‘Forgive me for being blunt, Mr Shute. But it’s not a very confident account of yourself. I wonder whether on reflection you didn’t in fact see Ms Mackintosh being killed. I wonder whether the years of being in the wilderness, shall we say, have dulled your memory somewhat? I mean it’s not unheard of for people to become highly prone to suggestion when under stress. Can you be sure that this officer, DI Conway, is it, didn’t take advantage of your suggestibility?’

Jan drops her head, bracing for what she knows is coming.

‘I am not suggestible, Mrs Khan. It was me. I was there. I did not kill her and I saw her being killed.’

Nasreen pushes herself back from the table and exhales. ‘Is that what we’re going with?’ she says, more to Jan than me.

‘That’s what we’re going with,’ I say, and then add, ‘but I have some more information.’ I am about to reach into the pocket of my coat when I am stopped.

‘Don’t worry about any of that for now,’ Nasreen says. ‘Why don’t you start by telling me everything that you remember about that night?’ She takes up her pen and writes in a soft-backed blue notebook as I talk.

I tell her how the door had been unlocked, and step by step what I had told the police about Ebadi’s flat. Nasreen is deaf to the nuances of the drama. Instead she listens as if she is a hawk looking for mice, scurrying through the narrative. Describe him. Everything you can remember. What did you see? What was he wearing? What was she wearing? Where were they standing or sitting? What was in his hand? Where were they when the argument started? Exactly where? What was playing on the radio?

‘The record player,’ I say, correcting her. I want to tell her about how I think I know him, the killer, and that I know something about him. But I can’t. I can’t tell her what has happened to the cash. But I can tell her how Grace gave it to me. I reach into my pocket for the letter but I am held back by Nasreen’s hand.

‘The record player then, could you see who changed the record or switched the player off?’

‘It wasn’t switched off exactly. He, the guy, took the record and threw it against the wall. It broke in two,’ I say, holding the letter out.

‘How do you know that?’ she says, suddenly alert.

‘Because I heard it,’ I say.

‘You heard it break?’

‘Yes.’

‘In two? Pieces?’

‘Yes. Why?’ I say, puzzled by something that is obviously hiding in the question.

‘In two,’ says Jan. ‘You couldn’t have heard it break, in two.’

I feel my eyes roll. ‘Then I saw it. What’s the difference?’

‘Where was it when you saw it later on?’ Nasreen says.