Leadbetter has been keeping score. She tallies the case against me, item by item. That I probably knew Christianne far better than I’ve let on. That I was naturally a good friend of Andy’s. That I was aware of her favourite clifftop spot. That I had dealings with the bloody dog. That I had access to the chaise longue on the night Christianne probably died. And that, in all probability, the drugs that killed her came from my private stash.

Most of this is nonsense, and I think I can prove it. Bill Penny’s chaise, for instance, was delivered to McFaul’s bungalow a couple of days after Christianne’s disappearance. And when I was wearing Christianne’s plastic mac, I never went near the bloody dog. Yet without the chance to answer back, to make my case, to dispute all this crap, I’m totally helpless.

Alas, it isn’t over. Once Bullivant is certain that I’ve registered the gravity of the situation in which I find myself, he raises one last issue, a hanging thread which might just need a tug or two before I break down and confess all.

‘We need to talk a little more about your friend, Andy McFaul. As I’m sure you know, he broke his bail conditions and absconded. To be specific, he was due to report to Exmouth police station as part of his bail conditions on the twenty-fifth of September, but failed to do so. You’re aware of this?’

‘No comment.’

‘We’ve been looking for him ever since, of course, but we now have grounds to believe that he may have left the country. Without a passport, that would present difficulties, as I expect you can imagine.’

‘No comment.’

‘We understand you went for a flight yesterday with Mr Nathan Kline. True?’

‘No comment.’

‘Fine. According to an account from a witness at the airfield yesterday, you were certainly present in the aircraft. That would suggest to us that you know Mr Kline well, and that you might have approached him on McFaul’s behalf with a view to getting out of the country.’

‘No comment.’