Now the lunchtime rush was over and nobody seemed to mind Vera sitting there. The floor was swimming with slush brought in on people’s boots. She was waiting for Joe Ashworth and found herself grinning, wondering how he’d got on in the women’s refuge. Had they eaten him alive?

He came in, his collar turned up against the weather. He always looked smart. A call-out at four in the morning and he’d turn up with a freshly ironed shirt and a suit. Something to do with the Protestant work ethic? Or a wife with nothing better to do than look after her man? Vera called for a fresh pot of tea and a couple of scones and ordered her thoughts back to the matter in hand.

‘Anything useful?’

‘Aye, I think so.’ Joe poured tea. ‘Margaret worked at the Haven the morning before she died. Somebody gave her a lift there. One of the women saw her get out of the car.’

‘But didn’t see the driver . . .’ Vera knew Ashworth. He’d not have been able to save the good news, if he had any.

‘I wondered if it might have been the priest,’ Joe said. ‘The church is involved with the place.’

‘Aye, maybe.’ But Peter Gruskin hadn’t mentioned it and he didn’t seem the sort to hide his good works.

‘The lass did see the car, though. Old silver Golf. X-reg.’ Joe cut open his scone and buttered it tidily. Vera had already eaten hers. ‘She’s an ex-offender car nut. Done for TWOC, driving without insurance, reckless driving. So I reckon she knows what she’s talking about.’

Vera tried to remember if she’d seen a car like that in Harbour Street, but it didn’t ring any bells. George Enderby, the publisher’s rep, would drive something newer and more efficient. She’d always supposed that the Renault parked outside the guest house belonged to Kate Dewar. ‘Check out what Gruskin drives.’

‘There’s another woman they think we should talk to.’ Joe wiped the crumbs from his fingers with a paper napkin. ‘Dee Robson. I’ve checked her out too. A record that goes back twenty years. D&D. Soliciting. Shoplifting. Lives in a flat in Percy Street, but mostly to be found in the Coble drinking away her benefit, when she can’t find a punter daft enough to buy her a drink.’

‘I think I saw her.’ Vera remembered the woman in the fishnets, and the jeers that followed her out of the pub. ‘What could Margaret have to do with her?’

‘She used to stay in the Haven and Margaret befriended her. Still acted as a kind of mentor, once Dee got thrown out of the refuge for getting pissed and taking men back to the place.’