‘My husband knew nothing about any of it,’ I said.

‘So what was the ten grand in cash for, Mrs Carver?’ DCI Stoner said, going through the gears now. ‘What service was that going to buy you?’

I felt the panic surge.

‘Was that a figure suggested by your husband?’ DI Ure said. ‘Ten grand? Did Mr Carver think that would get the job done?’

‘This is what I think happened,’ Stoner said. ‘You wanted James Caine dead – or warned off – or punished – or any combination of the above. And you were prepared to pay someone to do it. Is that about right?’

‘James Caine was threatening to take everything away from me,’ I said, and I felt Kevin’s sharp intake of breath beside me.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

But I didn’t shut up because they poke you, they probe you, they goad you, and then you find that you are talking and you can’t stop because it’s your side of the story and you want it known.

You want the bloody tape to hear.

‘My family. My sanity. My self-respect. My happiness.’ I felt the words wedge somewhere halfway down my throat like a chunk of broken glass. I was not going to cry in front of them. ‘My health,’ I said.

‘Caine was a deeply unpleasant man,’ DCI Stoner said, suddenly all sympathy. ‘He was doing to you what he had done to all those other women.’

‘Yes.’

I hated my voice. The self-pity in it, the weakness, the fucking pain. I felt my lawyer exhale. It was not quite a sigh. Poor Kevin! It was more like someone had kicked him in the stomach.

‘Controlling you,’ DCI Stoner said, as if we were friends again. ‘Manipulating you. Torturing you.’

I stared at my clenched fists on the table. My knuckles were white. I was aware of the pain in the palms of my hands where the nails dug in deep. I wanted the release of confession, I craved it, I ached for it.

‘You wanted someone to kill this bastard,’ DCI Stoner said, not a question now.

‘He deserved to die,’ DI Ure said, urging me on, unconvincingly acting as if she was on my side at last. ‘For what he had done to other women. And for what he was doing to you. And to your family.’

‘So how did you contact the hitman?’ DCI Stoner said, almost conversational.

‘And we’ll take a break there,’ said Kevin, smooth as a game show host.

Detectives Stoner and Ure leaned back, exchanging a look, pleased with a good shift.

The room Kevin and I went into was identical to the one we had just left.

My lawyer paced the tiny space. ‘You need to stop talking,’ he said. ‘Please. You’re holding their coats while they build a case for conspiracy to murder. That’s a life sentence, Tara, and even if you don’t serve a full term your son will be grown-up by the time you get out.’