‘Meaning you lied to protect him. You do know it’s a crime, to obstruct a police investigation?’ I thought of the jumper I’d found in Benji’s room. I’d taken it out, bagged it up and put it in the garage, unsure of what to do with it. If I destroyed it, that was a crime. But if they searched the house again they were sure to find it. What did it mean? Had Mike put it there himself? Or perhaps someone else had found it, discarded, and thrown it away on the rubbish pile, not knowing what it was. I tested myself to see if I could believe that. I couldn’t.

My heart began to race. ‘No! No, not at all, I just didn’t remember. That must happen all the time. Right? You don’t remember and then suddenly a bit of time passes and the shock eases and it comes back. Isn’t there . . . I remember reading some research about witness interviews, how unreliable they are.’

He tapped his notebook. ‘Mrs Morris. Back in 1996, when Mike was interviewed about the murder at your college, you also spoke to police, correct?’

‘Yes. They spoke to all of us.’

‘And you gave him an alibi. You said he’d been with you all night.’

‘Yes.’ How had I been able to do that, a callow twenty-one-year-old looking a police officer in the face and lying? Driven on by love of Mike, or at least what I’d thought was love; by the need to ‘get him’ before it was too late. By the need to not go back to my old life, fearful every moment of my father’s rages, his flying fists. Fearful of turning into my mother, diminished, defeated. ‘Well, not all night, obviously. Most of it.’

‘Is there anything about that night you find yourself suddenly remembering?’ I was foolishly stung by his tone, as if I’d thought we were friends. Tears pricked my eyes. Stupid. He was never my friend.

‘Nothing. It was such a long time ago.’

He straightened the papers in front of him, with neat, careful gestures. In another life, if I was younger or he was older and we weren’t in this situation, I might have found him attractive. ‘Rape trials are notoriously difficult, Mrs Morris. The conviction rate is terribly low, even if the woman calls us right away, and even with forensic evidence. Having a witness to the assault can often swing the balance.’

It took me a stupidly long time to realise what he wanted from me. When I did, I almost laughed in confusion. ‘But you can’t – I can’t do that. Surely you can’t – make a wife testify, against a husband?’