‘Really, Meg? Do you think I rode into town in the back of a truck? Come on, get real! I know what you were talking about.’

‘We were just chatting about stuff. I didn’t say anything about – you know.’

‘Really? How about this, let me read it out to you. This is what your friend said, pretty much: What about an anonymous phone call or note to the judge, telling him that two members of the jury have been nobbled, required to coerce the rest into a “not guilty” verdict? He would have to take that seriously.’

Meg felt a rush of cold blood in her stomach. ‘You – you couldn’t – that’s bullshit.’

‘But you know it isn’t, don’t you, Meg? I mean, your No Bull burger might be bullshit, but not what Alison said.’

A prickle of fear crawled down her back. She looked up. Around. He was watching her. Inside her own home.

Courage is knowing what not to fear.

‘Fuck you!’ she said and killed the call.

She stood, shaking in terror, her eyes darting everywhere. Where the hell was the camera? In one of the downlighters? Heating vents? The phone rang again. She let it ring, once, twice, three times. Then answered.

‘I really don’t advise hanging up on me, Meg, there could be consequences. Let me tell you how your conversation on the beach with Alison – or rather Ali – started: So, Megs, what is it, what’s going on? And you said: This may sound crazy, but I’m scared to tell you. I am correct, am I not?’ he said.

How? Meg was wondering frantically. How did he know?

‘You are curious, aren’t you, Meg? You took precautions, paddling into the surf, very clever – I wonder where you got that idea from. You were absolutely right to do that, because running water of any kind masks conversation. But you overlooked something.’

‘Oh, really?’ The alcohol was giving her the courage to be angry. To be reckless.

‘Technology may be fine for many purposes, but sometimes a more old-fashioned technique of surveillance works better. You checked everyone on the beach, looking for binoculars and directional mics, didn’t you?’

She said nothing.

‘Let me tell you something. You live in an historic city. Brighton and Hove have beautiful buildings, but so many have shops on the ground floor and they distract us. We forget to look up, at the beautiful architecture above them. Have you ever been to Chichester, Meg?’

‘Chichester? What does that have to do with anything?’