There was a pause because I didn’t know what to say. I wondered if he knew something and was waiting to catch me out once more. If there was damning evidence—more damning evidence—it was better coming from me. And now was the time to give it. There was a moment when I thought, Why not? I had this feeling that somehow everything was closing in on me, everything was turning out bad. Why not go along with it? What if I was blamed for it, convicted and imprisoned? How did that matter, really? But I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t think of the words with which to say it.

“We got on well,” I said. “She thought of me as a friend. I felt bad about deceiving her. I meant to tell her but . . .”

“So you’re sticking to your story that you didn’t know about your husband’s affair and you had no problem with Frances Shaw . . .”

“I didn’t say no problem.”

“Nothing that would be a motive for violence, I mean.”

“Of course not.”

“Although you accuse her husband of having an affair with your husband’s lover.”

“He did have an affair with her—and she wasn’t Greg’s lover. And his wife was also having an affair, don’t forget.”

“Hmm.” He scratched the side of his nose. “You can see why we’re so confused, can’t you? The problem is that it’s all these negatives, proving that someone didn’t know something, that they didn’t have a motive. I’m not clever enough for that. A knife with blood and fingerprints. Preferably caught on CCTV. That’s what I like.”

He looked around. “Do you ever make new furniture?” he said.

“I have, as a sort of hobby. It’s more expensive than old furniture.”

Ramsay seemed disappointed. “I can’t afford either on my salary. I’ll stick with IKEA.” He paused and appeared to remember something. “You’re not playing any more of your games, are you?”

“Like what?”

“Pretending to be someone else.”

“No.”

“It wasn’t even funny the first time.”

“I’ve got an alibi.”

“Ah, yes. It seems we’re going to have to look into that.”

I told him about the delivery on the day of Greg’s death. I even went into the house, found the name of the solicitors’ office, then wrote out the address and the phone number for him. “You can check yourself.”

“I will,” he said.

Chapter Thirty