Once they had a suspect, presumably the police could find forensic evidence of her presence in the burned-out flat. Or maybe she’d confessed to them, as she virtually had to me. I didn’t know. The police tend not to share the details of their investigations with members of the public.

It struck me that they probably didn’t contact Phil Dickie. Though he’d been a vital part of my researches, he wasn’t relevant to theirs. While I believed Niall Connor had killed Ingrid Richards so that she would not publish her memoir and expose the treachery by which he had achieved the greatest scoop of his career, Phil Dickie was a vital part of my enquiries.

But what the police were investigating turned out to be no more than a case of jealousy, a wife murdering her husband’s lover. Commonplace stuff, really.

As a result, I never heard again from Detective Sergeants Unwin and Gupta, or anyone else involved in their investigation. Which was fine by me.

Back in Chichester, I continued running SpaceWoman, taking on new clients and, I hope, nurturing old ones.

I sent an invoice to Edward Finch. It was paid by return of post. A cheque, that increasingly rare object. No covering note. Thank God.

I don’t know what’s happened to him. I don’t care. But I’m pretty sure, whatever he’s doing, he still patronizes and takes advantage of the long-suffering Cara Reece. I’d be very surprised if he’s allowed her to try on any of the new dresses which would have fitted Pauline. And me. Yuk. It makes me nauseous to think of it.

Minnie died at the end of the summer. And, predictably, I felt saddened. I even shed a tear when the care-home van delivered her collection of books about London which she’d left me in her will.

I haven’t looked at them yet. Maybe I never will. I still don’t feel comfortable about London.

Mary Griffin … Oh, Mary Griffin. I wish I could say I’d been like a fairy godmother and solved her problems. But life doesn’t work like fairy stories. Yes, technically she’s safe for the moment. She and Amy are in the house with their nice new furniture. I still drop in from time to time to see how they’re doing. Amy’s started school. Mary’s made contact with some of the other mums outside the school gate. But she doesn’t dare invite them to her house.

After what happened to Dodge, she still feels she’s being watched. All the time. And the day will come when her husband Craig is released from prison.

Mary Griffin lives in permanent fear of that moment. And I wish I could take away that fear with some kind of magic wand. But I know I can’t.

I’ve had virtually no contact from Alexandra Richards since that day when I came back from Primrose Hill. No reason why I should, I suppose, though I’m pretty sure Walt has discouraged her from getting in touch.

She did ring once, though, to say they were getting married. Of course, I offered lots of congratulations and said I was sure they’d be very happy together. Well, that’s what you do, isn’t it?