Morgan nodded. ‘That’s true. I remember now. I asked if you’d heard about the killing, picked up the paper and discovered it was Friday night’s.’ He seemed to go rigid and added in a whisper, ‘Friday night’s.’

He went to the chair by the fire, picked up the newspaper that was still lying there as it had been on his arrival the previous evening. ‘Final edition, Friday 23rd.’ He turned to Faulkner. ‘But you don’t have a paper delivered.’

‘So what?’

‘Then how did you get hold of this if you didn’t leave the house for two days?’

Joanna gave a horrified gasp and for the first time Faulkner really looked put out. He put a hand to his head, frowning. ‘I remember now. I ran out of cigarettes. I was tired … so tired that I couldn’t think straight and it was raining hard, beating against the window.’ It was almost as if he was speaking to himself. ‘I thought the air might clear my head and I needed some cigarettes so I slipped out.’

‘And the newspaper?’

‘I got it from the old man on the corner of Albany Street.’

‘Next to Jubilee Park.’

They stood there in tableau, the three of them, caught in a web of silence and somewhere in the distance thunder echoed menacingly. Morgan was white and strained and a kind of horror showed in Joanna’s face. Faulkner shook his head slowly as if unable to comprehend what was happening.

‘You must believe me, Joanna, you must.’

She turned to Morgan. ‘Take me home, Jack. Please take me home.’

Faulkner said angrily, ‘I’ll be damned if I’ll let you go like this.’

As he grabbed at her arm she moved away sharply, colliding with the drawing board on its stand, the one at which Faulkner had been working earlier. The board went over, papers scattering and his latest sketch fell at her feet, a rough drawing of the group of four statues with a fifth added.

There was real horror on her face at this final, terrible proof. As she backed away, Morgan picked up the sketch and held it out to Faulkner. ‘Have you got an explanation for this, too?’

Faulkner brushed him aside and grabbed Joanna by both arms. ‘Listen to me – just listen. That’s all I ask.’

She slapped at him in a kind of blind panic and Morgan tried to pull Faulkner away from her. Something snapped inside Faulkner. He turned and hit Morgan back-handed, sending him staggering against the bar.

Joanna ran for the door. Faulkner caught her before she could open it and wrenched her around, clutching at the collar of her sheepskin coat.

‘You’re not leaving me, do you hear? I’ll kill you first!’