I’m about to put the key in my apartment door when Jeff shouts down the corridor. ‘Up for a coffee?’

Immediately I feel happier. I’m hoping he has found out some information on Thomas Collins.

‘Sure.’

I walk towards Jeff’s place, and I’m about to step inside when my cell rings again. I check the caller ID. I don’t recognize the number but I guess it’s him again. Stephen Black, ringing from a number I won’t recognize. My hand shakes as I kill the call. I don’t want to talk to him now. I don’t want to talk to him ever.

Inside, Jeff is standing at the kitchen island. ‘I haven’t been able to locate a number for Thomas Collins, Becca, but I’ll keep trying. Have you any more news for me?’ he says, brewing the coffee.

‘There is,’ I say, pulling out one of the stools. ‘The cops called to Bridgeway and King this morning. Said they’d been to my apartment but I’d already left so they went to my workplace. They were asking me for an alibi.’

‘An alibi for what?’

‘For Saturday night.’

‘Why Saturday night?’

‘They think that’s when she was killed.’

‘When who was killed?’

‘Katie Collins.’

‘She’s dead?’

I can’t believe he doesn’t know this. Where has he been?

‘I’m afraid so. They found her body on Sunday morning in Treehill Park. Some guy walking his dog.’

‘Christ, Becca. What the fuck?’

‘I know. And for some reason, the cops think I killed her.’

‘What?’

‘Well, why else would they want my alibi?’

‘Saturday night,’ he says. ‘That’s the night you were with the guy from work, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you have an alibi,’ he says, his wide eyes staring at me while he lifts his coffee.

‘I guess so.’

‘You guess so?’

When I tell him I didn’t give Turner Stephen Black as an alibi because he was staring at me through the glass, he goes quiet, sipping his coffee and concentrating. My eyes are glued to him, waiting for him to speak, waiting for him to tell me how big a fool I’ve been, how I will have to tell the detective the truth.

‘You have to tell them,’ he says.

‘I know. But I got nervous, and…’

‘It doesn’t matter. They’ll understand. Ring that detective now, Becca, don’t wait.’

Jeff convinces me I have no option. The wrath of Stephen Black is nothing compared to getting chewed up by the justice system. I know he’s right so I take my phone from the end of my bag and dial her number. When I get no answer I leave a message telling her I need to speak to her, urgently. Then I hang up and wait.