Craggs shook his head. ‘No, that was before my time. Soon after this photo was taken, the building they used as an office burned down. Rumours were that it was some sort of insurance scam. It was widely known that the Kerrs owed money all over the town. They’d over-committed themselves buying a new boat. Malcolm’s makeshift shed appeared soon after.’

The next page was blank. ‘That’s all there is,’ Craggs said. ‘Unless you’re interested in seaweed . . .’

Joe shook his head and smiled. He felt that he had a better understanding of the background to the case, but he was here to check more recent movements.

‘George Enderby stayed with you the night Dee Robson was murdered.’

‘Yes,’ Craggs said. ‘It must have been that day.’

‘What time did he arrive?’

‘It was late. Eight o’clock. Mary had left us a casserole and I was starving. I’m used to eating earlier, and I almost started without him.’

So Enderby had no alibi for Dee’s murder, either. Joe thought he would achieve nothing more here and moved towards the door.

Mary Craggs must have been watching them, because she appeared again from the kitchen. ‘Have you got everything you need, Sergeant?’

‘Yes, your husband’s been very helpful. Thank you.’ Then he reconsidered. ‘Might I borrow the photo album, Professor? I’ll return it as soon as I’ve shown my boss.’

Craggs nodded and returned to the house to fetch the book. Then the elderly couple walked together with Joe and Charlie into the garden and stood, looking over the gate, the professor with his arm around his wife’s shoulder, watching until they drove off.

Chapter Thirty

The evening briefing. Outside it was dark and the traffic was heavy. The start of the long Christmas weekend and people making their way south to visit family and friends. Vera had shut herself away in her office and only emerged as the meeting was about to begin. She’d run her fingers through her hair so that it stuck up at the back, but nobody dared tell her.

She stood at the front of the room, with her legs apart, her eyes bright. ‘Let’s get this cleared up by Christmas, shall we, folks? Then you can all go home to your bairns in time to open the stockings.’

In the room a few sceptical cheers. Vera wasn’t known for her family-friendly policies.

‘I’ll go first, shall I?’ Defying them to contradict her. She pointed to the photo of the young Margaret Krukowski on the whiteboard. ‘Our first victim. Seventy-year-old woman, member of St Batholomew’s Church, committed to the work of the Haven, a hostel for homeless women. From the beginning we wondered if there might be a clue there. Had she been in an abusive relationship? Was that why she’d befriended our second victim, Dee Robson?’