She writes something in her notebook and I have no idea what it is. No idea what judgement she has made of me.

She looks up. ‘Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to hurt her?’

I should have been more ready for that question. Because don’t women get hurt all the time? It goes on, it happens, it might have happened to Ms Jones: an attack, violence, a desperate struggle. My heart is hammering. The officer is still looking at me, waiting for an answer. ‘Do you know of anyone?’

I shake my head, the muscles in my neck stiff. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t think. I didn’t really know anything about her. I mean … wouldn’t her family, her neighbours be the people to ask? I was only the housing manager.’

The officer nods again, but now I’m unsure what that means. I don’t know what else they’ve already found out.

‘Could you draw up a timeline then?’ she asks. ‘Your records of any contact with the tenant at all. Meanwhile, we’ll get this statement typed up for you to sign.’

I nod. ‘I’ll do anything,’ I say. ‘Anything at all.’

She closes her notebook. There is a silence in the room as she gets to her feet, a silence that feels clogged with my guilt. I’ve forgotten to ask about liaising with next of kin. I’ve forgotten everything else I was meant to say. I want to cover my face with my hands, but I don’t. I just go on sitting there, hands clasped, back straight, trying to present the best version of myself.

Just before she reaches the office door, she stops and turns back. ‘Oh,’ she says, ‘just one more thing.’ She pulls out her phone. ‘The shoes you’re wearing now, are they the same as the ones you were wearing this morning? When you entered the flat?’

I look down at my feet, my flat-soled ankle boots. ‘Yes.’

She makes a gesture with her hand, palm up, a signal for me to stand. I get to my feet, confused as to what she wants.

‘If you just step here and turn around,’ she says, ‘I can take a photo. For elimination purposes, you know? The footprints.’

I turn around, just as she’s asked. Now I have my back to her and I steady myself against my desk, fingertips pressed white against the wooden surface. Standing on one leg, I lift my foot, everything focused on not losing my balance.

Behind me, I hear the camera click.

Chapter 4

I am like a robot for the rest of the day. At three o’clock – the time I usually leave – I go in to Abayomi to ask permission. I feel as though I should ask permission for everything now.