More recently the hotel had been taken over by a small chain with a head office in the south. The basement had been turned into the health club, and any sense that it was a place only for the very wealthy or the glamorous had disappeared. They’d let in Vera, for goodness’ sake! But it still had pretensions. In the dining room gentlemen were expected to wear a jacket and tie. The furniture was old and shabby, but once it had been good.

In the health club now there was still an air of excitement and of chaos, but Vera felt in control, happier than she had for months. Sod all that exercise – what she needed to make her feel really alive was interesting work.

Billy Wainwright, the crime-scene manager, had turned up to take control of the scene. The room was clear of steam, but all the surfaces were damp with condensation. ‘You do realize this is about the worst crime scene I’ve ever visited? No chance of fingerprints on these surfaces. Half the population of Newcastle could have walked through here without leaving a trace.’ As if, somehow, it was Vera’s fault. Billy Wainwright, famous in the service for his bonny wife and his serial adultery. A genius at his job, but a complete rat of a man. Vera stood well out of the way, but, looking in through the open door as he was working, she got a better view of the dead woman. A classic Willows Health Club member. Well groomed, middle-aged, but with the body of a younger woman. She saw a locker key pinned to the strap of the woman’s bathing costume.

‘What’s the number on the key, Billy?’

He lifted it carefully with fat gloved fingers. ‘Thirty-five.’

She’d expected Taylor the duty manager to have left them. Surely he would have important things to do. But he was still at the poolside, oddly incongruous in his suit and shiny black shoes. The walkie-talkie was back at his ear. She strode across to him, waited impatiently while he finished his conversation.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Just trying to rearrange a few meetings to keep the lounge free for your witnesses. We’re hosting a conference of personnel managers.’

‘I assume you have a pass key for all the lockers.’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, can you get it for me.’ Why was she so sharp with him? He’d been helpful enough. Perhaps it was his reluctance to leave them to their work. His obvious thrill to be involved in the investigation, even if only as an observer. I’m allowed to feel excited, she thought, because it’s what I do with my life. He’s just some sort of voyeur.

Now, at last he did walk away from the pool and through the changing rooms to the desk beside the turnstile. Upstairs in the lounge they could hear excited conversation, the clatter of coffee cups. Ashworth had pulled in some uniforms to help him take statements, but it was obviously going to be a slow process. As Vera had suspected, most of the elderly members were treating this as free entertainment; they were in no hurry to leave. Taylor spoke to the woman at the desk.