‘And we’ll send Holly into Kate Dewar’s, shall we?’ Vera felt that she was on a roll. ‘She’ll be a fresh pair of eyes in the place. I can’t remember when George Enderby was leaving. If he’s still there, she can talk to him too.’

Joe nodded again and held his hands to the fire. He shot a look at the clock that stood on the mantelpiece. Hector’s clock, which had always been there.

‘Off you go,’ Vera said, making a shooing motion with her hands. ‘I’m ready for a bath and my bed. I’ll catch up with you at the briefing tomorrow morning.’ She got to her feet.

Joe seemed almost reluctant to leave, but he stood up too. ‘Holly’s press conference will have been broadcast again tonight on the late local news. Perhaps something will have come out of that.’

She gave a little laugh. ‘Our Holly as the face of Northumbria Police. She’ll love that.’ She opened the door to see him out. The rain had stopped and the sky was clear. The stars seemed very bright.

At the briefing the following morning Vera felt full of energy and ready to spread goodwill around the team. ‘Holly had a very productive meeting with Mike Craggs, Professor of Marine Biology at Newcastle University. She filled us in yesterday about Kerr’s car and the time that the boat got back into Mardle, but I’ve been thinking that I’d like a more general overview of the conversation.’

Holly got up to take centre stage at the whiteboard, and Vera thought that the young woman was loving this – it was what she was made for, to stand in front of a team and spread wisdom and light. If I had any sense I’d be grooming her for stardom, getting her ready for promotion. Then they might leave Joe here.

Vera thought that she could never be that cunning, when Holly’s words suddenly caught her attention. ‘Repeat that, would you, Hol?’

Holly looked up, startled. ‘Prof. Craggs said that the only time he had a real conversation with Margaret was one evening in the lounge at the guest house. He’d bought her a drink. They were on their own and Craggs asked her about her husband. She said he was long gone and told him that all she had left were secrets.’

‘Margaret Krukowski and her bloody secrets.’ Vera wondered if there were any secrets. Perhaps Margaret spoke about the past like that just to make herself interesting. Perhaps they were the fantasies of a lonely, elderly woman. She looked up. ‘Sorry, Hol. Carry on.’