebling who reached for a pair of half-rimmed spectacles on an occasional table beside him. Leaning forward, glasses perched on the end of his nose, he held the leaflet at arm's length and his brow furrowed as he inspected it.
"Yes, this is certainly one of ours. We print them here in the rectory."
He handed the bag back and Janssen thanked him.
"As yet, we have been unable to identify the victim. He could be local, or not. He had this leaflet in his possession, so we thought he might be connected to your charity work or at the very least passed your way at some point. We were hopeful you might be able to put a name to him."
"If I can, Inspector. Can you describe him to me?"
In some circumstances, Janssen would take a photograph of the victim's face to help in these cases but with the head wound, on this occasion he figured it unsuitable. They were going to have to rely on a verbal description until they could bring in a sketch artist later, if it proved necessary.
"A well-dressed black man, most likely in his early to mid-fifties. Clean shaven with close-cropped hair," Janssen said.
Reverend Ebling thought hard, looking down and to his left in the direction of the dancing flames of the fireplace as if searching for inspiration.
"He has extensive and distinctive tattoos, as well," Cassie said, "covering his arms and protruding up from the collar of his neckline."
"I must admit that doesn't sound like any of my flock, Inspector," Ebling said. "But, my wife is really the driving force behind the food bank. Bear with me one moment, if you please."
Janssen nodded his approval and Ebling crossed the room to stand at the threshold to the room and poked his head out into the hall.
"Louise!" he called. "Would you come through to the sitting room for a moment?"
A voice acknowledged the request and Ebling returned to his seat. They didn't have long to wait before they were joined by Louise Ebling. She was busily drying her hands on a tea towel as she entered, her eyes flitting between her husband and the visitors.
"They are from the police, Louise," Ebling said. His wife was momentarily taken aback but quickly recovered from her surprise with great agility.
"How curious. What is it we can do for you?"
Janssen quickly repeated the information, aided by her husband who managed largely to repeat exactly what Janssen had just said.
"Is this someone familiar to you?" Janssen asked, once he'd recounted all of the relevant information.
Louise's brow furrowed and she exchanged a look with Ebling, who splayed his hands wide, turning the corners of his mouth down to indicate he was at a loss.
"You don't think that might be Devon, do you?" she asked her husband after a reflective period.
"Who's Devon?" Janssen asked, his eyes dancing between the two of them. Ebling's brow furrowed as he looked to the ceiling.
"Devon? Is he that man who came to last Sunday's service?"
"Hmm… yes. I think that description would fit him," Louise said, turning her gaze to Janssen and then smiling at Cassie, who made a note of the name.
"Do you have a surname?" Cassie asked.
Louise shook her head. "No, I am sorry. He only came the one time… with Helen, I believe."
Ebling shot her a brief look, one that was instantly lost as he nodded his agreement to his wife's suggestion that Devon could well be their man. Janssen picked up on it nonetheless.
"And who is Helen?" he asked.
"Oh… Helen Kemp," Louise said, smiling in his direction. "She is a regular at our food bank. She's ever so helpful. I don't know what I would do without her really. She needed our help once or twice herself and chose to repay us by volunteering occasionally. Not often, mind."
"Is she one of your parishioners as well?"
Ebling rocked his head from side to side, scrunching up his face as he did so.
"Not so as you would notice but Louise is right, she did attend Sunday Service with a black man who could be your… unidentified man. Is that how you would put it?"
Janssen bobbed his head. "And you're sure that Helen Kemp attended service with him?"
"Yes, absolutely," Louise said.
"Is that unusual for her?" Cassie asked.
"She's certainly not a regular, no. Far from it," Ebling said.
“She is at the food bank, mind you,” Louise said. Her husband nodded sagely.
"I can't say I remember her attending service prior to that occasion but, sadly, my memory isn't quite what it once was. Do you think it is significant?"
Janssen shrugged. "We're merely looking to build up a picture at this time. Identifying the man is our first concern. Mrs Ebling—"
"Louise, please."
"Louise, was this Devon a friend of Helen's? Did he ever assist with your work at the food bank?"