As I walk around in a large circle, my mind begins to unfold, tracking the past as I go. The murder happened. Then a phrase that I have liked and stored comes to me. Is it Occam’s razor? Sherlock Holmes? Whoever it is, I remember the principle. Eliminate the impossible and whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. Does that hold true? If it does, then the truth is that the murder took place, because I saw it with my own eyes. I watched the before and the after and I saw her lying on the floor. The red wine blooming across her chest. She had stopped breathing. She was dead. I saw him leave. The following morning, I was in hospital. That night I was interviewed by the police. The same night the police went to the address. It was definitely the right address – I saw the video.

So far, so good.

But then it begins to break down. The door was the same door. The building was the same one. But could I have got the address wrong? Could I? I think about this carefully. No. I couldn’t have. The exterior was the same one from my memory. And when I went, this morning and saw it in its flesh, it was that house.

In the footage the interior was the same, in a sense. The dimensions were all the same. The windows hadn’t moved. The fireplace was in the same location. The cornicing on the ceiling was the same. It was the same flat. That is now one of the facts. There was a murder. In that flat. I can’t distil that any further.

Then as I round the boundary of the police station again, I come to a sobering conclusion. However improbable it seems, someone redecorated the house in the space of one day. It was unlikely, more than that, it was improbable. But not impossible. With enough money what could a team of say ten men do in twenty-four hours?

Unlikely.

But not, I have to conclude again, impossible. I am sure I saw this once on television. A woman leaves her house for a day and returns to find it transformed. A TV crew, an unlimited budget and a team of workers changed the garden, the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedrooms. In a day.

It was unlikely. But not impossible.

Ebadi is a dangerous man. He could arrange a disposal quickly and discreetly with the money he seems to have. A man with these connections, who could call on men in a van to remove a body, could surely make decorative changes to a house. Even make them discreetly, quietly. Although Mrs Wilbert the neighbour heard noises in the night.