“I’ve been busy with another . . . commitment. Is it . . . ?” I can’t say her name, as though saying it will make the possibility of her death, her drowning, more real.

“We knew there were members of the public who saw the body. We’ve had to move quickly, before there’s too much speculation on social media. We were able to push through the tests, and forensics just confirmed the blood types don’t match. It’s not Grace. We’re about to release a statement in the next few minutes, but I wanted to let you know.”

It’s as though an invisible rope relaxes around my throat. There’s still a chance she’s alive.

Upton looks at me; spidery red veins lattice the whites of her eyes. I realize she probably feels the same as me, exhausted but wired.

“We are still searching the area.” Her eyes dart to her watch. “Look, Simon’s going to be brought in here any moment. I want to be gone when he arrives to talk with you.” She rests her elbows on the table. “I’m sure you’re aware how unorthodox this is, allowing a suspect to speak with someone outside the force, but Simon’s given us reason to believe Grace might still be alive, so that’s why we’re going to these unusual lengths.”

I think of Adam Rufton again, the claims of police negligence and rigidity in dealing with his case. Upton, it seems, is trying to learn from her colleague’s mistakes.

“I know you’ve met Simon before, you know how his illness makes him paranoid, distracted. He says he’ll only talk to you. We have no idea what he wants to tell you—if anything—but just try to keep him on the point and don’t put too much pressure on him. We’ll be recording everything.”

I nod and Upton keeps talking.

“There have been some concerns from my superiors about having a journalist meet with our prime suspect—”

“I’m not going to write about it, at least not until Grace is found, if that’s what you mean.”

Upton’s shoulders visibly drop an inch and immediately rise again as a heavy-sounding fist bangs against the door we entered through. She stands and says quietly, “Good luck, Jon,” before leaving through the second door.

I don’t have a chance to tell her to wait, that I’m not ready.

But the fist bangs again. I don’t know what to say so I call out, “Come in!”

As the door opens, my leg starts to shake, and I imagine the people watching the CCTV of me in the adjacent room, the comments about me being nervous, and I force my leg to still. I feel overwhelmed suddenly. I’m not a formal interviewer and what interview technique I do have is rusty. Upton didn’t even suggest any questions. I thought she’d prepare me more, but clearly there’s no time. I close my eyes briefly and picture Grace. I remind myself this is a chance to help her, that she needs me to get this right.