‘There are then six further calls from you and a text message asking him to call you.’

‘I-I was worried. I just wanted to know that he was OK.’

‘But not worried enough to call us?’ asks Harris.

I snort. ‘No disrespect, but you drag your heels when it’s an emergency, so I didn’t think a threat against a man from his wife was going to see you come out with a blue light.’

‘You also left a voicemail,’ says Robson, ignoring the slight.

Harris taps the screen a few times and holds the phone up on speaker mode.

‘Hi, it’s me . . . Naomi. Erm, listen, about last night, I’m sorry that it ended up like it did. I think the alcohol played a large part. Anyway, I hope we can wipe the slate clean and put it all behind us. I’ll see you tomorrow, but if you hear from Vanessa in the meantime, call me.’

I want the ground to open up and swallow me.

‘So this was a message you left on Michael’s voicemail on Tuesday morning,’ says Robson, looking at me through narrowed eyes. ‘Do you want to explain what you were referring to?’

I think about denying it’s me, but I say my name. I think about saying that the message was meant for someone else, but I mention Vanessa. I think about telling the truth, but that will get me in a whole heap of trouble. So I opt for something in between and cross my fingers.

‘When Jacob called me, he’d clearly had a lot to drink,’ I say, not yet knowing where I’m going with this. I pause, playing for time. ‘He asked if he could come to the office, but it was late, so I said no.’

They’re both looking at me, waiting for me to elaborate.

‘He was insistent, but I stood firm and told him that if he had a problem, he should call the police.’ That’s not too far from the truth.

‘But the next day, you’d had a change of heart?’ asks Robson.

‘I’d thought about it and wanted him to know that I’d not taken offence to anything he said the night before and if he did hear anything further from his wife, then it was OK to call me.’

I’m looking between them, hoping that I’ve let them know he needs help, but without entangling myself and confusing the issue.

‘It’s his wife you need to talk to,’ I say. ‘She’s the one who will know where he is.’

Robson nods thoughtfully, though there’s nothing but suspicion in her eyes.

‘And you’re still maintaining that you have never been in an improper relationship with Mr Talbot.’

‘Absolutely,’ I say adamantly.

She gives a nod to her colleague.

‘You said that you hadn’t been to Mr Talbot’s flat since he moved in.’