‘Sabine threatened to show that to Noah’s wife. Well, I mean they’re getting divorced but… That’s why she ran off and that’s why Noah ran after her.’

Again, the sound of Luneau’s pen pulling across the page as he makes notes fills the room. My thoughts – Noah did this – and my feelings – but I don’t want him to be a killer – are a matted mess. Moor takes a loud slurp of his coffee.

‘Does anyone else know about this video?’ Luneau asks.

‘No,’ I say. ‘Just me and Noah. And Sabine.’

‘Right,’ he says, still writing. ‘And what time did you leave the party?’

‘Soon afterwards.’

‘How long afterwards would you say?’

‘About five minutes,’ I say.

‘And you didn’t see Noah or Sabine on the street?’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘They were arguing at the bottom of the stairs when I first came outside.’

‘What were they saying?’

‘I don’t know but it must have been about what happened. But they were gone by the time I headed down there.’

‘What do you mean, by the time you headed down there?’ Luneau asks.

‘I went to wait for my Uber at the top of the stairs first. But I was in the wrong place – it was set to pick me up just past where Noah and Sabine had been arguing. But they were gone by the time I figured it out.’ As I speak, a memory flickers in my mind. That white car.

And deep down I want to be wrong about Noah. I want to be told Sabine caught the metro and was attacked on her walk home. That he didn’t do it. So I don’t say this next bit outright, I pose it as a question.

‘Do you know whether Sabine ever got to the metro station?’ I ask.

Luneau frowns at me. I can tell he doesn’t want to hand over any information about the case, but he also wants to know why I’m asking. He senses I know something more. ‘This can’t end up in print,’ he warns and I nod. ‘But no, she’s not on any of the CCTV in the metro. Why?’

I swallow hard.

‘It’s just that there was a car. A white one. About halfway down Rue Chappe. It drove away as I got there. The number plate ended in double A.’

‘Do you know what time that was?’ Luneau asks.

‘Ummm,’ I say, reaching for my phone and navigating to Uber. ‘Here you go. This was my ride. It arrived just after I saw the white car.’ I pass it to him and he notes down the information and I log it in my memory: Khalid picked me up at 12.46 am.

‘This has been very helpful, thank you,’ Luneau says.

And then he stands up, Moor follows. I lead them back into the reception area. And as Judy watches on, Luneau hands me his card.