The kitchen was the warmest room in the house and, after being outside, it felt like walking into a greenhouse. Chloe and Ryan were at the table. It was laid for four, all very proper, milk in a jug and marmalade in a bowl. Perhaps it was running a guest house for all those years that meant Kate couldn’t cope with cartons of juice, butter still in its wrapper. Or perhaps she was still trying to impress her lover. Vera was surprised that the kids were up at all. Teenagers in the school holidays – shouldn’t they still be in bed at lunchtime? Or perhaps Ryan was planning to work for Malcolm again today.

‘The inspector has some questions for you.’ Kate’s voice was a warning.

Ryan was reading a music magazine and had toast in his hand. He looked up. ‘What is it?’

‘Malcolm Kerr.’ Vera sat down. The toast smelled wonderful and she was suddenly a child in Hector’s house again. Toast was one of the few things he could cook well. ‘I’ve been to his house and to the yard, but I can’t find him. Any idea where he might be?’

‘Sorry.’

‘Had you arranged to work for him today?’ She couldn’t keep her mind off toast, dripping with butter, and the sharp fruitiness of marmalade, spread very thick.

‘Yeah, but not until a bit later.’

‘Have you any idea where he might be?’ This time she directed the question towards the girl too. She was sitting with her elbows on the table. Vera thought how young she looked, but too serious for a girl of that age. Troubled. Someone else burdened with secrets. A looker. When she was older you might mistake her for that photo of Margaret Krukowski on her wedding day.

The boy shrugged again and his glance slid back to the magazine. Hector would have slapped him for that. Show a bit of respect, boy.

Kate Dewar said sharply, ‘Answer the inspector, Ryan.’ She looked at Vera and rolled her eyes as if to say: Kids these days. What would you do with them?

‘I don’t know where Malcolm is. Really.’ He looked at her with a wide-eyed innocence. Vera thought he could be hiding something, protecting his occasional employer. Boys this age, she could never tell what they were thinking.

‘Malcolm might be on the beach,’ Chloe said.

It was the first time she’d spoken. She rolled her napkin in her fingers, so that it looked like a fat Christmas cracker.

Bloody Christmas. This time of year you can’t escape it. Even in your head.

They all stared at Chloe and she went on defensively. ‘I’ve seen him there before. Just walking.’

‘Which beach?’ Vera kept her tone chatty.

‘North Mardle,’ Chloe replied as if the answer was obvious. ‘He parks by the dunes and then he walks.’