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Table of Contents

About the Author

Copyright Page

 

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For the regulars of The Rockcliffe Arms in Whitley Bay with thanks for their company and for the stories that inspired the book.

Acknowledgements

A novel is a more collaborative effort than we usually admit. Thanks to everyone who helped bring this one to readers: Sara Menguc and her co-agents, especially Moses Cardona at John Hawkins and Associates in New York City, to all at Pan Macmillan, especially my wonderful editor Catherine Richards and to the team at Minotaur, especially Marcia Markland, Sarah Melnyk and Martin Quinn. Maura Brickell is far more than a publicist and I’m not quite sure what I’d do without her.

Professor James Grieve spent much of his valuable time explaining about bones.

He and Nicola have become great friends and if I have the science wrong I hope he will forgive me.

Vera is as well-known on the screen as the page now and I’m grateful to the cast and crew of the TV drama who have brought my character to a wider audience. Particular thanks are due to Brenda Blethyn, the magnificent actress who has become my Vera.

And as always to Tim, who cooks the best curries and keeps me steady.

Prologue

June 1995

The woman could see the full sweep of the bay despite the dark and the absence of street lights where she stood. Sometimes it felt as if her whole life had been spent in the half-light; in her dreams, she was moonlit, neon-lit or she floated through the first gleam of dawn. Night was still the time when she felt most awake.

She was waiting for footsteps, for the approach of the person she’d arranged to meet. In the far distance, she caught the noise of the town: cheap music and alcohol-fuelled high-pitched laughter. It might be Sunday night but people were still partying, spilling out of the bars and clubs, lingering on the pavements because this was June and the weather was beautiful, sultry and still. The funfair at Spanish City was closed for the day, and quiet. She could see the silhouettes of the rides, marked by strings of coloured bulbs, gaudy in full sunlight, entrancing now. The full moon shone white on the Dome, on the tower of the lighthouse behind her, and on the seductive Art Deco curves of The Seagull. If only you knew, she thought, you sophisticated customers in your dinner jackets and glittering dresses, sitting on the terrace drinking cocktails and champagne. If only you knew what really goes on there.