Once I’m there, I’ll find the police station and I’ll ask for Jess Caton. I know there’s a good chance she doesn’t work there and she’s at Barnstaple or Bude or Budleigh Salterton, but at least they’ll be able to tell me which station I need to be at. I hope she’s working today, too. I doubt very much they’ll tell me where she lives — a complete stranger turning up and demanding to see a specific officer. I hope they’ll at least get a message to her that I’m there. She’d definitely respond to that. And what if they ask me what I want to see her for? I can’t say ‘Because she sent me an email telling me her ex is a psycho’. I’ll need to make something up. Say it’s confidential. Will they fall for that? Surely everything is confidential when it comes to the police, so that won’t wash as an excuse. I can’t say I’m a friend of hers, when it’s clear I don’t even know which police station she works at.

I’ll think of something. I have to. I need to. Because it’s the only way I’m going to get closer to discovering the truth about Tom, one way or the other.

39

It’s mid-afternoon by the time I arrive in Bideford. Apart from a quick stop at Chieveley Services to go to the loo, reset my nausea clock and fill my car up with petrol, I do the entire drive in one go.

I pass Barnstaple on my way in and wonder if I should stop there first, just in case that’s where Jess works, but my sat-nav tells me it’s only about ten miles and twenty minutes on to Bideford, so I stick with my original plan.

As I arrive in Bideford, the road takes me over a bridge that crosses a river, and I park up in a car park just the other side. I open Google Maps on my phone and look for Bideford Police Station. I’m really close. Zero point two miles away, apparently. But I’ve got a parking space and I need to stretch my legs, so I get out of the car, buy a parking ticket and walk the rest of the way.

The journey takes me back towards the bridge, then along the waterfront for a hundred yards or so. It’s beautiful, even at this time of year, and I can just imagine how the summer sun must bounce off the whitewashed buildings. The water seems to open up to a beach on the other side. This must be an estuary.

As I pass a long, high slate and stone wall, I notice a sign saying POLICE. There’s a railing along the top of the wall and a building beyond that. That must be the station. I walk along a little further, and the wall starts to get shorter and shorter until it meets the road I’m walking along. I walk up the long ramp, back in the direction I’ve just come from, and into the police station.