Following the women down the corridor and up the stairs, Joe Ashworth was troubled by a sense of déjà vu, a feeling that he’d met this family before or conducted a similar interview on a previous occasion. It was as irritating as when a word was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t remember it. Perhaps something about the kids – polite enough, but wary and watchful – reminded him of his own children when they had something to hide.

They’d arrived at Enderby’s room and the man had the door open almost as soon as Kate had knocked. It was clear that the detectives wouldn’t be invited in, though. Enderby seemed pleasant and rather shy, but also experienced at getting his own way.

‘The lounge would be best for a chat, I think, don’t you, Kate? I’ll switch on the fire again and make it cosy. And I’ll bob down to the kitchen and make us some more tea, if it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition. No need for you to do anything.’

So that’s where the interview took place, in the impressive lounge with its gleaming dark furniture and smell of beeswax polish. Enderby lit some of the red candles and switched off the main light, so Joe almost expected him to take their hands and call up the dead, as if this was a séance.

Kate Dewar had returned to her own flat. The three of them drank tea and ate biscuits and sat for a minute watching the gas flames. While they’d been waiting for Enderby to bring in the tray, Joe had pulled back the curtains to look out of the window and seen that the snow had stopped. The sky was clear now and there were stars, a huge white moon. Still he replayed the interview with Kate Dewar and her family, wondering what he’d missed, what had been so familiar.

Vera was asking the questions and already there seemed to be an understanding between her and Enderby. She wasn’t exactly flirting, but there was a sense that they could get on. He was charming, Joe could see that. People didn’t usually make an effort to charm Vera, and Joe thought she was flattered by it.

She smiled now, over her cup, dunking her third home-made biscuit into the tea. ‘So what brings you to Northumberland, Mr Enderby?’

‘George, please.’ A wide, easy smile. ‘Work, I’m afraid. I keep promising myself time in the county to explore properly, but my wife thinks anywhere north of the Wash is wild and uncharted territory, and I spend so much time away from home that I wouldn’t want to come up on holiday without her.’

‘And what is your work?’