When Charlie disappeared into the house without a second glance back at her, she phoned Joe. She’d have liked to spend a bit of time with him, but she could tell there was no way he’d come out. His lass would want him for herself: mulled wine and carols and crap TV. So Vera drove home and sat alone in the cold house. Drinking like she had in the old days, before she got the doctor’s warning. Worrying at the case, not allowing herself to think that they’d find nothing of any importance in Malcolm Kerr’s yard; that all that manpower and expense would be wasted and she’d be a laughing stock.

The next day she was first in the briefing room. A hangover, dull like a bruise or an aching shoulder. The team turned up on time. Eager and expecting results, because she’d been so positive the day before.

She stood in front of them and tried to keep her energy level high. ‘Hol. Charlie. Any news on our elusive friend Pawel?’

‘Not yet.’ Holly pulled a face. ‘I took it over yesterday afternoon when Charlie went out to Mardle, but civil servants seem to stop working at least a week before a bank holiday. I’ve got a couple more contacts to try today.’

‘That’s our priority. The searchers will be back at first light, and if they find anything we need to know what we’re working with. We need a date for the last time we can prove that the man was alive.’ Vera swept her eyes around the room. ‘Charlie, how was Malcolm yesterday? Did you get any sense from him that he’s bothered by us digging around in the yard?’

‘Nah. He seemed kind of frozen. As if he didn’t care one way or another.’

‘Joe?’

‘I’m going to see the woman who ran the Coble for years. Prof. Craggs has some photos which suggest that they were all friends – the Kerrs, Margaret and the landlady and her son. Maybe Pawel too. Susan Coulson from the Haven says she knew the others, though she has no memory of Margaret’s husband. The landlady’s name is Valerie Butt and Charlie’s tracked her down to an address in Mardle.’ He turned apologetically to Vera, as if he knew he wasn’t helping much. He realized that what she needed now was proof that Krukowski was dead. Bones. Teeth. Or a witness who had seen him killed. ‘I thought she might remember gossip about Pawel disappearing suddenly. I’m still a bit confused about timings, about when exactly he left the town. Talking to other people might help.’

Vera thought it was a long shot, but she didn’t want to put him down again in front of the others. Whatever his shortcomings, he’d always be her favourite. ‘Aye,’ she said. ‘Why not? Worth a punt.’