‘Hi Erika, I’m so sorry for calling you at this time. I know you’re not on shift at the minute but I thought you’d like to know my findings on Anna,’ opens John.

‘Don’t be silly John, I’m all ears,’ I reply.

‘Well, I was right about cause of death; exsanguination. It was the laceration to the throat that did it. The incision was deep and oblique, caused by a non-serrated blade, most likely a meat cleaver or machete. There are no defence injuries so we know she didn’t put up a fight. We also did a tox report because of the drunken state you reported she was in. There was a small trace of alcohol present in her blood, but not enough to intoxicate her to that degree. The amount of flunitrazepam in her blood, however, was more than enough to put her in that condition.’

‘Flunitrazepam? As in Rohypnol?’

‘The very same.’

‘So someone has drugged her and then murdered her?’

‘Certainly looks that way,’ replies John, before pressing on. ‘I’ve taken a number of photos of her face to capture the impressions left behind from the boot. I’m going to send them across to your office. Hopefully you can match them up to a manufacturer. I’ll also send across the full post-mortem report. Enjoy the rest of your night.’

I mutter my thanks and reciprocate the farewell. With my phone stashed in my pocket, I push the door handle down and re-enter a very different looking kitchen. The candles have been blown out and only my cake remains on the table. I can hear gunshots and shouting emanating from the TV in the living room, signalling Darren’s participation in the evening as complete.

I sigh, pick up my plate and spoon and enter the living room. Darren is sitting upright in the tartan Sherlock chair. He keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the TV as I enter.

I set my cake on the sofa and squeeze in beside him on the chair.

‘Sorry Daz, I had to take it. Let’s not let it spoil tonight.’

His eyes flicker towards me for a split second and when I nibble on his earlobe, he emits an audible sigh.

‘Come upstairs in a few minutes,’ I whisper, before pushing myself out of the seat and ascending the thickly carpeted stairs.

I walk into the bedroom and pull out the top drawer. It’s mostly filled with everyday underwear, standard comfies. I poke about a bit and unearth what I’m looking for; the lingerie for special occasions. We haven’t had sex since before the incident and Darren has been patient, though at times I can tell he is very frustrated.

I pull off my clothes and put on the lacy knickers and matching bra. I look at myself in the mirror, my eyes drawn not to what I’m wearing, but to the glossy scar to the left of my bellybutton. My mind starts to drift towards what happened that night when I hear movement from downstairs so I dim the light and get under the covers.