O’Malley watched him ring on the bell, and then, after a minute, ring on it again. After that, when there was no sign of life, he started to move round the side of the house, peering into the windows. O’Malley was on the verge of going to intercept him when Issa turned and walked back to his car. Instead of driving away, however, he let himself in and then sat in the driver’s seat, his head turned towards the house.

‘Who does he think he is?’ O’Malley muttered to himself. ‘A fecking copper?’

Louise was barely functioning today. Another night of terrible sleep and ceaseless worry seemed to have finished off her ability to perform even the simplest of tasks efficiently.

She’d thought she’d be exhausted enough to sleep. But it hadn’t come, and she’d found herself, at three, switching on her laptop and returning to Alex Plaskitt’s YouTube channel.

The urge came out of an equal blend of guilt and determination to know more. Here was a man whose death she might have caused, but also one who might have pinned her down and raped her. She needed to work him out, and this was all she had.

She’d eventually dozed off some time after five, only to dream of Alex. In her dreams, she had tried to save him, and then realised that he was a predator who was doing nothing more than tricking her. And later, at some confused point, she was pregnant with his child and about to marry him.

She woke again at eight feeling as though she’d been scoured out by emotion. She was so tired of being haunted. By Alex in the fullness of life, and then by his lifeless form. By memories of the club. Of attack.

And now, this morning, by Alex’s husband, who had returned to lay siege to her.

She’d watched him from the upstairs hall window as he’d walked towards the house. She was glad of the muslin she’d hung there, despite Niall’s complaint that it was as bad as a net curtain. She was able to see him without being seen, to watch him, with her heart in her throat, as he got tired of ringing on the bell and began to move round to the side gate.

What was she supposed to do if he tried to get in? Call the police? Call Niall?

But she couldn’t call Niall. She could never call Niall again. And she felt as though the police wouldn’t believe her. Why would they believe a suspect? They thought she was a killer.

Issa had eventually retreated again, and she felt a sag in her shoulders as he went back to his car. He climbed in, but the car stayed where it was. She couldn’t see him from up here, but she felt certain that he was watching the house.