‘It’s easy enough to get a handwriting expert in, Mr Shute, if you’re denying it as your writing but it has your name at the bottom. In it you use that same expression you’ve just used to me now. It’s beyond my control, you say in a letter you have written to the deceased.’

I am straining my memory to remember this but it is a fog. I look across to Jan who is incensed. Thankfully, she speaks for me as I grope around in my head for memories.

‘First of all, Officer, looking at the letter, it’s not addressed to the deceased, it seems to be addressed to a Mabel. And secondly, if the letter was found at his address, it obviously wasn’t sent to Mabel, whoever she was, so I don’t see the relevance of this.’

Conway isn’t fazed and seeing his face turn smug begins to worry me.

‘Actually, Miss Cullen, in the letter that your client has already agreed he was sent by the deceased, she signed it Mabel. Was that a pet name you used for her?’

‘It was,’ I say, and although Jan shoots me a scolding look, I don’t have a choice. I’m going to have to accept it.

‘We believe that you meant to send this letter but didn’t, for whatever reason. In it you say that you can’t let her go. You say, it’s beyond your control. And you say it one, two – five times – it’s beyond your control. What did you mean by that?’

The memory of that letter flashes in my mind in a burst of colour. There was something in that phrase that I remembered. It meant more or less than it seemed to at the time, but I can’t remember now which: was it more or less? It feels like it might have been a joke. But there is sentimentality there that doesn’t fit a joke.

‘It was a joke,’ I say.

‘Doesn’t sound like a joke.’ Blake speaks for the first time. Conway looks across at her with reproach.

‘Not a joke, joke. An inside joke but I can’t remember now what it is,’ I say.

Jan begins to wriggle as though she is climbing out of her body.

‘I’m going to remind you of my advice, Mr Shute.’

‘No comment,’ I say.

‘Okay. Just so’s you understand I’m going to still ask the questions.’

What was just warmth in the room is now squeezing me tight. The air begins to cloy at my throat and the urge to leave the room becomes desperate. I look over at Blake who hasn’t broken a sweat. Conway too sits as if in complete comfort. But still the room wraps itself around me.