‘And how did he say he was feeling?’

‘Still quite sore from his operation, lethargic too.’

‘And his frame of mind? How did that seem to you?’

Should I answer ‘needy as be-damned’? Would that start a whole other series of questions coming my way?

‘Well, he knew he was dying. You know, of cancer. He’d been quite low about that. And that he didn’t feel he was rallying from his operation the way he should.’

‘Had he expressed any thoughts of wanting to end his life?’ She is looking at me directly in the eyes.

I shake my head. ‘No. He wanted to hang on for as long as he could. He’s … he was … a stubborn old goat.’

She pauses. ‘I know in some circumstances like this, people who are terminally ill want to have some say in when they die. It’s understandable really, especially if they worry they may be facing a lot of pain as their illness progresses. Sometimes they may ask someone to assist them in ending their life …’

So, the police think this might have been some sort of mercy killing? That someone had helped him go gentle into that good night? If only they knew the truth about my father, they wouldn’t be so generous about anyone’s motives.

I shook my head. ‘He didn’t want to die yet. If you’re asking me if I performed some sort of mercy killing, you’re on the wrong track altogether,’ I said.

‘I’m not saying that’s what happened, of course,’ DC King says. ‘Although it would be understandable if someone wants to help someone end their life rather than see them suffer. Could he have asked any of the others?’

‘I can’t speak for what happened between my father and anyone else. But I’ll state again, it’s my firm belief that he didn’t want to die.’

Detective Constable King nods, pushes a stray lock of her hair behind her ear and readjusts herself on her seat before looking back at me.

‘After you left your father in his room that time, you didn’t go back to see him at all?’

I shake my head again. ‘No. I went downstairs. Watched a little TV with Stella and Auntie Kathleen. Stella went out to run some errands and Kathleen and I sat and chatted in the living room.’

She nods and DC Black scribbles furiously on his A4 pad of paper.

‘Did you notice anyone else go to see your father?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘We were all in and out all the time.’

‘Had you told the others he was going to sleep?’

Had I? I didn’t remember.

‘I don’t know. We were all so tired and stressed. Things had been tense.’

She raises one perfectly arched eyebrow. DC Black stops writing for just a moment and looks up, too.

‘How’s that?’ she says.

I’m getting tired now. Out of my depth. I’ve had enough.

‘There’s a complicated family dynamic here,’ I say, trying to choose my words very carefully. ‘And of course, knowing my father was dying was hard on us all.’