Jess patted his arm.

‘Gemma came into the police station on the day she died. She was so upset. I sat with her for an hour trying to calm her down. I thought I did …’

‘But you didn’t?’ said Wozza quietly.

I shook my head slowly. Felt tears. ‘She had run out of strength and I thought I could give her some of mine. She seemed better when she left. I was on afternoon shift and we got called to a bunch of stupid inconsequential jobs, and when I got back to the station, they handed me a letter from Gemma.’ I controlled my breathing, which had started to quicken. ‘It was a suicide note. She said she was going to the Gun Alley Nightclub to show Noah Shepherd the damage he’d caused her.’

The inadequacy of mere words—We raced to the club—wasn’t enough to describe running to the car, screeching out of the police garage, lights, siren, screaming through the city, scattering pedestrians, the panic, the terror, the thumping of my terrified heart, all senses fine-tuned on her. Screeching to a halt outside the nightclub. The wide eyes of patrons lined up behind rope. Girls in high heels and tiny outfits shivering in the cold. Girls who were the ‘before’ version of Gemma. The dash inside. The strobe lights. The beat of the music so loud it caught your heartbeat and forced a synchronicity against your will. The bobbing of Noah Shepherd on the dance floor, his arm around a girl who was trying to squirm out of his grip. The flood of uniformed cops. The sudden rip of a record needle across a song, followed by silence. The house lights coming on. ‘Police! Police!’ Desperately scanning for Gemma. Confusion. Stirrings of disgruntled dancers suddenly stilled. Looking up. Oh God! There she was.

There she is.

Taking advantage of the silence, Gemma screams, ‘Noah Shepherd! You arsehole!’ She is standing on a chair on the second-storey level which houses another bar and dance floor overlooking the one below. She climbs onto the rail. ‘He is a rapist!’ she screams.

Below, the girl in his grip springs from him in disgust. All eyes look up at Gemma.

‘No! Gemma!’ My voice is shrill with panic.

She sees me.

Her eyes are haunted and lost. They lock onto mine. She spreads her arms like a crucifix, like an angel, and mouths her last word.

‘Sorry.’

And then she falls.

I came back to the present. In my sitting room. Jess had her arm around me.

Wozza was kneeling in front of me. ‘Bloody hell. That’s awful. I’m so sorry.’ And then he looked lost for words. Embarrassed. ‘Another cuppa?’ He went to stand, and his knees cracked. ‘Jeez, I’m too old for all this exercising.’