As the water pours over me, my mind turns to Ben. He is in custody right now, probably still attempting to sleep off a night on the tiles. I imagine his lanky frame contorted, trying to get comfortable on the poor excuse for a bed in the holding cell. I imagine his fear as his actions over the past few weeks may about to be laid bare.

The surprise must be etched all over my face at the sight of DCI Bob standing by my desk. It is 8:30 a.m. and I have arrived at work a little early to prepare for Ben’s interview. I hadn’t expected him back for another week at least, so to see him standing here is a shock.

‘The wife is sick of me,’ he says as I approach, answering the question before I’ve asked it. ‘She needs to rest and doesn’t appreciate being asked if she wants anything every few minutes. She begged me to come back to work, especially in light of the evidence gathered from the video. Good work, Erika.’

I feel a rush of pride at the compliment, as DCI Bob is a notoriously hard man to please. However, I’m quickly brought back down to earth by his next statement.

‘I am going to lead the interview with,’ he pauses and checks the notes he is holding in his hand, ‘Ben McCall.’

He doesn’t offer any further information, and I don’t ask, though I do feel indignant.

I’m the one who has a relationship with Ben, having met him at the bookstore. I’m the one who brought him to the attention of my superior and I am the one who has done the legwork, literally, in trying to apprehend him.

‘We’re going to bring him out soon, we’re just waiting for his lawyer to arrive,’ he adds, before excusing himself and sauntering off in the direction of the toilets.

I’ve taken my place in the observation room, behind the one-way glass. My breath forms a mist on the cold surface, making me realise that I’m too close to the glass. I’m just dying to be in there, instead of being sat on the subs bench.

Ben looks like he is nursing a particularly painful hangover. His eyes are sunken and bloodshot, and his forehead is coated in a film of sweat. He keeps reaching for the bottle of water in front of him and then thinking better of it, his fingers going back to drumming a rhythm on the table instead.

His thick hair is wilder than ever, jutting out in all directions. He’s wearing a brightly patterned, short sleeve shirt and a pair of skinny jeans; clothes carefully chosen for a night out by the looks of things.

DCI Bob finishes the introductions for the recording device’s benefit and moves on to the questions. Ben sneaks a nervous glance at his lawyer, who is the polar opposite of the student in every way. His faded grey suit is ill fitting and the buttons on his well-worn shirt are stretched to their limit by his huge gut. His hair is thinning, his face ruddy and his jowls wobble as he shakes his head at something. He doesn’t look like the type of man you’d entrust your fate to, though looks can be deceiving.