‘Well, I would assume on a phone,’ I offer, unable to believe that they couldn’t have worked that one out. ‘It’s quite a big thing amongst couples these days; they set up a tripod and away they go.’

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ muses Robson. ‘But we’ve spoken to Mr Chandler and he has no knowledge of any such recording taking place.’

I shrug my shoulders.

‘So we checked out his wife’s office,’ she says. I don’t like the way she’s looking at me. ‘As that’s where they were at the time, and we found a camera, hidden in the back of a picture of New York.’

‘I don’t understand what this has got to do with me or Michael,’ I say, careful to maintain eye contact.

‘Well, Mrs Chandler insists that it’s a picture you bought her,’ says Robson. ‘To remind her of where you both come from.’

I look at her as if she’s mad and give a little snigger. ‘I’m not quite sure which of those statements is more preposterous. I neither gave it to her, nor am I, as I hope you can tell, even remotely American.’

Robson smiles as if she’s onside.

‘Are you familiar with the Royal Garden hotel in Canterbury?’ she asks.

‘Yes, I’ve been there a few times over the years,’ I say. ‘Why? Is that where they used to meet?’

‘Your husband and Naomi Chandler?’ asks Robson.

I nod meekly, as if I don’t want to know, yet am resigned to having to.

‘Mrs Chandler is quite adamant that she’s never had an improper relationship with Michael,’ she says.

‘I don’t know how she expects anyone to believe that when all the evidence proves otherwise,’ I say. ‘He was living in her flat – and didn’t you say you had doorbell footage of her being there?’

They give each other a sideways glance and sweat instantly springs to my armpits. Had they told me about the video on Michael’s phone? Or have I just implied that I’d already seen it before leaving it for them to find? I need to be more careful.

‘So what’s the relevance of the hotel then?’ I say, eager to turn it back onto them.

‘Well, we had a reported sighting of your husband and someone who resembles Naomi Chandler there on the night he disappeared.’

I make a show of having a bad taste in my mouth, although in reality I’m licking my lips with satisfaction. The anonymous tip-off had served me well.

‘They must have CCTV,’ I say, assuming they’ve already seen Naomi and Michael walking in together.

‘Well, unfortunately the hotel manager informed us that there was a slight technical glitch for a while that evening.’

Really?

‘So there’s no record of either Mrs Chandler or your husband entering or leaving the hotel.’