‘Nah,’ Vera said. ‘She was already dead when I called you.’ She narrowed her eyes and made her voice quieter. ‘I blame you for throwing her out in the first place. Did you really think she’d manage on her own in the big bad world?’

‘Not my responsibility.’ Cameron leaned across the desk towards the detective. ‘My responsibility is to this place and to the existing residents. Making it run smoothly. As a therapeutic community, helping the women find their feet before moving on to take more independence. One of our residents is a teenage schoolgirl, who fell in with the wrong crowd, was bullied and tried to kill herself. The last thing she needed was Dee Robson pissed and shouting in the middle of the night, or men turning up in taxis looking for pretty young things to abuse. Dee was never going to be independent. I took her in against my better judgement as an emergency placement. I knew we wouldn’t be right for her and she wouldn’t be happy with us. It was never meant to be a long-term arrangement, and the social worker knew that.’

‘But once he’d got Dee into the Haven, he stopped trying to find somewhere more suitable.’ Vera was starting to understand how it had worked. The judicial system played games of shifting responsibility too. Like pass the parcel: the one supervising the offender when the music stopped was left to carry the can.

‘Of course. From that moment his client became my problem.’

They grinned at each other, a sudden moment of contact. Vera could understand why Jane had been reluctant to take Dee Robson back, even for Christmas. A lazy social worker would heave a sigh of relief, and Jane might never get rid of her again.

‘I thought social services would come up with a better solution,’ Jane said. ‘And I’ve felt guilty since I heard that they’d dumped her in a flat with no support. But we couldn’t keep her here. And if I made any contact with her, I’d be landed with the responsibility for her. Margaret thought I was a monster and that I was just washing my hands of Dee. She brought Dee along to our winter fair just a couple of weeks ago. Making a point.’ She paused. ‘Come into the kitchen and I’ll make some tea.’

This sounded like a peace offering and Vera followed. ‘We think she was killed yesterday afternoon,’ she said. ‘Can you account for all your lasses?’

‘I’m afraid that I can’t.’ Jane put teabags into a big pot. ‘I wasn’t here. But they’re not great ones for walking and they’d have to get to the end of the track to catch the bus. I doubt they went very far.’

‘And where were you?’ Vera eyed the tin of biscuits as Jane Cameron opened it. She hadn’t had lunch.