‘How are you feeling?’ he asks, his eyes on my bruised face. But his expression is uncomfortable, he’s thinking, Please don’t go into too much detail. I don’t suppose police are hired for their bedside manner.

And so I keep my reply succinct. ‘Shit.’ My stomach twists as my eyes meet his.

He gives a small nod, reaches beside him and flicks on a black, square recording device, and a little light glows red. He runs through the date, time, location and people present all in French, pulls out his notebook, and then his eyes return to mine.

‘Harper, when did you meet Thomas Jamison?’ Luneau asks, all business.

‘In early October,’ I say. ‘It was in the laundromat.’ But now I’m thinking of that picture of me through the window. ‘I think he found me before that though. I think he was watching me.’

He nods. ‘Yes, he was. We found these.’

He fiddles around on his iPad, then pushes it towards me so I can see. I expect it to be another picture of me through my neighbour’s window but it’s not.

It’s an image of me standing outside my building, entering the door code, waiting for that big brown wooden door to swing open.

I frown down at it and then look back up at Luneau. He touches the screen to flick through to the next one.

Me, in the laundromat, texting someone. It’s taken through the window.

‘That’s it,’ I say, pointing to the laundromat. ‘That’s where I met him.’ My voice is dry and scratchy from lack of sleep and god knows what else.

‘This was taken late September,’ Luneau says.

I nod.

‘We also found some videos on Sabine’s iCloud,’ he says, slowly, reaching for the iPad and scrolling. ‘I’d like you to take a look at them and let me know what you can tell me about them.’

He swivels the iPad and pushes it towards me, and I brace myself to see the video of me and Noah having sex. But when he presses play I realise it’s not that at all.