It’s completely dark now, even though I can see from the clock on the dashboard that it is more late afternoon than early evening. The car park is well lit and that makes it worse. If I could have slunk into the station in the dark I would have felt less exposed, less vulnerable.

I’m just procrastinating – putting off the inevitable – and I decide finally that this is the moment. I’m going to get out of the car, go into the police station, tell them who I am and confess to what I have done.

I push open the car door and tell my feet to move. To travel, one in front of the other, to the entrance. It is so hard, and my guts are in knots.

I know that I look grubby and unkempt. I haven’t seen a comb or soap and water for a while now, and the police officer on the information desk probably thinks I’m a vagrant.

‘Can I help you?’ she asks pleasantly enough.

‘I think so,’ I say. My voice is so quiet that she puts her head on one side as if to hear better. ‘My name is Caroline Baldwin. I think you’re looking for me.’

Her eyes open slightly wider. ‘We are indeed,’ she says.

She stands up and turns to the officer on her left, speaking quietly. I can’t hear her; the only word I pick up is ‘detective’ before she turns back to me.

‘Would you mind coming with me, please? We’ll get you into a private room and someone will be along to speak to you.’

She flashes an access card at a reader on the wall and presses some keys on a silent keypad. I hear the locks go back and I walk through the door. It swings shut behind me with a heavy clunk, and I wonder if that is the last time I will walk freely and voluntarily through a door. I feel my body sway, and the police officer grabs my arm.

‘Are you okay?’ she asks. ‘No, clearly not. You’re very pale, and I can feel you’re shaking. Let’s get you sat down.’

She leads me into a small room, and I slump down in the nearest chair.

‘I’m going to leave you here for a few minutes while I get you something to drink. Tea, coffee, water?’

I shrug. ‘Anything,’ I say. It seems too big a decision.

‘Are you hungry? It’s okay. You don’t have to answer. I’ll bring you a sandwich.’

I don’t know why she is being so nice to me. I want to shout that I’m a murderer and I don’t deserve her concern. But walking into the police station has taken every ounce of energy I had, and my limbs feel weak and floppy.