At the entrance of the living room he made me stop and asked me to wait whilst he held a whispered conversation with the detective constable and another of the white-suited forensic team. I could see into the room. Some of the rugs had been removed, leaving pale rectangles on the old carpet underneath. Most of the blood had gone with them, although splashes on the fireplace remained, each one ringed by a circle of white chalk.

The inspector drew me into the room, stood me on one of the pale rectangles, and again, asked me not to touch anything. ‘I just want you to stand here and look. Take your time. Look all around you. If there’s anything at all that strikes you as—excuse me.’ He was beckoned into a further conversation with a white-suited one who had been photographing bloodstains, and went over to inspect the fireplace, whilst I stood looking around, wondering what I was searching for.

Nick had been cleaning the brass escutcheon plate from a wooden tea caddy. It lay among the jumble of cleaning materials on the table. His spectacles were there too, not folded neatly, but set down as if he had just taken them off, which he had done probably, when he got up to answer the door to his killer. Tears stung the back of my eyes and I looked away.

‘His computer’s gone,’ I said aloud.

‘Ah, that’s been removed by forensics.’ Inspector Ford returned to me with a slight smile. ‘Perhaps you can help us here. On this mantelpiece there’s a clear mark in the dust, as if something has been standing there, something that’s not there now …’

‘I don’t remember,’ I began feebly.

‘Something with a square base,’ he continued.

I realised what he was getting at. ‘You mean, it could be the murder weapon?’

He didn’t confirm it. ‘Can you remember what was there?’ he insisted, his eyes fixed intently on mine.

I remembered the mess that something had made of Nick’s skull. Something heavy. I stared at the fireplace, trying to recall all the times I must have looked at whatever it was, the time when I had searched through the clutter on the mantelshelf, hunting for Nick’s pills. Something had stood there then. I couldn’t think. I felt numb, like a dumb animal. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘That’s all right. It may come to you later.’ The inspector gave me his card. I was to ring him if I thought of anything. I could go home. He’d arrange for a uniformed officer to drive me.