‘When poor Dee Robson was killed, you mean?’ He seemed shocked that she still considered him a suspect after he’d bared his soul to her.

‘And before that, when Margaret Krukowski was stabbed.’ Vera thought George had slid through life using his charm to protect him. Now he had to face the consequences of that emotional laziness. Or cowardice.

‘I wasn’t even here then,’ he said. ‘I was driving up from London. I arrived just before you, if you remember.’

‘No!’ Vera almost shouted the word. ‘No more lies. You were in the Coble in the afternoon. The landlord remembers you.’ She began running through the possibilities in her mind. George Enderby trailing Margaret to visit Dee, then onto the Metro to Gosforth. He would blend in very easily with the respectable residents of the smart suburb. Then following her back through the snow, his hand on the knife’s handle in his overcoat pocket. ‘Did you kill Margaret Krukowski?’

‘Of course not! The idea’s ridiculous. Why would I kill Margaret?’

And that was the central question in the case, Vera thought. Why would anyone want to kill Margaret Krukowski?

‘Where were you yesterday?’

He shrugged. ‘Is it really relevant? Or are you accusing me of killing Dee Robson now too? The idea is quite preposterous.’

‘No, Mr Enderby. It’s preposterous to refuse to answer my questions. Especially after you lied to me previously.’ She leaned forward across the table again, so that she was almost touching him. ‘Or perhaps you’d prefer to come with us to the police station. The custody suite might provide a suitable escape from your domestic problems.’

This time he answered immediately. ‘I spent the night before last with a friend who lives in the Tyne Valley. It wasn’t planned. Nothing was planned. But when first I arrived, the day that Margaret was killed, Kate presumed that I was working and that I’d follow my usual routine. Two nights here, one away and then back for a night. I didn’t want to explain.’ He looked wistfully out of the window. ‘I hoped that it would carry on snowing and I’d be stranded in Mardle.’

‘And the name of the friend?’ But Vera thought she already knew. The heart of this investigation was Harbour Street and all the characters in the piece were linked by the place.

‘Michael Craggs.’ Enderby looked up and smiled. Vera thought that smile was a habit, a reflex, like a nervous tic. ‘He’s a marine biologist, based at Newcastle University. I met him in the guest house in Mardle. He’s a regular there when he’s on the coast for research. I always envied him actually. He seemed to have everything – a perfect marriage and a perfect family, satisfying work. I envied him so much that I wanted to dislike him. But nobody could dislike the Prof.’