‘Well. I mean, that’s the only one with any evidence. That’s probably the one we, you, should concentrate on.’ My voice trailed off when I saw the look he was giving me.

‘Leave the detective work to us, please, Mr Sumner.’

‘Sorry.’

He tapped his pen on his teeth, studied his notes. ‘How well do you know this woman, Charlie Summers?’

‘I told you. She’s my girlfriend. Or she was my girlfriend.’

‘Hmmm. Would you describe it as a close relationship?’

‘Yes, very.’

He remained quiet, waiting for me to fill the silence. Although I suspected this was a technique he’d been taught, I still surrendered.

‘Very . . . intense.’

‘Intense, eh?’ That eyebrow lifted again. ‘And Karen Jameson, the deceased, is an ex-girlfriend.’

I met his eye. ‘She wasn’t really a girlfriend. But we had a relationship, yes.’

‘Were still having a relationship?’

‘No! It ended a long time ago.’

‘So why would Ms Summers be jealous enough to want to kill her?’

‘I told you this too. Because Charlie is obsessive. I was working for Karen and Charlie must have hated it.’

‘Must have? She didn’t tell you she hated it?’

‘No. Not in those words.’

I wasn’t sure exactly what I’d expected, but it wasn’t this. I had imagined the police being keenly interested, treating me as some kind of tragic hero, understanding the pain I was putting myself through. How naive can you get? My story sounded like the invention of a lunatic or a fantasist. But the bag of heroin was real. Surely the police could see that this proved that Charlie was the killer?

‘All right,’ DC Moseley said. ‘Let’s go through it again.’ As I started to protest he said, ‘Just the last bit, involving Karen Jameson.’

‘You need to talk to Harold,’ I said. ‘He lives in the ground floor flat in Karen’s building. He might have seen Charlie . . .’ I paused. I didn’t want to start talking about Harold reading auras. I could imagine how that would go down with the detective. ‘Victor Codsall too. Karen told him that Charlie had been to see her.’

DC Moseley doodled a number of swirls and stars around his notes. He said, ‘OK, thank you. Leave it with us.’

He stood and I looked up at him. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘We’ll talk to Ms Summers.’ I had already given him details of Charlie’s movements.

‘And you’ll be in touch?’

‘We will indeed.’

I stood outside the police station with no idea of what to do next. Charlie was due back in London in a few hours. I knew she would come straight round to mine. But I couldn’t be there, not now I’d found the heroin. I needed to head her off. I had no other choice: I would have to lie.

I sent her a text.