‘And all this time I thought he didn’t care enough about me to let me know he was okay.’ There were tears on her cheek. ‘Every birthday I looked out for a card. And I thought: Sod you, then. But he was here in Harbour Street all the time.’

‘We don’t know for sure,’ Vera said. ‘There’ll be tests to do.’

‘I know.’ Val turned away so that Vera couldn’t see her face.

Vera drove to Harbour Street. No real reason except that she couldn’t face going straight back to the office, and if there’d been news on Malcolm Kerr somebody would have told her. There was also an itch, the start of an idea, and she needed time to organize her thoughts. This was where everything had started, and this was where she’d find the answer. The street was quiet. The Coble was open for lunchtime drinkers, but the fish shop had already closed for Christmas. There was still activity on the crime scene at Malcolm’s yard, but you couldn’t see much because of the screens they’d put up to stop ghoulish gawpers. Through the guest-house window she saw Kate Dewar and Stuart Booth in the residents’ lounge. She was at the piano and he was leaning over her shoulder pointing at some sheet music. He scribbled on it with a pencil and she turned and ran her finger down his cheek. Vera had parked right outside, but they didn’t notice her.

Still sitting in the vehicle, she phoned Holly. ‘I need you to check one of the Krukowski witness statements.’ And then she called Joe, because she had a question for him too. But he was in a dreadful state and wouldn’t listen, almost shouted at her to get off the line because he was hoping for a call. His lass Jessie had got separated from her friends in town, and she’d left her mobile at home and nobody knew where she was.

Chapter Thirty-Nine