‘Anything else unusual here?’ Because something about his manner had made her suspicious. A bit like the young waiter, he was weighing up whether he should talk to her or not.

‘Lisa didn’t come in this morning. She was due in at eight. She rang in sick. I can’t remember the last time she was ill. Probably a coincidence.’

‘Sure,’ Vera said. ‘Bound to be.’ But that sent her on the move again. Back to her car with Lisa’s address on a scrap of paper in her hand. Another trip east towards the city.

Lisa lived with her mother in a small red-brick house on a council estate in the west end of the city. There was a view from the end of the street across a business park to the Tyne. Perhaps the father still technically lived there and was in prison, or perhaps he’d moved out. In any event there was no sign of him. Half the houses in the street were empty, boarded up, and it looked as if kids had been inside setting fires. Some of the gardens were piled with rubbish. But Lisa’s home was spotless. The grass on the small patch of lawn had been cut and there were pots along the path, planted with primulas. Inside, a smell of furniture polish and disinfectant that hit Vera as soon as the door was opened.

A woman stood there. She had Lisa’s small features and her hair might once have been blonde. Now the colour came out of a bottle and it hadn’t taken properly. Blotchy and uneven, the result was piebald, part chestnut and part brass. But who was Vera to criticize?

‘Is Lisa home, pet?’

The woman was only small, but she stood her ground like a fighting dog. She could smell police a hundred yards away.

‘She’s at work.’

‘No, she’s not.’ Vera let her tiredness show in her voice. The sugar rush and effect of the caffeine had worn off. ‘I’ve just come from there. Don’t piss me about; I’m not in the mood. Tell her it’s Vera Stanhope, and then let me in so that I can take the weight off my legs.’

And perhaps it was that last phrase that worked the magic. Lisa’s mam recognized the exhaustion of the working woman, stood aside and showed Vera into the smart front room, never used during the day except for visitors. At the same time there were footsteps on the stairs and Lisa was there. She’d been listening in. She was pale and thin.

‘I didn’t do it,’ she said. The words were out before she reached the foot of the stairs, spoken through the open door of the living room. ‘I didn’t kill Danny Shaw.’

‘Oh, pet, I didn’t think for a moment you had.’