Kate nodded and turned back. Joe Ashworth waited until she was halfway down the stairs before trying a key in the lock. There were three keys. Vera wondered about the other two – one was probably for the front door of the guest house. What about the other? Joe pushed open the door.

The flat was, as Kate had said, very small and built into the roof, so one wall was hardly three feet high and joined a sloping ceiling, with three dormer windows looking out over the harbour. There were two main rooms, with a tiny bathroom carved out of a corner of the bedroom. But still it managed to have style. The kitchen, which was also the living room, had a dark polished wood floor with a rug that glowed with colour – blues and greens. Under one window an old desk and a curve-backed chair. A small chaise longue covered with grey velvet. A sink, oven and fridge, separated from the rest of the room by a scrubbed pine table. Most of the pans hung from hooks in the ceiling, and the wooden spoons and spatulas stood in a green glazed pot on the second windowsill. The full wall was all shelves, with books, neatly arranged, interspersed occasionally with pebbles, pieces of driftwood and shells. It was a dark room, because the windows were so small and the walls were thick, but rich and jewel-like, lit only by a lamp on the desk and a spotlight in the kitchen.

‘No telly,’ Joe said. Vera could tell he was shocked. He opened the door to the bedroom, eager to see if the television was there. They stood in the doorway to look in. This room was carpeted in pale green. There was a three-quarter bed covered by a handmade patchwork quilt, and chests of drawers on each side of it. A narrow wardrobe. All the furniture had been painted white. No clutter, no dirty clothes. The shower room was spotless.

‘No telly,’ he said again. Perhaps that was the only entertainment he and Sal had in the evenings and he couldn’t imagine life without it.

‘We’ll get the search team in first thing.’ Vera walked to the window and looked out. It was still snowing, but the flakes were smaller again. She was glad she wouldn’t be the one to pull open drawers and work through Margaret’s underwear. She was nosy, but this would have seemed like a terrible intrusion.

Joe was looking at the shelves. ‘Only one photo.’ He didn’t pick it up, but pointed to it. The picture was of a couple. A wedding photo. She was in a simple white mini-dress, with fake fur on the hem, white knee-length wet-look boots, a short fur jacket, and she was holding a bouquet of gold and white freesias. The dark-haired man was in a suit with wide lapels, a buttonhole pinned to one of them. In the background, a church door.