‘And?’ Tuckwell prompted.

‘I could tell from the way they looked at me and the questions they asked, they think I’ve done something. They treat me like I’m lying. I’m going mad with worry, but they don’t seem to see that. I looked again on all her social media accounts – nothing. Next thing, early Monday evening an entire posse rocks up. I’m arrested on suspicion of murder and our house is crawling with cops. God knows what her mother said to them, especially with her track record – she loathes me, always has, but anyhow, I’m told all kinds of rubbish the next day – Eden’s engagement and wedding rings and her passport have all been found, hidden. And that there’s two sacks of bloody cat litter in the house.’

‘Two sacks of cat litter?’

‘Yeah, big ones.’

Tuckwell frowned.

‘None of it makes any sense. I mean, I can’t get my head round what’s happened. People don’t just vanish. What has happened to her? Did someone smack her over the head and drag her into a van or something as she walked across the car park? Or am I going crazy? I’m starting to wonder if I’ve got like, what do they call it – selective amnesia – or something? Seriously, I’m lying on my bunk in that cell, staring at the walls, wondering if there’s some great big blank in my mind. Did I imagine dropping her at Tesco? Did I do something to her that I don’t remember? Hide her rings and passport?’

‘Sounds more plausible than any other scenario.’

‘You’re really not being much help,’ Paternoster said.

‘OK, another thought. Has it occurred to you Eden might have vanished to teach you a lesson?’ Tuckwell suggested.

‘A lesson? About what? Why?’

As they finally reached the roundabout and drove up to the A27 on the far side, Mark Tuckwell gave him a sideways glance.

‘Wakey-wakey! Are you missing anything here? A certain lady?’

Paternoster blushed. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

Another glance. ‘Did you climb out from under a rock, Niall?’

‘Meaning what?’

‘Eden’s gone missing. The spouse or partner is always a prime suspect if you watch any crime show. And I read in the papers long ago that eighty per cent of all murders are committed by a spouse or immediate member of the family. The police aren’t stupid – it’s not going to take them long to connect you and your mistress.’

‘Girlfriend.’

Tuckwell nodded. ‘Is she wealthy?’

‘No, but she does all right.’

They were only a few minutes away from his house now.

‘Well, isn’t there a motive right there? You’re having an affair with a woman, neither of you have loads of money. Your wife owns the nice house you live in and has independent wealth. Suddenly she disappears. And you have got a bit of a temper on you, mate. Remember decking me when you were pissed that night at the Deep Sea Anglers?’

‘You’re not seriously suggesting I murdered Eden?’