Kombothekra’s next comment demolishes that idea. ‘In each book – in some cases on one of the inside pages and in others on the front or back cover – there were some handwritten words. One line, usually – from a poem. The lines chosen were macabre ones, some directly referencing death.’

Death in a little white book. Or maybe not in it, but on it, on the front …

It’s gone.

Something was in my mind then that seemed to matter. It escaped before I could grab hold of it.

Wherever that stage was with the silver stars painted on black and the bar by the door and the audience at round tables, he was there: Billy. The same night I was.

I threw away the book he gave me. Was that him?

It can’t have been.

It must have been.

I was scared of him – wanted to get away. There was something about his manner that made me feel threatened. But … no, he definitely looked kind. You have to look kind and harmless if you’re approaching a stranger.

But Sam Kombothekra said the four victims were dead within several weeks of being given a little white book. The silver stars gig was … when was it?

Gabe was with me. And …

Christ, it was painful, dragging Gabe around with me everywhere. But he was there, so it must have been last year. My 2014 winter tour; February or March.

A little white book with four words handwritten at the bottom of the inside back page in black ink: ‘Every bed is narrow.’

Do those words directly reference death? It never occurred to me. I thought it had to be either pretentious whimsy or an unusual pick-up line, though I wasn’t sure how he imagined it might work as the latter. I remember trying to work it out, thinking, ‘If a man hands a woman a book containing one line that refers to a bed, it has to be a come-on.’ My next thought was, ‘But if every bed is narrow, surely that means you’re better off not inviting anyone to share yours – then you’d have more space.’

I suppose it could mean a grave, if you really wanted to stretch it: we’re all alone in the grave.

Lovely thought. Thanks for that, mystery man. Looks like I was right to want to run away from you.

‘The lines appear to be paired,’ DS Kombothekra tells his interviewer. I don’t want to hear any more. This has nothing to do with me. Just because I too was once given a tiny white book. Just because …

Liam. You have to ring Liam.

‘So, the first and second victims, who were best friends – they each got lines from the same poem,’ says Kombothekra. ‘The same is true of the third and fourth victims: two lines from the same source – again, a literary source.’

Literary? That never occurred to me.