‘No, of course not, but where is she?’

‘Jesus! Are you my friend or what? Are you hearing me? I don’t bloody know.’

‘So how do you think it looks to the police, Niall? You’re having an affair. They can’t find any evidence to back up your story that she went into the store – what do you expect them to think?’

‘Some friend you are, thanks a million.’

‘People don’t just disappear.’

‘No? Well, she has – into thin air. What game is she playing with me?’

‘You had another row.’

‘It wasn’t a row – it was just – we were just bickering.’

‘About what?’

‘Cat litter.’

Mark Tuckwell grinned. ‘So she’d done a runner on you because you’d argued about cat litter? If you need any, we can give you some.’

‘According to the police, we have plenty. I never saw it. How could she have forgotten she’d got two sacks of the stuff?’

‘Cheryl often makes me pick up stuff she’s forgotten she already has. That’s hardly grounds to arrest you on suspicion of murder.’

‘Oh, great, finally you’re actually taking my side?’

‘Sure I am, I don’t think you’ve murdered her.’

‘Hallelujah!’

Tuckwell shook his head. ‘No, you wouldn’t murder her because you know you’re too dumb to ever get away with it. You’ve probably got her chained up underground somewhere.’

Paternoster glared at his friend indignantly. ‘I don’t know why I like you.’

‘Because I tell you the truth that you don’t want to hear.’

They were approaching his house. As he’d been told upon his release, Niall Paternoster saw a line of crime scene tape fluttering above the pavement in front of it and a white van, signed CRIME SCENE INVESTIGATION UNIT, parked a short way down the road. A bored-looking uniformed police officer stood on the pavement.

Tuckwell said frivolously, ‘They’ve laid on a welcome home party for you.’

‘Pull up outside,’ Paternoster said. ‘I’m going to find out when they’ll be finished.’

Obediently, but with a cynical expression, Mark Tuckwell halted right in front of the house. Paternoster jumped out and approached the officer.

‘Hi, this is my home.’

‘I’m afraid you can’t go in, sir,’ she said.

‘I know that – when are you going to be finished?’

She shook her head. ‘This is a crime scene.’

A bright flash caught his eye, and he noticed for the first time two photographers, standing near, snapping him.

‘Oi, get lost!’ he yelled at them, then turned back to the officer. ‘I know I can’t go in but I need a change of clothes.’

‘If you need anything from the house, sir, like wash things and clothes, give me a list and I’ll ask if someone can bring them to you.’

‘Yes, and where do I sleep? In a shop doorway?’

‘Perhaps with relatives or friends – or in a hotel, sir.’

‘Great, I’ll get a suite at the Grand and charge it to Sussex Police, shall I?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t answer that.’