‘There’s a hallway once you go through,’ I say, closing my eyes to let the detail come flooding through. ‘Victorian tiles on the floor. Black on white. There’s a Tiffany lampshade on the light. A large gilt mirror – ornate. Cream walls I think. And then at the far end of the corridor, there’s another door and when you open that there’s a kind of double room. As if it’s been knocked through. A fireplace ahead and to the left. Two leather chesterfield sofas opposite one another. Bookcases along the walls. A dining table and six chairs in the other half of the room. Mahogany. Silk patterned rug on the floor. Do you need me to go on?’

‘No, thank you. That accords roughly with our note of what you said last time,’ he says.

‘And are you maintaining this account, Xander?’ Blake asks.

‘Yes, of course I am,’ I say, still confused by what is coming. I know something is coming, the questions are setting it up. I just don’t know what it can be.

‘Two uniformed police officers attended the address on the night that you reported the murder and confirmed that there were no traces of a struggle or any assault, let alone any fatalities.’

‘Yes. You told me that last time,’ I say. ‘And you spoke to the guy that lives there. Ebadi? He had an alibi. I know that. But I have more information about that – information that changes things,’ I add.

To my surprise they ignore what I say and continue with their questions as if I haven’t spoken. ‘Showing the suspect exhibit PJW/2. Mr Shute, would you look at this footage please?’

Blake has opened her laptop and is playing what looks like CCTV film.

‘What’s that?’ I say. ‘CCTV?’

Without looking up, she says, ‘No. It’s the footage from the body-worn camera by the searching officers.’ She spins the laptop round so that we can both see it.

‘As you can see that is him approaching number 42B. Do you recognise the door?’

‘Yes. That’s it,’ I say.

‘Okay and in a minute, you’ll see the gentleman opening the door. Mr Ebadi.’

I watch, transfixed. This was almost the scene from this morning. I think of the neighbour, Mrs Wilbert, her hand poised over the doorbell. I shake my head and focus again on the screen. The door opens and I see a face. I recognise him from the still they showed me last time. I look carefully. He looks different now that I see him in motion. Different from the man I saw in the half-light strangling the woman.