‘Those people. They’re all dead. You know the sleepwalkers I was telling you about, the suicides we investigated? Many of them were participants in your study. In some cases I tried to make contact with them before . . . well, before they died. But I failed.’

The room stops spinning while I take it in. I’m the last one?

‘And me? You treated me like a criminal! Why didn’t you make contact with me?’

‘We tried! But you moved out of Shandy’s place with no forwarding address, your room-mates were not forthcoming, and we didn’t realise you were in the study until after Melodie was killed.’

‘But you could have talked to me, you could have explained . . . Why . . . ?

He’s rubbing his eyes, pacing up and down, waiting for me to work it out. It takes me a few moments.

‘You thought I did it!’

His whole face clenches and he sort of cringes.

‘Try to see it from our point of view, mate. O was connected with Little Bird. You were living with O and she was running your dreamhacking business. O and Little Bird have been embroiled in this war with BigSky, nobody knew how it would turn out. Can you blame us for being cautious?’

I may just be hyperventilating now. I try to get up off the sofa but the whole room is pitching and swaying again. Stupid vodka.

‘Can you blame me for being . . . what am I, even, right now?’

He glances at me. ‘Apoplectic?’

‘Apocalyptic, more like. This is a disaster. Just leave me alone, Roman. Take the fucking diaries. I’ll squirt them to you right now, do what you like. I don’t even care. I’m going to move to Canada and work in a moose reserve. Fuck this shite.’

‘Do they have moose reserves, or did you mean a national park? No, please don’t throw things at my head. I’ll just go now.’

I hurl myself back on the sofa and put a pillow over my face.

‘Don’t go,’ I say through the pillow. ‘You were right. You can arrest me now. I confess.’

‘Confess what?’

The pillow is covered in Edgar’s fur. I sneeze.

‘I killed him.’

There’s a long silence. He sits down on the coffee table. I can feel his knees pressing against mine but I keep the pillow on my face.

‘Charlie. What are you talking about?’

‘I think you’ll find that Martin Elstree has met with an unfortunate accident. It was me. Go ahead and call Donato, I’m sure he’ll be pleased. He was right about me all along.’

Roman reaches over and takes the pillow away.

‘Don’t be stupid. Just tell me what happened. And send me the damn diaries, because believe it or not they can still be useful.’

* * *