This is not a good start. In less than a minute, this man – whom I hardly know – has barged into my nest with a sense of entitlement I can only describe as seigneurial. Just now, he’s running his fingers along the work surface. Next, he’ll be inspecting the contents of the dishwasher. Either he’s nervous, I decide, or simply thick-skinned.

The latter proves to be the case. I shepherd him through to the lounge, tidy the script, and settle him on the sofa. By the time I return with the tea and a plate of chocolate chip cookies, he has the script open on his lap.

‘You mind terribly?’ He looks up.

‘I do, as it happens. My mum always told me to ask first. Especially with strangers.’

‘Is that what I am? Good Lord, I hope not.’

He struggles to his feet to help me with the tea. I tell him it’s OK, that everything’s fine. Please sit down.

Back on the sofa, he reaches for a biscuit, uninvited, and then brushes the crumbs from his lap.

‘Ever get lonely?’ He’s looking round again.

‘Never.’

‘Excellent. You know the secret to a happy life? Independence. It can be financial. It can be up here …’ He taps his head. ‘Or it can be this.’

‘This?’

‘A good-looking woman making her own way. I admire that, I truly do. Rare as hen’s teeth, in my day. Ten a penny now. Still …’ He reaches for another biscuit. ‘I expect that counts as progress. You mind me asking you a question?’

‘Not at all.’

‘McFaul.’

‘What about him?’

‘The chap’s disappeared. I imagine young Evelyn told you.’

‘She did. She mentioned it last night.’

‘Gone. Fled.’

‘She didn’t say that. She just said she hadn’t seen him for a while.’

‘So, you don’t know?’

‘Know what?’

‘That he broke his bail conditions? That he’s on the bloody run? Every copper in the land keeping an eye out?’

‘My goodness.’

‘Exactly.’ He watches me pour the tea. ‘And you’re telling me you really didn’t know?’

I take my time answering. I’d kept my conversation with Evelyn on the brief side, just a call to make sure she was OK. I’d no intention then, or now, of sharing my little adventure in the TACT custody suite with anyone in Budleigh Salterton. Enough, I’ve decided, is enough.

‘Well?’ Nathan wants an answer.

‘Maybe he’s gone away for a few days,’ I say lightly. ‘Or maybe it’s more serious than that.’

‘Serious how?’

‘The last time I saw him, he looked awful. Maybe he’s had some kind of breakdown.’

‘That’s what Bill thinks. He went round to check at the start of the week, Monday I think, said exactly the same thing. The man’s heading for the buffers, he said. Poor bastard.’

‘Did he offer any help? Bill?’