‘No, it was a great thing to do. A great thing.’ Then she gave a small tilt of her head from side to side and added, ‘Surprised you managed it, to be honest.’

Ben grinned. ‘Glad you salvaged that one. I was worried you might have actually said something nice to me.’

‘Nah, you know me. Only ever a compliment sandwich.’ But she went on, ‘Thanks, Ben. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Ben made his way across the near side of the car park, waving briefly as he went. Hanson’s car was parked almost at the far end, away from the bright lights of the building. It was in such darkness that she felt the need to switch her phone on to flashlight mode and check between the cars as she walked past.

She fully expected to find her tyres slashed again. If Ben had chased Damian off, there would be some kind of revenge. She was certain of it.

But the car was fine. Perhaps Damian had been worried about doing it at the police station. She knew there would be some kind of retribution on the horizon, though. Something petty and damaging. It made her feel weary.

Louise hadn’t expected to be allowed to leave. Not now they knew what she’d done. However kind to her they were, she knew that she had to face the music on this one. That she had killed a man. She’d done it in fear for her life, and in what could be termed self-defence, but she’d still killed him. That memory of hot blood spilling onto her hands was real.

Patrick had been with her from the moment she walked back into the station, and she’d felt such uncomplicated relief at seeing him this time. There was nothing for him to suspect her of any more. Nothing except what she’d done, and she might have killed Alex Plaskitt, but she hadn’t gone home and slept with him. She was, in some bizarre sense, cleared.

He’d put a hand to her arm when he first saw her. His touch had been firm. Reassuring.

‘We’ll get this sorted,’ he said.

‘Thank you.’ She grasped his hand, just for a second. And then she found herself asking, ‘Is Niall all right?’

Patrick gave her a funny little grin. ‘He’s fine. And relieved that you’re OK.’

And then, a matter of hours later, they were suddenly releasing her. Patrick told her she could go home, and that he was happy to drive her there.

‘Am I not under arrest?’ she asked.

‘Technically, you still are,’ he explained, ‘but with no fresh charges, the situation reverts to your previous bail conditions.’

It took no time at all for his Jaguar to drive them the few miles home. The roads seemed absurdly quiet, but then she remembered that it was nearly ten p.m. on a Monday. Of course it was quiet.