I look up at the two detectives staring at me. ‘What is this?’ I ask, hoping to God that all the irrational thoughts flying around my head are about to be squashed.

‘Well, it seems that it’s an email from you to Mr Talbot,’ says Detective Harris.

My lungs feel like they’re being squeezed. I hold on to the sides of the table to steady myself.

‘Where did you get this from?’ My voice is just a rasp.

‘From Mr Talbot’s emails on his phone,’ says Harris.

‘But I didn’t write this,’ I say.

‘There’s more,’ says Robson, laying out sheet after sheet of paper on the table in front of me. ‘This one is of particular interest as it was sent the night before his wife reported him missing.’

I look at the typed words as they swim in front of my eyes.

Dear Michael,

I know you said that it’s over between us, but you can’t just shut me out like this and pretend it never happened. I put everything on the line for you and I will not be tossed aside just as soon as you’ve had your fun and are ready to go back to your wife.

I love you and I know you love me too – we are made for each other and I will not allow you to throw away what we have. If I can’t have you, no one will.

Naomi x

My blood turns ice-cold as I read the words I don’t recognize.

‘Can you explain what you meant by, “If I can’t have you, no one will”?’ asks Robson.

‘I can’t believe you think I’d write something like this,’ I choke. ‘I’m a happily married woman, with a professional reputation I guard fiercely. Yes, I may overstep the line sometimes, but not in this way. And as I’ve told you a hundred times, I don’t even know a Michael Talbot. The man you’re talking about is Jacob Mackenzie to me. Why would I have a folder in my office with his name on? Why would he be listed in my phone as Jacob Mackenzie?’

‘To hide your true relationship with him from your husband?’ offers Harris. ‘You’ve already said that your husband didn’t know he was living in the flat you own, so I’m guessing he also doesn’t know that you went round there the night before last. Why wouldn’t you tell him if there was nothing to hide?’

‘I’ve told you,’ I say impatiently. ‘Because he already thinks I get too involved with my clients.’ Every word I utter feels like I’m sinking further and further into quicksand.

I pick up a print-out of an email and look at the sender’s address: [email protected].

‘Anyone could have set this up,’ I say, forcing a laugh, though nothing about this is funny.