‘I couldn’t really say. I was being dazzled by his head-torch the whole time, but he was pretty tall and slim, and a bit shaggy.’

‘Shaggy?’

‘Unkempt hair and probably a beard.’

‘And how long after you heard the splash was this encounter?’ Wickens asked.

‘A couple of minutes, wasn’t it?’ Kletz said, turning to Juliette for affirmation. She nodded.

‘Definitely not before?’ Cottesloe asked.

‘No. I only came out onto the deck when I heard the splash, looked around, saw this light, which turned out to be the head-torch, and then called out to the bloke.’

‘So what do you think caused the splash?’

Kletz shrugged. ‘I thought someone had jumped in for a joke, but I changed my mind when I couldn’t hear any further noises. You do get people messing about but there’s usually a bit of shouting and laughing along with the splashes as they chuck each other in. There was none of that.’

‘Did you hear anything else?’

‘There was some music from a car stereo a bit earlier. We get a bit of that from time to time too.’

‘Was that nearby?’ Wickens asked, remembering that Elvira Hart had referred to that.

‘The same place on the bridge. It was interfering with our own music, so I just slid the window closed for a while.’

‘What time was that?’

‘Not sure, really. But maybe half an hour before I heard the splash.’

‘Did you see anything else suspicious earlier that evening?’

‘No.’

Wickens asked if he could use the toilet. ‘I’ll show you,’ Juliette said. She led the young constable into a large and untidy bedroom, strewn with lingerie. ‘Sorry about the mess,’ she said. Wickens’ gaze was drawn to the woman’s shapely posterior as she padded through the room, but he was professional enough to take in a few observations that were more in the line of duty.

Back in the lounge Cottesloe said: ‘As you may be aware, there is a public appeal for information over the body. So perhaps you could ask your friends and neighbours if they saw anything, and to ring Crimestoppers. The incident number you should reference is 196.’

Wickens’ return was Cottesloe’s cue to stand, ready to leave. But the younger officer said: ‘I couldn’t help noticing that you have a cannabis pot plant sitting on the cistern of your toilet.’

‘Fuck,’ breathed Juliette, letting her face fall into her hands.

‘And there is a strong smell of cannabis in the bedroom.’

‘Juliette, I told you to shift it out of there,’ said Kletz, turning to her. ‘They can’t help themselves.’

She leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. ‘I can’t believe it.’