This must have something to do with why she called me.

I was almost here, crossing the road by the station, when my phone began to vibrate and I saw the work number flash up. But what with struggling to control my umbrella against the wind, the blister on my foot, being drug-fucked on Ambien and the shellshock of this morning, I let it ring out. But now I’m worried.

Please, dear god, don’t let me get sacked today too.

‘Hi,’ I say, dropping my wet umbrella into the metal bin provided and taking off my coat. It’s good to be inside, away from the wind, the swirling autumn leaves and the rain coming in at impossible angles. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Um, Harper.’ She nods to behind me where there are four linen chairs. ‘The police are here to see you.’

My pulse speeds up.

Fuck.

I turn around, and take them in. There are two of them: Batman and Robin. A big, attractive one – tall, thick dark hair, refined jaw, dark eyes, pink shirt – and a smaller, more ordinary one – around five foot eight, mousy hair, brown eyes, white shirt. They stand up.

‘Ms Brown,’ the attractive one says. He has a thick French accent.

‘Hi,’ I say, my brain whirring.

How did they find me?

‘I’m Commandant Luneau and this is Brigadier Moor.’

‘Hello,’ Brigadier Moor says, reaching out a hand for me to shake. He has a perfect London accent. He was clearly handpicked due to his linguistic skills.

‘We tried to call you,’ Luneau continues.

The missed calls. The private number.

‘We just have some questions for you.’

But how did they get my number?

‘Of course,’ I say. But Ambien is still slowing my mind. I need coffee just to be lucid.

‘Is there somewhere we can speak privately?’ Luneau asks.

‘Yes,’ I say, turning to Judy, whose mouth is still a little open. Her eyes are apologetic like she tried to warn me.

‘You can take the meeting room?’ Judy suggests.

‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I’m going to grab a coffee, can I get either of you something?’

‘A coffee please,’ says Luneau.

‘Yes, same, thank you,’ says Moor.

‘Great, I’ll be right back. Judy can show you to the room.’

Judy gives a small, scared smile, like she’s never seen a policeman in such close proximity before. As I move towards the kitchen, I hear her say in French, ‘This way, gentlemen.’

Wesley is in the kitchen when I get there, fucking around by the Nespresso machine, trying to decide whether he’d like a black pod or a purple one this morning. He looks up, sees me, and I swear to god he slows down just because I’m clearly in a rush.

I wait for him in silence, pulling three cups and saucers out of the cupboard and placing them on a black plastic tray. He finally decides on the purple one then makes his coffee, while I pour milk into a milk jug and pull out some teaspoons and a bowl of sugar cubes and run through what I’m going to say in my mind.