She holds her hand up again, and it’s becoming a little bit irritating. But the screen lights up again. It’s the corridor outside one of the Premier Inn rooms. The door opens and I come out at 5.36.

This time the camera stays on the corridor in fast forward. At 6.26 Peter Daubney opens the hotel-room door and walks towards the camera. I see his black wiry neck hair and I can almost smell his body odour. He puts a plastic cup under the ice machine and takes the ice back to his room.

My whole body cringes. I swear to myself that I’ll never drink so much fucking vodka that I can’t see ever again. I’ll stay away from Premier Inns and hopefully, after I’ve proved you are a complete bastard publicly, I won’t ever need to seek revenge.

The film flickers on, now in fast forward again. I watch as a couple of people leave their rooms and pull their cases up the corridor. Kagoule-clad tourists or football fans setting out on a new day.

At 7.10 the entry door to the corridor opens and a figure clad all in black hurries towards room 416, pulling a cap further over their face as they get nearer to the camera. I watch transfixed as someone enters the room. The woman in the opposite room leaves, then, at 7.25, the door opens again and the black-clad figure walks up the corridor. Change frames to the lift area, where they stand with their back to the camera. Then to the exit, where they walk through, again with their head turned away from the camera. They walk away to the right and are picked up on Oldham Street, walking along, head down.

The screen darkens and I’m dumbstruck. DS Percy turns to me.

‘So, Caroline, you’re not in any trouble. But the same footage was found at the previous scene of crime. And a few others. With what appears to be the same person committing the crime. As this is connected in some way to you, we need to ask you if you know who that person is. Do you recognise the person who went into Peter Daubney’s hotel room and came out again fifteen minutes later?’

I still can’t speak. The relief at not being blamed for this has washed over me and is now replaced by shock.

The ever-confident swagger, bordering on the Manchester monkey walk, could be anyone. The person who’s been following me around taking pictures could be fucking anyone. But I know you, Jack, and I know that you are at the bottom of this.

Chapter Twelve

‘So do you recognise him?’

I stutter my answer.

‘D-d-do I recognise him? Well, I er …’

I need time to think. Think what this means. I need to stall. DS Percy forges on.