Logan took out his notebook. ‘Do you have a lot of fans, Mr Hunter? ’

‘Why do the police always have to use people’s last names? Is it meant to intimidate us? ’

‘It’s meant to be polite.’

‘Then you can call me William. I hate Will, Willy, Billy, and Bill, so don’t bother.’ He dumped the paper on the table. ‘And yes, I have a lot of fans. Got so many emails I’ve had to employ a young woman to pretend to be me. Which is ironic, it’s normally the other way round on the internet. But all that, “Where do you get your ideas from?” “Who would you cast in a film?” “When’s the next book out?” was driving me mad.’

‘What about . . . the more obsessive ones? ’

His mouth stretched out and down. ‘Nutters, you mean? Every writer gets them. People who think the characters are real, people who think they’ve got the right to tell you how to do your job, people who want to be Fingermen, people who want me to write their life story. You name it, I’ve had it.’

Sim plonked a coffee down in front of Logan, her hand shaking hard enough to slop some out over the side and onto the blue pages from a revised script. Then she scurried around to the other side and picked up Hunter’s ‘WORLD’S WORST DAD’ mug and took it round to the percolator.

‘And it’s got worse since they started making the film? ’

‘Pfff. . .’ He scratched at the curls fringing his big shiny forehead. ‘Like mushrooms in a damp basement. Still, I suppose it’s a small price to pay. I was fed up of being screwed around by the big Hollywood studios promising the earth, then delivering sod all. Eight times this thing was going to be made, before fizzling out. Eight times.’ He swept his hands out, gesturing at the table and its piles of paper. ‘But this time I get a percentage and a say in the production, so I let them have the rights cheap. Of course, I’m stuck in here, rewriting scenes, but at least the thing’s actually getting made.’ He let his hands fall back to the tabletop. ‘Mind you, soon as they found out, the nutters came out in force.’

‘Did any strike you as particularly odd, or threatening? Anyone speak about necklacing witches, or torturing them? ’

‘I don’t even read most of them. If I did I’d have no time to get any writing done.’

Sim put the mug back on the table, by the laptop, blushing so hard she couldn’t have been far off spontaneously combusting.

Hunter nodded at her. ‘Thanks.’

The blush grew even darker and Sim just stood there, staring at him, not saying anything.