He calls me sir. It’s not lost on me, the power of these clothes. Then a few minutes later a young man comes and ushers me to a room to wait. A second later Conway and Blake enter, their faces cold. I stand.

‘I need to speak to you about the murder at 42B.’

The two of them exchange looks.

‘Shall we get this done now?’ he says to her.

She looks straight at me and nods. ‘Come on. Let’s get an interview suite.’

I am escorted into a room similar to the one I was interviewed in twice before. Blake and Conway are wearing the faces of strangers and sit me down without looking at me. Once they have settled themselves and the tapes are unsealed, Conway laces his fingers together.

‘Xander Shute, we are arresting you on suspicion of wasting police time. I won’t repeat the caution but so’s you understand, the caution still applies. You don’t have to say anything but it could harm your defence if you don’t mention something you later say in court.’

I nod. And then, remembering, I say it out loud, ‘Yes.’

‘On the last occasion you were here, do you recall you made an allegation to me that there had been a murder? And that you witnessed that murder? Of a woman?’

‘Yes,’ I say slowly.

‘First of all, do you agree that that is what you said to me?’ Conway says seriously.

‘Yes,’ I say.

‘And you went on to describe the attacker as being a white male in his late twenties–early thirties?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you gave an address of 42B Farm Street in Mayfair in London?’

‘Yes. You know all this.’

‘And you gave a description of the interior of the premises where you alleged the murder took place?’

‘Yes.’

‘And do you stand by those details that you gave?’ he says, crossing his arms. I notice one cuff of his blue shirt is frayed on the fold.

‘Yes, I do. Where’s this going?’ I say, confusion growing.

‘Then just remind me please how you described the inside of the premises.’

I know I am pulling an expression of puzzlement as I speak but I can’t fight it.

‘Well, there’s a black front door down the side of the main steps. With a number 42B on it.’

‘Yeah,’ he says, nodding, tugging at an earlobe.