We settle down, a desk between us in the bareness of this little room. He’s already talked through disclosure with one of the Bulldog team, and he tells me at once that I’ve got nothing to worry about. The dates they’re interested in are 15 and 16 September, and as long as I can alibi myself for that weekend, then my stay will be on the short side.

‘So why arrest me at all?’ I ask him.

‘They’re still concerned about the note Christianne left you. They think she told you what she planned to do, what it might involve, and that’s information they don’t have. But tell me what you got up to that weekend. That’s where they’ll start, and hopefully it’ll go no further.’

By now I’ve had a chance to try and remember exactly what happened that September weekend. Christianne and I went for a long walk through the town. We ended up on the coastal path, and then she showed me her secret spot.

‘Secret spot?’

‘Where she and Andy used to spend long afternoons. It was beautiful. No one else ever went there. Think blanket, think picnic, wine, cheese, think whatever else goes with a place like that.’

‘And this is where the cliff collapsed?’

‘Yeah. And that’s where she ended up. At least for a couple of months. There was another landslip the night before last. The whole cliff is falling apart.’

England again? I’m smiling now.

‘Amazing TV pictures.’ Tony is shaking his head. ‘Pompey doesn’t do cliffs.’

Back on the coastal path, I explain, Christianne took me to meet a friend of hers, Bill Penny. We stayed for most of the afternoon, then we went to the pub before going back to the bungalow. Christianne and Andy McFaul lived next door. I was staying with my friend Evelyn.

‘And you were there all night?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the next day?’

‘I went next door to say goodbye to Christianne, but Andy said she was still in bed.’

‘So, you didn’t see her?’

‘No.’

‘And then?’

‘I drove back to London.’

‘Anyone there when you arrived?’

‘Malo. My son.’

More names. More notes. Finally, Tony looks up.

‘This Andy McFaul?’ He glances down. ‘They haven’t found him?’

‘Not to my knowledge.’

‘Excellent. No wonder they’re taking as many hostages as they can.’ He opens his briefcase and extracts a file, before reeling off a list of names. ‘Sir William Penny? Sylvester Penny? Nathan Kline? Presley Philpott? Beth Beddoes?’ He looks up, ‘Are these names any surprise to you?’

‘You’re telling me they’ve all been arrested?’

‘Yes.’

‘And they’re all here?’

‘Yes. Separate cells, of course, but they’ve all done what you’ve done. Insisted on their own legal representation. Very wise.’

‘And you’ve talked to their solicitors?’

‘Yes.’

‘And?’

‘I’d anticipate the usual.’

‘No comment?’

‘Exactly.’

‘And me? You want me to do that?’