‘Yeah, that is one way. That’s called dependency, which is problematic. Another way of putting it would be if you feel like you can’t control it. But it sounds to me like you’re in control for now.’

‘I don’t want to lose control,’ he says, and there’s something about the way he says it with a little sadness that gives me pause. ‘I worry sometimes that I’m a bad person.’

‘How so?’

‘Well, how I treat my wife. We argue, but it’s always worse after I’ve had a couple of drams of Chivas.’

Something slaps me, almost knocking me off my seat. Chivas. That was the bottle used for the Molotov cocktail. I try to keep my face neutral, stalling for a moment by taking a sip of my water. Joe would have endless access to graphic images. It’s possible I’m looking into the eyes of the man who almost killed me and my family. But why? It doesn’t make sense. ‘Margot?’ The sound of my name shakes me out of my trance.

‘Sorry,’ I say, smiling. ‘All couples have arguments. That doesn’t make you a bad person. Is there anything else?’

‘Well little things, like when I found that phone on the train.’

‘You gave it back, though. That doesn’t make you bad.’

‘No, but I was tempted to keep it. Or to try to unlock it to see the messages and photos. I didn’t think to hand it in until they called. And my drinking … I spend too much on whisky.’

I can feel the heat in my limbs. I’ve got to act normal. I can’t let him know I’m suspicious. I find my eyes roaming the carpet, coming to rest on his shoes. They’re bigger than Gabe’s and Gabe is a size ten. ‘So has your drinking affected your work in any way?’

‘No,’ he says. ‘Work’s been fine. I was late last Thursday but only because my train was running behind schedule.’

Last Thursday. The fire was Wednesday. What if he missed the early train because he overslept from a late night? I need to be careful – I can’t just call the police with a suspicion. And it’s a breach of confidentiality. If I get this wrong it would ruin my career. What if he did do it, though? What if he still wants to hurt me? I feel heat under my arms, in my lower back. I eye the clock. Five more minutes. Five minutes to get through. I keep scribbling on my pad, talking to him, asking him questions, and when the time comes, I stand aside to let him go out the door. He pauses close to me.

‘When am I in next?’ he says.

‘Same time in a fortnight.’ Can you hear my heart pounding? I wonder.