‘The note?’ she says again, with less patience. ‘We’re told there was a note attached to your windscreen. I assume you have it?’

Reluctantly, I take the piece of paper from my pocket and hand it to her.

She opens it and examines it, her white gloves still on, before putting into the bag. ‘You were warned,’ she reads.

I notice DC Black look at her, then towards me. I do my best not to meet his gaze.

‘And you’re the only other person who touched this?’ she asks.

‘As far as I know.’

She tuts, shakes her head. I feel tears prick at my eyes again and yes, I’m still scared, but in this moment my primary feeling is embarrassment.

‘This is quite worrying,’ she says, her voice a little softer now. ‘We’re probably at the stage where we should discuss your personal security.’

Personal security? I see it through her eyes. This is another threat. Another attack. Another warning. That it happened on the day the article was printed in The Chronicle can hardly be coincidence.

‘Surely if whoever is behind this wanted to hurt me, they would just do it. They wouldn’t target my flat, or my car. They’d just go for me,’ I say, my voice shaking. I’m trying to reassure myself and failing miserably.

She shrugs. ‘It’s impossible to predict the behaviour of someone who behaves in this fashion,’ she says. ‘But what we can assume is that whoever it is, they intended to do real damage to your car. From the look of it they used a large knife to slash your tyres. They came prepared. They want you to know they are serious.’

The words imprint themselves in my mind. A large knife and they came prepared. ‘Impossible to predict.’ I feel a little dizzy.

‘Who knew you were going to be here tonight?’ she asks, although her words feel distant.

I feel a cool sweat break on the back of my neck; my skin tingles. I shake my head. ‘I don’t know. I mean … I met Niall Heaney, so he knew. And his brother, Declan, and … I don’t know,’ I say.

My words feel thick, wrong, in my mouth. I’m not usually one to lose my cool, but I am at serious risk of losing it now. Adrenaline propels itself through my veins and I find myself gasping for a deep breath of air.

‘Look, really,’ I say, ‘I’d just like to go home now. If I’m not making a complaint, then surely that’s an end to it.’ I scan the carpark for the quickest escape route.

If I keep an outward appearance of calm I’ll be okay, I tell myself. Don’t let them know they’ve rattled me. Don’t involve the police. Don’t give it the oxygen of attention. My breath comes in short, shallow gasps.