‘What were you doing there?’ the detective inspector asked me later, as we sat across the table from one another, in a hastily requisitioned interview room at the back of an estate agent’s.

‘It’s Tuesday. I work for Old … for … Mr Nickolai on a Tuesday,’ I explained.

‘What do you do?’ He was a large, kindly-looking man, probably someone’s favourite uncle, and was doing his best to set me at my ease. Not so his companion, the young detective constable sitting beside him. From her there emanated an air of silent contempt, almost hostility. Perhaps she was practising her bad cop; perhaps she just didn’t like me. She was a striking-looking girl, ebony hair bobbed around a pale face and large, violet-blue eyes, but her mouth was disapproving and small, almost lipless, like the mark left by a fingernail in uncooked pastry.

‘All sorts … furniture and things …’ I answered, ‘… for Mr Nickolai.’

I wasn’t at my most coherent.

‘You’re his cleaner?’ The inspector’s sandy eyebrows shot up in surprise.

‘If you don’t mind my saying, you seem too …’ He left the sentence hanging but I knew what he was getting at.

‘I’m working my way down in the world.’

My voice didn’t sound my own. My throat ached with sobs, with silent screams.

I rolled the ragged ball of damp tissue up my hot cheek and sniffed, staring into the mug of walnut-brown tea growing cold on the table in front of me. I’d tried picking it up earlier, but my hand had shaken too much and I’d been forced to abandon the attempt.

‘Now, Miss Browne … may I call you June …?’ The inspector asked gently.

‘Juno,’ I corrected him. ‘My name is Juno.’

‘Juno?’ he repeated. ‘Like the goddess?’ The young detective constable gave the faintest smirk, a tiny tug of her little mouth. Perhaps she didn’t think I was goddess material.

‘Is that your van parked across the road, the old Astra?’ The inspector went on, making a connection, ‘“Domestic Goddess” is written on the side. Is that yours?’

Mine. All mine. You can’t really miss it. It’s a bright, cheery yellow with black writing. ‘Juno Browne, Domestic Goddess – Housework, Gardening, Home Help, Domestic Care, House-sitting, Pet-sitting, Dog-walking. No job too small.’ The paint job had cost me more than the vehicle.

‘So, you clean Mr Nickolai’s flat?’ He returned to the murder in hand.

It was a bit more complicated than that. ‘Not his flat, no … He employed me to help him with his stock … clean up things he might want to sell … take to auction … But recently, he decided to reopen the shop. I’ve been helping him get it ready, redecorating …’

‘How long have you been working for him?’

‘Um … about five months.’

‘You got to know him pretty well?’

I nodded, forced to blow my nose. ‘Yes, I think so.’