When I feel myself calm down, when I feel able to breathe again without my whole body shaking, he looks at me with concern on his face.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ he asks.

Part of me is mortified to have lost my cool again so completely – it seems to be becoming a habit – but a bigger part of me is just so grateful that someone is asking me how I am with genuine concern.

‘I’m not sure,’ I tell him. ‘I think … well, I know, it was a panic attack.’

‘What brought it on?’ he asks.

I shrug my shoulders. ‘A combination of things, I think. The noise. The crowds. What happened to Liam Doherty.’

He nods.

‘And my car was targeted last night,’ I tell him. ‘Here. In the car park. After I saw you. My tyres slashed.’

‘Jesus,’ he says, his eyes widening. ‘But surely it’s not related to what happened to Liam, is it? I mean, it couldn’t be.’

Do I tell him everything? Do I tell him that yes, it could well be related and, actually, it most likely is related? Do I tell him this is the third time I’ve had threatening messages left for me in the space of a week?

‘We believe, the police and I, that is, well, we believe there could well be some connection. This isn’t the first time I’ve been targeted,’ I say, my voice small. I’ve lost my bravado, I realise. My ability to shrug it off as a peril of the job. ‘My car was vandalised outside work last week and at the weekend just gone, someone broke into my flat.’

His hand reaches out and touches mine, and I am so very grateful for the warmth of some human contact that I don’t pull away.

‘Ingrid, this is serious stuff. Are the police doing anything? Are they keeping you safe?’

‘I think they’ve bigger fish to fry at the moment,’ I say, ‘but yes. Extra patrols, blah-blah-blah. It’s not like me to lose my cool, you know,’ I tell him. ‘It’s just been stressful. I thought this was just an anniversary story. Then I thought I’d speak to Jamesy Harte and find out about his quest to have his name cleared. Maybe, I’d get a book out of it. I never once expected that any of this would kick off. Not what has happened to Mr Doherty. Not the attacks on my car and home. Not press conferences and missing people …’

‘Missing people?’ he butts in, and before I’ve even thought about it, I blurt out that Jamesy Harte has gone missing. ‘All of his belongings are still in his flat, from what the police could see,’ I say.

‘He wouldn’t come here,’ Niall says, but he looks worried.