“I asked what you were thinking,” she repeats, breaking her focus on the road to look at me.

“Just thinking of all the ways I could kill you and make it look like you committed suicide, Meggie.”

Her knuckles turn white as she grips the steering wheel harder.

“So. Let’s just not fuck up tonight, eh?”

With her body in profile, I watch as she swallows. Her neck gleams milky white in the streetlights. I’m captivated by a vision of my hands round that pretty throat, her eyes bulging as I increase the pressure and she kicks and squirms beneath me. Perhaps I need to stage her murder instead. A violent affair perpetrated by a psychopath. I would need a better patsy.

“We’re here,” she says, pulling into the cramped car park of the police station. She takes a few attempts to reverse into the only space, her hands beginning to shake. I jump out to help guide her, like any thoughtful and considerate husband would do. Her eyes flare as she looks over the steering wheel at me. For a brief second, I know exactly what she’s thinking. She’s running the calculations in her mind of what would happen if she just gunned the accelerator right now. Plowed me down and drove off somewhere, free from all of this. Except there’s a roadblock a mile away doing checks on why people were traveling given the current COVID restrictions. And a CCTV camera pointed directly at the car. Instead, she lets me guide her into the space and out she hops.

I take her hand as we walk toward the bright lights of the station foyer. “Game face, Meggie. You’ve just found out your sister is missing, remember.”

But when I look at my wife, there are tears on her cheeks, her mascara is a mess and she’s clinging to my arm as if to stop herself drowning. Damn. Leah might have been the actress, but Megan really can play the part too when she puts her mind to it.

Megan continues her performance inside the station. I’m actually impressed. “We’re here about Leah Patterson,” she tells the bored man on reception, her voice cracking. She holds up a bag of things she has brought that she thought might help the investigation. Pictures, details of Leah’s social media accounts, a list of friends’ names.

A dumpy, uniformed woman appears. “Let’s go and find an interview room to talk,” she says to Megan.

“Can I sit in with her, offer moral support, Officer?” I ask her. To my ears my tone sounds obsequious, but the woman positively beams at me.

“Of course,” she says. “I wish my partner was such a sweetheart.” There’s a longing there. “And please call me Milly.”

Megan is still clutching at me as we are ushered into an interview room. I hand her some tissues as we sit down, and rub her shoulders; the jealous gaze of Officer Milly burns my flesh. Plain little Officer Milly who just wants to meet a nice boy and settle down into matrimonial bliss. Silly little Officer Milly who sees so much shit in her day job but still thinks it could never happen to her.