‘It’s okay, Rebecca,’ DCI Kent continued. ‘I need to ask you some questions and we must let the medics deal with the victim.’ I wasn’t sure who the victim was at this stage. If he was talking about me then I didn’t think my cut palm needed urgent attention. I could hear another officer speak quietly to Oliver, who was sitting like a giant robot in the background.

‘Oliver Moreton. I’m a friend, or should I say ‘was’, a friend of the deceased.’ He was crying, large blubbering sobs of insincerity.

‘I don’t think ‘friend’ is quite the right word.’ It was the first thing I said. Detective Eddie Kent latched on.

‘What do you mean, Rebecca?’

‘He hated Mitch,’ I added.

Someone with a camera came to photograph the body and someone else bagged items that were littered round the room. No one was allowed to touch anything until the camera had done its job. A strange presence seemed to hover alongside all the manic activity. You were watching, not yet willing to leave the world behind. I saw your ghostly outline in the corner.

I put my left hand down the side of the armchair, an innocuous gesture, while clinging desperately to the bony hand of death with my right. It was the merest slip of paper, a small crumpled receipt for something irrelevant. I slipped it into my pocket.

Shell-shocked, Oliver and I watched as Mitch was manoeuvred into a black body bag, neatly zipped up and carried out on a stretcher. The red tie, the shiny silk embellishment, hadn’t been removed. I noticed a tiny end had caught on the bag’s zip.

‘I’m sorry, Rebecca and Oliver,’ DCI Kent said, ‘but I need to take some notes. It’s very important while everything is fresh in your minds. You do understand?’

Kent determinedly made us sit at the dining table, having extracted a notebook from his pocket. It was a quaint little book with an elastic fastening that held the leaves in place.

‘I need to know about your relationships with the deceased,’ he continued.

In hindsight, I don’t remember too much about the interview. Oliver spoke at length, choking back crocodile tears with dramatic gasps for air, while I gave clipped answers. I think Kent was aware of my stony stares at the other witness.

‘How do you two know each other?’ Kent was sharp. He wasn’t going to miss much. Oliver talked about relationship issues, blushing when the detective asked if we’d ever been an item. ‘Yes. We went out for a while,’ Oliver said.

When I snorted with disdain, the sharp sleuth turned his beady eyes in my direction.

‘Is that not right, Rebecca?’

I scowled, finding it hard to keep my hatred in check.