‘I can’t. I’m sorry. I normally do a longish tour – twenty-five to thirty gigs – twice a year. I have lists of where I’ve been, like that one, but going to so many places and performing the same routine in all of them has a weird effect on my memory. I can describe to you in detail the room we were in, the man’s appearance, our interactions, all of that—’

‘Good, because that’s what I’ll need you to do,’ says Gibbs.

‘Fine. I can picture the theatre in my mind very clearly, I just can’t tell you which it was. I tried Googling a few of the venues while I was waiting for you just now, but hardly any of them have pictures on their websites that show a big enough area of the auditorium, or the general layout – it’s pretty much useless trying to identify the place that way. A couple of things I can tell you: my husband came with me to that particular gig. Our marriage wasn’t in great shape at the time – we’ve since split up.’

‘Congratulations.’ If Gibbs is joking, there’s no sign of it on his face or in his voice.

‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘Early in 2014, we were both still kidding ourselves that it could work, and one of the ways we thought we might salvage our relationship was for my husband to trail around after me like someone with nothing better to do, even though he has a full-time job. We called it spending more time together. It was totally impractical – why would he want to listen to me doing the same routine twenty times in one month, all over the country?’

Why would I want him there after each performance, killing my post-show buzz by saying darkly, ‘The same jokes in the same order, every fucking night. I stopped laughing after the fourth time. If I have to listen to it again, I’ll maim anyone within reach who laughs. I’m starting to hate laughter.’

It was supposed to be funny, I think. That’s what Gabe always said the next morning, when he’d swear he hadn’t meant any of it. Yes, of course I want to come to tonight’s gig. Why wouldn’t I? I’m looking forward to it. We agreed I’d be there for as much of the tour as possible, and that’s what I want to do.

‘So why did he go to all your gigs if that’s how he felt?’ Gibbs asks. ‘Why not watch the show once and leave it at that?’

‘Good question.’ I have a matching good answer, but it’s not one I’d better share with a policeman. It involves an illegal drug habit. ‘Look, my marriage isn’t the point here. I only mentioned Gabe was there that night because it might be useful. He might remember where the theatre was if you describe it to him – which town, I mean. He also moaned about how far away it was – he had to drive home afterwards and be up early for work the next morning. That narrows it down in terms of possible venues. Gabe regards anything more than an hour and a half as a long drive, so the theatre can’t have been one too close to Rawndesley.’