‘Mary Craggs wasn’t there.’ Enderby seemed to have lost interest in the conversation, perhaps because it was no longer about the drama of his wife deserting him. ‘She was babysitting for one of their children and had stayed over. But yes, it was very pleasant, thanks. The following day I had a wander around Hexham. A beautiful town. And then I made my way back to Harbour Street. This morning I caught the Metro into town. I’ve always loved the Lit & Phil and it’s helped, having the time and the peace to think things through. One more night and I’ll be ready to drive home and face the world.’

‘That’s your plan, is it?’ Vera wondered what facing the world entailed. Perhaps Enderby would have to come to terms with the fact that he’d no longer have access to his wife’s money, that there’d no longer be a big house in the country. Perhaps that was why he was so upset now. He’d despised the woman, in a vague and patronizing way, since he’d married her. Vera wondered why it had taken her so long to leave him.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That was the plan. Diana said that I could stay in the house until after Christmas, but I’ll have to start looking for somewhere of my own.’

What will you find? An attic bedsit. Like Margaret Krukowski.

‘We’ll have to check your story with your wife, of course.’ But Vera thought this time he was telling the truth, or as close to the truth as he could bear to get.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Early afternoon and Vera was back in Kimmerston. An emergency meeting of the core team to discuss the new information. She had picked up a message from Joe when she’d left the Lit & Phil. He hadn’t given any details, but she’d sensed his excitement. They were squashed into her office, and the smell of onions and garlic came from the pile of empty pizza boxes stuffed into her wastebin. Holly looked as if she was about to retch.

Vera was perched on her desk. She preferred to look down onto the rest of them.

‘So, Joe, let’s have it again.’

‘Stuart Booth said that Margaret worked as a high-class hooker out of her flat in Harbour Street. She wasn’t greedy. She had a few well-paying clients. But she was a prostitute.’ He frowned.

Vera thought that he was feeling let-down. He’d believed in Margaret the saint, the embodiment of womanly virtue. ‘And Booth was one of her customers? Didn’t he think he should come forward earlier with this information?’

Joe shrugged. ‘He’s in a new relationship. He’d hardly want it made public, would he? It was only when he found out that the second victim was in the same business that he thought we should know.’

‘Very public-spirited,’ Vera said. ‘Or very clever.’