‘My God, you’re Hector’s daughter.’ The man spluttered, halfway between a cough and a chuckle. ‘A cop. He’ll be turning in his grave!’

Vera shifted a pile of old boat magazines from a stool and sat down. ‘Margaret Krukowski,’ she said.

He sank back in his chair and stared ahead of him. ‘What about her?’

‘She used to work for you?’

‘That was a long time ago.’ He was wary now, determined to give nothing away. Vera wondered what else he had to hide from the police, besides the raids out to the island nature reserve. Dodgy tax and VAT returns almost certainly. Black fish? Smuggled fags and booze?

‘I’m only interested in the murder,’ she said. ‘Anything you can tell me about Margaret will help.’

‘She worked for us years ago, about the time that I knew your father. The business was better then. We still took trippers out to the island, but there was fishing too. And charters. We had a proper little office in the yard then, a kind of wooden Portakabin. Margaret was hardly more than a kid. A posh kid, looking for work. My dad took her on because he thought she’d sound good on the phone. Classy.’

‘Was she married?’ Vera asked.

He hesitated. ‘I never knew much about her private life.’

‘Hey, Malcolm man, who’re you kidding here? A bonny thing like that. You a young man in your prime. You’d have remembered if she was single or not.’

He looked up and glared at her.

‘I told you,’ Vera said. ‘I’m only interested in finding out who killed her. Seems to me you might have an interest in that too.’

‘I think she might have been married.’ He paused. ‘Some foreign seaman. It didn’t last long. I think she only did it to spite her folks.’

‘Did he knock her about?’ Vera put the question as if it were the most natural one in the world.

‘What makes you think that?’ The same anger and the same suspicion.

‘According to the priest, she volunteers in a hostel for homeless women. I wondered if there might be a connection. That’s what my job’s all about – making connections.’

‘Nah,’ he said at last. ‘I don’t think he hit her. Margaret loved the bones of him. She was young and daft, and he was all good looks and romantic gestures. They were happy enough, I think, until he got bored with having no money and ran off with someone else.’

‘Did you fancy your chances with her when he went away?’ Vera looked beyond Kerr to the small window. A few snowflakes melted on the glass and slid towards the frame.

He shook his head. ‘She’d never have gone for a local lad when she was thinking she might get Pawel back.’

‘That was his name?’

‘Aye.’ Reluctantly Kerr spelled it out.

‘When did you last see her?’