Joe expected Vera to follow, but instead she walked across the carpet and leaned against the piano, bending to touch the tapestry covering on the stool.

‘What did you make of him?’ The words came out as a sharp bark that surprised him.

‘I don’t know. He seemed pleasant enough.’ Joe looked at his watch again, less discreetly now.

‘Telling the truth, do you think?’

‘Aye, I can’t think of any reason why he should lie.’

‘We need details of Kate Dewar’s new boyfriend,’ Vera said. ‘Someone new in the house.’

He nodded. And suddenly he knew what was familiar about the scene in the kitchen. ‘That woman,’ he said. ‘Kate Dewar. She’s Katie Guthrie, the singer.’

Vera looked blank.

‘You must remember. She was big when I was young. A young singer-songwriter. Had a hit with “White Moon Summer”.’ He paused and was dragged back in time. He and Sal had done their courting to that song. He thought of one long summer, intense and charged. Parties on the beach, and conversations lasting into the early hours. It seemed that they were hardly the same people today. Despite himself, he hummed a few lines.

‘You’re wasted in the police service, Joe Ashworth, with a voice like that.’

He was never quite sure when Vera was taking the piss. ‘Aye, well,’ he said. ‘Our Jessie takes after me.’

‘So our Kate Dewar was famous?’

‘For a couple of years she was a real star,’ he said. ‘And then she fell out of favour. Or fell out of sight. Seemed like almost overnight.’

‘What must that be like?’ Vera was speaking almost to herself. ‘To have all that fame and influence, and suddenly you’re nobody.’

Joe wondered if she was thinking about her own retirement and how she’d cope with that. He didn’t answer and there was a moment of silence.

‘What next then?’ She looked up at him, a challenge, as if she’d set him a test.

‘Talk to the priest,’ he said. ‘She might have confided in him about her family – what really went on in the marriage.’

‘Confession, you mean?’ She gave a little chuckle.

‘I don’t know.’ Joe was confused. He’d grown up in a Methodist family, and Methodists didn’t go in for that sort of thing. ‘More just a chat, I was thinking.’

‘And he might know about the women’s refuge.’ Vera was almost talking to herself now. ‘That might be a motive, do you think? An abusive bloke, too much to drink, blaming our Margaret for the fact that his lass finally found the guts to leave him.’

The gas fire hissed as it cooled.

Vera turned towards him. ‘I suppose you want a lift home?’

‘Aye, if that’s okay.’ That was a relief. He’d thought she’d keep him out all hours and suggest a drink on the way back to talk things through.