Freddie smiles, a secret smile. ‘The postcard said, When you’re shoving your foot in the door, make sure you’re wearing a big shoe.’

There follows a light-hearted but confused murmuring in the audience.

Freddie explains. ‘It relates to the last conversation we had. I told Rhiannon I was leaving the Plymouth Star, the local newspaper I used to work for, but that I still wanted to get “a foot in the door” of journalism.’

‘So she helped you?’ asks Bryan, swatting away a fly that seems hella interested in his left ear. Probably a doughnut parked in there for later.

‘Rhiannon Lewis has changed my life,’ says Freddie and the room goes silent. So quiet you can hear a fake petal fall. ‘She wanted her story to be told and she assigned me to tell it. My husband said I should take the manuscripts straight to the police. It was evidence after all and there was her ex-boyfriend Craig Wilkins, looking at a life sentence for the crimes on those pages. We had an argument about it because I was so keen to get the story out there—’

And make shitloads of money off it—

‘—but in the end I did the right thing. I gave them to the police, but not before I’d made copies. I couldn’t do anything with them at that point because I’d fall foul of sub-judicial procedure but as soon as the CPS made the decision to charge Rhiannon in absentia, I took the risk.’

Bryan scratched his temple. ‘They had a trial in the UK, didn’t they?’

‘Yeah, they had a trial with a jury and they sentenced her to life, with a minimum forty-year tariff. They issued a warrant for her arrest—’

‘—but they never found her,’ Bryan clarified.

‘Quite.’

‘I don’t get how they had evidence to jail her without her being there to go to jail,’ said Bryan, like it was the most ludicrous thing he’d ever heard.

‘They had enough evidence – a written confession in her own handwriting, bearing details only the killer could possibly know. They just didn’t have her.’

‘Ah right. So eventually, you were allowed to release the book?’

‘Yeah, once she’d been confirmed as deceased, there was nothing stopping me. The rest is history.’ He beams up at the humongous poster.

Herstory, you mean. Prick.

‘That’s incredible,’ says Bryan. ‘So your book went on sale globally in September and it’s sky-rocketed, hasn’t it?’

‘Yeah, it’s caught fire.’

‘Correct me if I’m wrong but it’s been published in thirty-four countries, is that right?’

‘I believe it’s thirty-six now. And we’ve sold the film rights too.’

‘Oh wow,’ says Bryan. Cue gasping, flailing and a rapturous applause.

Yawn.

‘It’s been life-changing. I can pay my bills without worrying now, myself and my husband have new cars, our kids are in good schools—’

Freddie talks with ease, enthusiasm, and occasionally expressive flourishes of his arms. Piano player’s hands. Creative fingers. His eyes are alive and passionate about his subject, which in this case happens to be moi.