I fancy I can see the ghost of a smile on his face, but I might well be wrong. Brett takes up the running with a series of questions designed to test my earlier answers, then Bullivant’s mobile begins to emit a Bach cantata and he leaves the room without a word.

Tony asks Brett to formally confirm that he and I have had, in Tony’s phrase, ‘previous’. The word makes Brett smile. His fingers stray to the scar on his neck and he confirms my account of what happened in the Exmouth pub.

‘Do we scent a conflict of interest at all?’ Tony has the lightest touch.

‘Between myself and Ms Andressen?’

‘Yes. I understood you became friends afterwards. Didn’t she visit you in hospital a couple of times? Helped you get better?’

‘She did, and I was grateful. You’re thinking that might colour our relationship now? Me giving her an easy ride?’

‘Not at all. I’m thinking you might take advantage of that relationship.’

‘How?’

‘By getting her to lower her guard. Easily done, DC Atkinson, but a little harder now we’ve established the rules of engagement. Just a word in your ear, my friend. The world is full of temptations, but I’m sure you’ll be fighting this one.’

I’m looking at my hands, fighting the urge to applaud. Tony has wised me up to this tactic before. The police put family liaison officers into major enquiries, attaching them to traumatized wives or girlfriends of suspects under arrest. They sympathize, they listen, they befriend, and they keep notes which go straight back to the incident room. Neat. Obvious. And, in Tony’s phrase, often bloody effective.

Brett, I know, is about to be scandalized by the very suggestion that he might have used our friendship for leverage, but Bullivant has returned. He’s had a chance to review the highlights from all the CCTV footage in my block of flats, and evidently he’s found no trace of McFaul.

‘I could have told you that,’ I say. ‘In fact, I did. Twice.’

‘And no phone calls? Texts? Emails?’

‘You’ve seized everything. Look for yourself.’

‘We will, Ms Andressen. But you haven’t answered the question. Has he been in touch at all?’

‘No. Not a peep.’

‘Does he have your number?’

‘He could get it from Evelyn. She’s a friend of mine. She lives next door to Andy.’

‘Again, please answer the question. Did you ever give him your number?’

I hold his gaze, and then – in the absence of any pressure from Tony – I nod.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I gave him my number on Sunday, that last time I saw him.’

‘But this is a man without a mobile, isn’t that what he told us? When you were there?’

‘That’s true.’

‘So why give him a number?’

‘Because he’s still got a landline.’

‘And did you give him anything else before you left?’