Joe thought of the bleak flat on Percy Street. That didn’t seem suitable accommodation for anyone. ‘But Margaret kept in touch with her.’

Gruskin sniffed. ‘She didn’t take it as seriously as we did. She even questioned whether Dee would have been capable of having the cards printed, and suggested that one of the other women might have had a tasteless joke at Dee’s expense.’

‘What did you think?’

Gruskin shrugged. ‘Jane seemed to find Dee a disruptive element within the Haven. She is the professional, she lives there and has more experience than the rest of us put together. I felt that we had to trust her judgement. It was clear to me that the woman would have to leave.’

‘When did this happen?’ Joe had disapproved of Dee Robson, but he wished that this priest would show a more Christian attitude to a sinner. The man’s ruthlessness made him uncomfortable.

Gruskin considered for a moment. ‘Six weeks ago.’

‘Did Margaret tell you that she was continuing to visit Dee?’

‘She made no secret of it. She was angry about the way the trustees dealt with it, actually. I wondered if she would stop volunteering at the Haven. Her relationship with Jane became rather strained.’

Ashworth thought back to his meeting with the women in the Haven and with the warden. Jane wouldn’t have mentioned Dee Robson at all, if one of the others hadn’t suggested that she should be informed of the murder. He wondered if the smiling and competent Scotswoman had something to hide. Perhaps she’d simply been embarrassed to have fallen out with one of her volunteers, just before she was murdered. He stood up. ‘Thanks.’

The priest walked with him to the door. ‘I hope this matter is cleared up quickly,’ he said. It was the middle of the day, but outside it was so gloomy that already the street lights had come on. ‘It’s unsettling for us all.’ Then he disappeared quickly back into the church.

Joe Ashworth stood for a minute. The light was on in the basement kitchen of the guest house. Kate Dewar sat on a stool holding an acoustic guitar. Her head was turned away from the window, so she didn’t see him. He wished that he could hear what she was singing. He would have loved his own personal performance of ‘White Moon Summer’.

Ashworth arrived in the high school during the lunch break. Kids were screaming around the playground and through the corridors, excited because it was the end of term, and everywhere there was the smell of fried food and cheese sauce. The receptionist was fierce. ‘The head doesn’t see anyone without an appointment.’