We are led through to a small room and introduced to PC Godley, who offers us a drink. My throat is dry. I’m desperate for water but I won’t allow myself to drink out of one of their cups. I swallow hard.

‘Mrs Morgan, do you have the letter on you?’

‘No. But I can bring it in. You can check it for fingerprints—’

‘Unfortunately that’s not as simple as it sounds.’ He pulls a face. ‘It’s a question of resources and no crime has been committed.’

‘It’s a crime to threaten someone!’

‘But four days isn’t an actual threat.’

‘It feels like one.’

‘Look. I understand this is a difficult time for you. Twenty years is going to bring out the crackpots and true-crime addicts. You know from previous experience it’s not unusual to get letters or ’ave things left on your step. Crank phone calls. I wouldn’t expect anything less with the recent exposure. I bet you’re plagued by journalists at the moment?’

I nod.

‘I wouldn’t put it past one of them to ’ave sent you the letter. Trying to drum up some new angle.’

‘But Marie is missing.’

That’s one irrefutable fact he can’t ignore.

‘But you found a notepad, in her house—’

‘Flat.’ Hasn’t he been listening?

‘Which implies she’s been offered the lead in a play? And this was written in her handwriting?’

‘Yes.’

‘And it’s not unusual for her to travel and not let you know when she’s going, or where.’

‘We’re not as close as we should be.’ Now I feel like I’m on trial – charged with being a terrible sister. ‘But I know something is wrong.’

‘I think Miss Sinclair has done the right thing, getting away. You should consider it too until the anniversary is over. No one will likely bother you then.’

‘Until the next one,’ I mutter.

‘There’s no evidence of anything untoward in Marie’s flat? The front door was secure. No signs of struggle? No signal there’s anything actually wrong. Other than your feeling?’

‘I saw him,’ I say quietly.

Nobody speaks.

‘I saw him,’ I say again, louder now. ‘It was the second time and both times he was in a black car.’

‘So you said earlier, Leah.’ He turns to Carly. ‘But you didn’t see him, you say, Carly?’

‘No,’ Carly says. ‘Sorry.’ I don’t know whether she is apologizing to him or to me. I had clutched Carly’s arm, pointing in horror the second I’d spotted him, but rain was running down the windscreen like soup, stretching the outside world. Everything distorted. By the time my trembling fingers had managed to jab the key into the ignition and swish on the windscreen wipers he had disappeared. Then we had nearly been crushed by that bus when I’d tried to find him.

‘I’ve read your notes about the last time he was released. What you claimed ’appened. What the medical professionals recommended for you.’

I close my eyes. I knew it would come to this. Then, they had believed me at first. They don’t believe me now. With my history, they won’t. It all feels so fruitless. My throat swells hot with frustration.