I give him a few seconds to bask in the celebration of life.

‘Was it always a happy relationship?’

‘Mostly, she is… was, so much fun.’ He winces at the past tense, takes a few seconds to steady himself. ‘She was caring, funny, adventurous. But, I guess, like any relationship, we had our ups and downs. She was away a lot with her job, all over the world for months at a time. She was massively in demand and that was amazing for her career, but it put a strain on us. Long distance is never easy…’ he trails off.

I let the silence linger, hoping he’ll go on.

‘About 5 years ago, she was making that film. The director and her got very close… too close… she had an affair. It lasted for a couple of weeks and then she finished it. She told me a few months later.’

‘And you forgave her?’

He thinks about this whilst biting his thumb nail. After some deliberation, he says: ‘Everyone makes mistakes. It took me a while to get over it, but we got there. From then on, I found it really hard when she went away for work, took me a long time to trust her again.’

‘Understandable,’ I say. ‘Rory, can you think of anyone who would want to harm Anna?’

He ponders the question. ‘I really don’t. She was extremely likeable.’ His shoulders are starting to slouch.

‘You’re doing so well Rory, just a few more questions and then this will all be over,’ I say, giving him an encouraging smile. ‘Why was she in Manchester? You lived in London together, didn’t you?’

‘We did, yes. She was visiting her mother while I was away on business. I was coming in a day early to surprise her. We had planned to spend the rest of the week up here before heading back down south.’

‘How long were you away for?’

He puffs out his cheeks and exhales loudly, implying his job is the last thing that matters to him at this moment in time. ‘I’ve been away for six days. Three days in Liverpool and three in Bradford.’

‘And what do you do?’

‘I work in advertising. Film trailers, TV adverts and what have you.’

‘You said earlier that she was on the sofa with a book when you spoke. Do you remember what time that was?’

‘I can tell you exactly what time.’

He turns in his chair and fishes his mobile phone from the inside pocket of his jacket. He puts it on the table for us to see, unlocks it and accesses his call list. Her name features a few times on the list, but he points to the one of importance – the one from last night at 20:26. I scribble a note onto the page in front of me.

‘And you are sure she definitely didn’t mention any other plans?’ I ask.

He looks confused at the line of questioning.

‘No,’ he says, brow furrowed. ‘She’d just made a hot chocolate and was about to open a script her agent had sent over when I’d called.’