‘I know the names. No. Never heard of any of them until they were in the paper after they were killed.’

Waterhouse pulls a small lined piece of paper out of his shirt pocket and hands it to me. ‘These are the dates they were killed. I’ll need to know what you were doing on the afternoons of those days.’

‘For most of them I was probably being driven from one gig to another. Look up Kim Tribbeck autumn tour 2014 – you can also talk to my driver, Dmitri Pescov. I’ll give you his number.’

I reach for one of the pens on the shelf above my head, write Dmitri’s number on the back of the lined paper and pass it back to Waterhouse.

‘Thanks. For what it’s worth, I don’t believe you killed anyone.’

‘I’m more worried about being killed, to be honest,’ I say. Worried. Still not scared. It seems too unreal, all of it. And confusing. An hour before Waterhouse arrived, a uniformed police officer was sitting where he’s sitting now, scraping the inside of my mouth with a wooden stick to get a DNA sample.

Apparently no one can decide if I’m a danger or in danger.

‘Your worry’s understandable,’ says Waterhouse. ‘I’m hoping that once you’ve had your session with our sketch artist and we’ve spread the image of the man who gave you the book far and wide, we’ll be well on our way to catching Billy. In the meantime, I’m glad you’re going away with Charlie tomorrow. That’ll give you some protection while we make progress.’

My tour-in-reverse, in search of the mysterious gig venue that I can’t identify. I’m dreading it.

‘Let me ask you something. Who might want to harm you?’

‘Apart from members of the public who tweet me death threats because I’m not funny?’

‘Are there many of them?’

‘No, and please don’t waste your time tracking them down. They’re saddos letting off steam. I feel sorry for them. Who might want to harm me seriously? Gabe, Liam, Drew. I can’t think of anyone else.’

‘Your husband, your ex-boyfriend and your brother.’ Waterhouse makes a note. I imagine it says something like ‘Only knows three people in entire world. All probably want her dead.’

‘To turn that question around and look at it another way: who, if they’d planned to kill six people and you were one of the six, might not be able to bring themselves to harm you, even if, theoretically, they wanted to?’

This one I have to think about. I’m surprised by my conclusion. ‘Strange as it sounds … the same three people. Gabe. Liam. My brother Drew,’ I say. ‘No one else would care enough to spare me.’

I was surprised when I met Charlie and she was a woman. Waterhouse hadn’t mentioned it.