Liam absorbs the information.

‘You think she was drugged?’

‘It’s plausible. She was there for just over an hour, and some of that time was spent taking photos. We’ll know more once John has the toxicology report back.’

‘Did she come on her own?’ he asks.

‘No, apparently she arrived with another female.’

‘But you think she came to meet Amado?’

I’ve been turning this question over in my head since Rory’s revelation yesterday.

‘Possibly, it makes sense. Especially since she told her fiancé that she was having an evening on the sofa. She’d definitely want to keep that meeting a secret. We’ll see what we can get out of him later; hopefully he doesn’t mind us turning up on set.’

I indicate into the left-hand lane, having spotted the sign for the services. I follow the curve of the junction into the car park, avoiding deep potholes, and get as close to the door as possible. We run into the foyer with our coats pulled over our heads and Liam points to the coffee shop.

‘Get me a cappuccino, would you? I’m dying for a piss,’ he says.

‘Charming,’ I reply, as he rushes off in the direction of the toilet.

I approach the counter and order two coffees, eyeing up a chocolate muffin but deciding against it. I think of the level of fitness I’d had before the incident almost a year ago, and the hours spent in the gym trying to claw it back so I move away from the cake display and the temptation of the sugary treat. Not that I didn’t enjoy binge eating in front of the TV after leaving hospital.

A few minutes later, my name is called. I collect the coffees, the name scrawled on mine spelled incorrectly, and find a table near the window. Liam ambles through the seats, glancing left and right looking for me.

‘Better?’ I ask, as he sits down.

‘Yep,’ he says, taking a sip of the coffee, ‘cheers for this.’

He sets the cup down and looks at the photocopied page I’ve put on the table.

‘Is that what Martin sent across?’

‘It is indeed. As expected, nothing left on the page from the killer, but obviously he wanted us to see it for some reason. Have a look.’

He takes the page and reads it aloud.

Her body writhed as he plunged the final knife into her thigh. She was pinned down; blood soaking through her clothes and spreading across the ice. It was mesmerising. It was art.

‘Why are you doing this?’ she whimpered with the last ounce of energy left in her.

‘You know why,’ he replied.

She shook her head but he didn’t say anymore. Instead, he picked up the machete and approached her. He kicked her head to one side and pushed down on her cheek with his boot; she tried to fight it but didn’t have nearly enough energy left. Without another word, he sliced her throat from one side to the other. He’d done his research; he’d known there’d be a lot of blood but the amount spraying from her throat was still a pleasant surprise.