“Eight minutes past eleven? That’s very specific.” Is that when Damon Blundy was murdered? The idea makes me shudder. No, it can’t be: no time-of-death estimate could be that specific. “I would have been . . . Oh, I know!” This is amazing; I know exactly where I was at eight minutes past eleven. “I was in the parking lot at Spilling Library, arguing with a woman who appeared out of nowhere and gave me a hard time for parking in a mother-and-child space.”

Sam and Waterhouse exchange a look that I can’t read.

“What did she look like, this woman?” Waterhouse asks eventually.

Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit. Are they going to try and track her down, ask her if she noticed my missing side mirror?

I can’t believe they’d go to such absurd lengths, but I can’t take the risk. “She was about sixty,” I lie. “Fat, frumpily dressed. Gray curly hair. Kind of like a . . . strict-grandma type.”

“What were you doing parked outside Spilling Library?” Sam asks. “Weren’t you on your way to your son’s school?”

“I pulled into the library parking lot to look at my map, plan an alternative route.”

Waterhouse stands. “I’ll give you a lift home,” he says. “Have a look at your car.”

No. No, no, fuck, no.

“I’m not going home straightaway,” I say as calmly as I can. “Since you’ve dragged me into town, I’m going to do some shopping. I’d say go and help yourself to a look, but the car’s in the garage, which is locked. Can you come around later?”

“No. Do your shopping, come back here and I’ll take you home then. I can wait.”

Somehow, I manage to assert myself. “Look, I’ve done nothing wrong. I haven’t murdered anyone. I’m not being bundled into a police car like a criminal. Once was bad enough. If you really care that much, drive to my house now and wait for me there. I’ll be back in an hour or so—that ought to be good enough for you.”

“It’s fine,” says Sam. “We’ll pop around later. When would be good for you?”

I don’t know. Can’t think straight anymore. “Between two and three,” I say eventually.

“It’s not that we don’t believe you, Nicki. We have to check, that’s all.” He smiles.

Waterhouse turns away. He doesn’t believe me. He’s the cleverer of the two.