“Well, no, I shouldn’t have, because I didn’t want them to know the truth,” I snap. “I didn’t want anyone to know the truth, and I’m pissed off that you all do, thanks to my parents, brother and supposed best friend.”

“Nicki, there’s no need to—”

“What do you mean?” Sergeant Zailer asks over Adam’s protests. She agrees with me that there’s a need.

“Melissa Redgate, who used to be my best friend—she married my brother, Lee. I saw her on Tuesday afternoon. We discussed Damon Blundy’s murder. I think she thought I’d killed him—simply because I told her about it, and she thinks I’m the sort of person who must have done every bad thing it’s possible to do.”

“I don’t believe for a minute that Melissa thinks you killed Blundy,” Adam mutters. It makes me wonder whether, in a bargaining situation, I would sacrifice his determination to think well of me if in return he would agree to assume the worst about my enemies. Probably.

I ignore him and fix my eyes on Sergeant Zailer. “Melissa thinks I might have killed Damon Blundy. She must have decided to share all my secrets with Lee, who called our parents, hence my mother calling to threaten to reveal my sordid history to Adam. Oh, my mother also asked me if I’d murdered Damon Blundy, in a tone that implied she believed I had.”

Sergeant Zailer produces a sheaf of papers from the folder on her lap. “I’m going to show you some papers, Nicki. One of them’s an ad from Intimate Links, from 2010. The others are your comments on Damon Blundy’s newspaper articles.”

I take them and start to leaf through, hoping my hands aren’t visibly shaking. Of course the police would read the comments sections beneath all Damon Blundy’s articles in search of nutters threatening to kill him for causing them offense, but how the hell did they get hold of an ad I posted on Intimate Links three years ago?

Unless it was in Damon Blundy’s house. Which would mean . . .

My heart starts to race, up into my throat. I can’t breathe or swallow. My mind blurs around the edges.

“Nicki? Are you all right?” says Sergeant Zailer.

“Can you get her some water?” asks Adam. He’s taken the papers and is reading the advert. Oh God. Even the word “nightmare” feels inadequate—it doesn’t begin to describe the situation.

I have to deny I wrote and posted that ad. I’ve no option. If Adam finds out I lied to him even while making my impressive confession, he’ll leave me.

“I don’t need water,” I say. “I’m fine. I recognize Damon Blundy’s Herald columns and my comments, but what’s this ad?”

“You didn’t put it on Intimate Links in 2010?”