‘Not according to Mrs Schroeder. And not according to you, either. A statement was taken from you at the time. You told the police officer you wore earplugs and didn’t hear your husband come in, but when you went down, he was already dead on the floor. You phoned the police immediately. What do you say about that?’

‘I retract it. I made it up,’ I whispered.

‘I see.’

He paused. Read the notes again. Finally he looked up. He folded his hands in front of him. ‘Of course, shock affects people in many different ways, Mrs Palmer.’ His voice was kind. ‘Many people, when something terrible happens, can be in an almost trance-like state, despite feeling completely lucid. And time, in those circumstances, is often not in line with our perception of it. What feels like hours can be moments. And the mind works in mysterious ways, after a trauma. Particularly given the condition of your marriage. It’s possible, in your guilt since the incident, you persuaded yourself you were responsible.’

I stared at him, stunned. ‘You don’t believe me.’ My voice was no more than a breath.

‘I suggest, having spoken to Mrs Schroeder, who is an un-shocked, independent witness, that her timeline is more accurate. It also concurs with your account at the time. It’s possible you’ve had too much time to think since, and become disoriented and confused. At the time, you gave the same account as Mrs Schroeder.’

‘But I told you, I want to retract that. You see – there’s an innocent young lad, a boy, his whole future – and – and you see, years ago,’ I rushed on, ‘there was another young boy. That’s the thing. Another teenager. Only two years older than this one, nineteen. Liam Stephens, perhaps you remember? Perhaps you were here? Not you,’ I glanced wildly at Holly, ‘you’re too young. But you might have been?’ I implored Turner.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said slowly. He frowned. Shook his head, confused. ‘I … don’t understand.’

‘I knocked him off his motorbike in 2001. It wasn’t my fault, but he died. I killed him.’ I was licking inside my cheeks for saliva. ‘I thought you might remember?’

‘I came from Tetbury, five years ago,’ he said slowly. He was looking at me very carefully. My head was pulsing. It felt like a vein was leaping out of my temple. Like Michael’s used to.