‘Just a moment,’ I said, pulling back the chain and unbolting the door. I pushed hair from my eyes and tied my dressing gown tighter. ‘Come in. Sorry, but I haven’t been answering calls.’

DCI Kent and a young male colleague nudged their way into the flat.

‘Miss Carrington, I’m sorry to bother you, but we need to ask you a few more questions relating to Mr Dawson’s death. May we sit down?’

I pointed to the settee and sat some distance away on a hard-backed upright chair.

‘We’ve taken statements now from everyone who seems to have had a relevant connection with Mr Dawson. It’s come to light…’ he continued. At this point I became uneasy with the direction of the conversation. The detective’s tone had taken on a more serious timbre. ‘…that Miss Amber Grey was in a serious relationship with Mr Dawson and they were to be married. Were you aware of this, Miss Carrington?’

The absurdity of the question made me laugh.

‘That’s ludicrous. Amber was an old friend, nothing more.’ The young constable looked ill at ease and up to this point hadn’t spoken. I wondered why he was present. Perhaps some bureaucratic rule meant that officers never did house calls alone. Maybe they thought it was safer to work in tandem in case I produced another random baseball bat.

‘She has shown us the engagement ring and has backed it up with proof that they were very much together for over ten years in Italy. She also told us, and this has been verified by Mr Moreton, that you and Mr Dawson had finished your relationship a long time ago. Something about him not being able to forgive you for running off with his best friend some years before? Miss Grey ascertains that Mr Dawson had no romantic intentions in your regard. But she says that you’d been incessantly trying to renew contact with him over the past few weeks.’

The wizened cop had put forward his case succinctly, maintaining an emotionless façade throughout. He took a deep breath when he’d finished. This was the first time that my reasons for being at the flat on the night of the murder were being questioned.

I excused myself for a moment, asking if they would mind waiting while I pulled on some clothes. I needed time to digest what had been said. I was being set up as a jealous woman scorned. That much had come through loud and clear and the implications were starting to sink in.

I spent ten minutes in the bathroom, applying lipstick and brushing through my hair. It had been matted in clumps since the murder. A glance in the mirror and I felt confident that the young copper at least would find it hard to envisage me as a woman scorned. I let my heart calm down before I went back into the lounge.