‘Yes. That person. Do you recognise him? Look, I know it’s a shock seeing it like that, someone who has been stalking you, but I need to know if you saw anyone like that as you left the hotel? Or the evening before?’

I stare at her. She really has no idea. She hasn’t put it together. But why would she?

‘N-n-o. No, I don’t. It could be anyone, really. A man, obviously. I think so, anyway. It’s so difficult to see properly …’ I shrug. ‘It’s awful. My God. I feel a bit ill now, I’m afraid.’

DS Percy nods and tilts her head to one side. Sympathy. Good.

‘Right. I’m afraid we still have to take a statement. Do you want to go and get a drink and come back, or we could do it tomorrow?’

‘Oh no. I’ll do it now. I want to help out as much as possible. Find out who this person is and …and … well. But I’ll grab a coffee, if you don’t mind?’

She gathers her things together.

‘Great. I’ll show you where the machine is. And then we’ll meet back in reception in half an hour.’

We walk silently to the drinks machine and I get a black coffee. I need to be awake. I need to think about this in a calm way.

I thought you were out of the country. But these photos go back a while. I thought you only got back the other day. Schoolgirl error. Assumption based on the luggage arriving. The woman at the courier company had read out the address the luggage should have gone to: 23 Villa Place. Some posh apartments within a converted stately home up in Saddleworth.

I Google the number for United Utilities and dial. The tone rings for ages and I sip my coffee slowly, seething that I took my eye off the ball. Eventually, after a long interaction with an automated menu, the operator answers.

‘United Utilities customer services. How can I help today?’

‘Hello. This is Mrs Atkinson from twenty-three Villa Place. OL6 2BP. I haven’t received notice of my direct debit payment since I moved in. Can you tell me how much it is and how long the first instalment covers?’

She pauses.

‘I’ll just have to take you through some security, Mrs Atkinson. Can I have the first line of your address and postcode, please?’

I repeat the information.

‘And your date of birth?’

I tell her, but she sighs.

‘That’s not what we have on the account.’

I quickly interrupt.

‘Oh, I think you’ll have my husband’s, Jack Atkinson. I can give you that or …’

‘No. That will be fine.’

I read out your date of birth and she seems appeased.