"Right," I say for the sake of saying something. The sound of my voice is proof that Im not alone; if I were, I wouldnt bother to speak. I cant let Charlie and Waterhouse see how much trouble Im having processing each new piece of information. Its lucky that mind reading is impossible; mine at the moment would be illegible. Theyd probably have me sectioned.

I wish Wayne Cuffley were dead too, though he probably had nothing to do with what happened to me on Friday. His warning was the same as Jasons: stay away from Lauren. Thats enough to make me wish him dead. He might not have done what Jason did to me, but Im sure he would have approved.

"Who did it?" I ask.

"You mean who killed Jason?"

For about five seconds, I wonder if I might have murdered him, then filed the memory in an inaccessible part of my brain to avoid giving myself away.

I wish I hadnt ripped up the photograph. An urge grips me: to look at his face and savor the knowledge that its rotting in a morgue somewhere. Nearby, probably; it would make sense for the morgue to be near the police station.

I would like to see Jason in the cold lifeless flesh, stripped naked on a tray in a long, silver drawer. Is there a tactful way of asking?

"Jason was killed between midnight and four a.m. on Friday night, early hours of Sat.u.r.day morning," Waterhouse says. "Exactly when we cant account for your whereabouts. Id like to know where you were. I think Sergeant Zailers already spoken to you about legal representation. . . ."

"I dont want a lawyer. I wish I had murdered Jason Cookson, but I didnt. If I were a plagiarist like Tim, I might try and take the credit."

"Gaby, we dont for one second think you killed Jason," says Charlie. "I know you didnt."

"No, you dont. Youll only know for sure if I tell you where I spent Friday night."

"Go ahead," says Waterhouse. "The sooner you do, the sooner I stop asking myself if you pretended not to be able to identify a man you had good reason to want dead."

"Between midnight and four a.m.? I was in the Proscenium Librarys car park on Teago Street."

"In your car?" Charlie asks.

"Most of the time, yeah. I arrived at about eleven and stayed till seven-fifteen the next morning."

"Teago Street?" Waterhouse frowns. "Ive been to the Proscenium-its on The Mallows."

"The entrance to the car parks on Teago Street, behind the library," I tell him. "Its a private car park with a big gate and a keypad. Only staff and members know the code. Its generally pretty empty after six, when the library closes, and always totally empty after eleven, eleven-fifteen. Any members whove parked there to go out for dinner or to the cinema or theater are gone by then. Talk to the librarian, May Geraghty. Ask her for Friday nights CCTV footage from the car park-sh.e.l.l be in ecstasy. Shes prouder of her top-notch security system than any normal person who isnt obsessed with rare books could possibly imagine."

"CCTV?" Waterhouse pa.s.ses another silent message to Charlie with his eyes.

"There were two break-ins last year," I tell him. "All the members clubbed together to pay for the cameras-a fiver in most cases. People whose lives revolve around antiquarian books arent generally very well off. I put in more than half of the money. It felt worthwhile at the time, to protect the Prosceniums collection, and it feels even more worthwhile now." Without my contribution, the cameras wouldnt have been affordable; I wouldnt be able to prove I didnt kill Jason Cookson.

"So if I watch this footage, will I see you?" Waterhouse asks. "Or just your car?"

"Youll see the car drive in and stay there all night. Thatll be exciting viewing for you. Once or twice youll see me get out of the car, stand next to it crying, then get back in. Youll be in the middle of your seat. As in: not at all on the edge of your seat," I say in response to Waterhouses puzzled frown. "Thats what Tim used to say about boring films: 'I was in the middle of my seat throughout."

"Why did you get out of the car once or twice?" Charlie asks.

"To prove to myself that I wasnt trapped in a small metal box. It was more than twice. Three or four times, maybe. Mostly, I felt safest in the car with the doors locked, but then Id start to panic about not being able to breathe, running out of oxygen. What if I couldnt open the door and get out if I needed to? What if the locks had jammed? I had to get out into the open air when I started thinking like that."

"But then youd get back in and lock the doors again, knowing the effect it would have on you. Inviting the panic to recur." Waterhouse sounds unimpressed.

Is he serious? "I was inconsistent, yes. Well spotted. Sorry, are most victims of terrifying attacks more focused than I am? Do they dust themselves off and immediately set about pursuing a coherent goal?"

"No," he says. "Though youre not what Id call typical."

"Really? I suspect Id have to visit another solar system to find anything youd call typical." I turn my chair so that Im facing Charlie. "I couldnt stand next to the car all night. It was freezing. I couldnt . . . I felt as if the cold would kill me if I stayed out in it, and I didnt know where he was-Jason. He could have crept up on me again. I was in an empty car park in a silent part of town, no one around. I know it sounds stupid."

"It doesnt at all," Charlie says.

"He attacked me outside my house when I thought I was totally safe. There was no warning; I didnt hear him coming. What was to stop him doing it again?" I laugh, surprising myself as much as Waterhouse and Charlie. "If I asked myself that question now, Id have an answer, wouldnt I? Violent death. The best possible answer to the Jason Cookson question." I like the sound of my voice saying those words: as if I coolly planned his extermination. "How was he killed?" Did he suffer enough?

"Can you fill in a gap for me?" says Waterhouse. "You were attacked behind your house early evening, but you didnt arrive at the Teago Street car park till eleven. Where were you in between?"

"Driving. I drove to Combingham Airport and back, twice." More atypical behavior; I wonder if Waterhouse will be able to cope. "I didnt want to risk going to the Proscenium car park too early in case anyone else was there and saw me."

"Why Combingham Airport?"

"No reason in particular. I drive there all the time. I couldnt think of anywhere else."

"Why not park up somewhere? On a side street, in a lay-by?"

"Someone who knew me could have seen my car. People walk down streets, dont they? He could have walked past, or anybody. If someone had knocked on the window, Id have had to talk to them."

"Why the Proscenium car park as a destination for the night?" Waterhouse asks. "Why not a hotel, or a friends house?"

"Youre not listening to me. I didnt want to have to deal with anyone. I knew no one would drive into the car park at that time of night, and you cant walk in when the gates shut-its physically impossible."

"Its okay, Gaby. We do understand."

"You might. He doesnt."

"I dont," Waterhouse backs me up. "Two minutes of talking to a receptionist in a light, warm hotel lobby and you could have locked yourself in a comfortable room for the night. Instead, you chose a cold, deserted car park."

"Yes. Youre right. Thats what I chose-not being typical." I spit the word at him. "So what? Youll soon be watching a black-and-white silent CCTV movie starring me not killing Jason Cookson, all night long. You wanted proof, and Ive given it to you."

"And now I want something else," says Waterhouse quietly. "I want to be confident that you had nothing to do with Jasons murder. Not killing him and not being involved are two different things."

I laugh. "You think I whipped out my BlackBerry and quickly arranged to have him killed? My a.s.sa.s.sin of choice happened to have a free slot at short notice?"

"Youre not short of money for a nice hotel," Waterhouse tells me. "Youve got parents or siblings you could go to, presumably. Colleagues, friends at the Dower House-Kerry and Dan Jose. Im wondering why you made a point of spending an uncomfortable night under the square eye of a state-of-the-art security camera when you had so many other options."

"She didnt want to see anyone, Simon," Charlie says impatiently.

"Theres something shes not telling us." Waterhouse keeps his eyes on me.

"You think I went to the Proscenium car park knowing Id be filmed, to give myself an alibi?" I ask him.

"Did you?"

"No!"

"Theres something youre not telling us, Gaby. What is it?"

Why isnt Waterhouse a photograph I can tear up? Why does he have to be real?

"I a.s.sume you still want to go and see Tim today?" he says.

"Simon, for G.o.ds sake," Charlie murmurs.

"Be gentle with the almost rape victim," thats what she means; "dont threaten the human wreckage-it might release harmful toxins."

If shes trying to make him feel guilty, its not working.

I dont require special treatment, and I want them both to know it. "If you really want to know, Ill tell you, but dont blame me when you wish you hadnt asked. During the attack, I was sick all over myself. I also lost bowel control. When it was over, once I was sure hed gone, my first thought was How do I clean myself up? The most basic thing, but I couldnt think of a way. If I hadnt just walked out on Sean-" I break off. "No. Even if I hadnt, I wouldnt have gone back into the house in that state. Seans never made me feel better about anything. The more difficult the situation, the worse he makes me feel."

"I wish youd come straight here," says Charlie.

I ignore her. Its an unreasonable wish that doesnt take any of mine into account. She probably only said it to sound sympathetic and because she knows Waterhouse wont try; Ive struck him dumb again. "I had clean clothes with me in the bag Id packed before I left, but I was filthy. I needed to wash, but I couldnt think of anywhere to go where I wouldnt have to come into close contact with anyone. If I couldnt wash, then I didnt want to be seen, obviously. The Proscenium car park was the best idea I had-the only idea. I thought about the camera, how much it would reveal, if anyone watched the footage. Not that I thought they would in a million years."

"Simon? I think you should tell Gaby that you believe her now."

"She hasnt finished yet," he says stonily. "You interrupted her."

"Theres not much else to say." Hasnt he heard enough? What if hes still not convinced? Ive told him everything now; theres nothing more I can do.

Yes, there is.

One small but crucial detail will prove Im telling the truth. "I turned the car round before getting out of it the first time," I say. "Watch the CCTV footage. Youll see that I came in, parked, then about an hour later I did a three-point turn and reversed back in again, into the same parking s.p.a.ce, but with the car facing in the opposite direction. I did it so that the car would be a barrier between me and the camera, when I got out on the drivers side. I didnt want to be filmed in that state, even if no one was ever going to see it." Pitiful, isnt it? "Why else would I have done that? Can you think of a single other reason?"

"No. Where did you go when you left the car park at seven-fifteen on Sat.u.r.day morning?"

No. He definitely said it; I didnt imagine it. Does that mean he believes me?

"I went home. My former home," I correct myself. "Sean goes to the gym every Sat.u.r.day: sets off seven-fifteen, gets there seven-thirty, stays till nine-thirty. I let myself in, washed, bagged up my dirty clothes. Then I had to drive somewhere to dispose of them, and . . ."

"What?" Waterhouse pounces on my hesitation.

"Id been sitting on a pile of old cardboard all night, from the boot of the car. I needed to get rid of that too."

"Thank you for being so honest with us, Gaby," says Charlie. "Im going to give you the phone number of someone I think you should get in touch with. A counselor."

"Really?" I feign excitement. "Why didnt you say so before? Thatll solve everything."

"Youve been through the worst kind of h.e.l.l. You should speak to someone who can help you deal with it."

Waterhouse pulls an envelope out of his file. My envelope, with Laurens name on it. He puts it down on the table between us. "We havent given this to Lauren Cookson."

"So I see."

"Ive read it, though. Id like you to give it to her in person if you can."

"Did Lauren kill Jason?" Did she kill him because of what she saw him do to me? Would I rather she hadnt seen, if that meant Jason would still be alive?

"We dont know. Lauren does-thats the problem. She knows everything I want to know and everything you want to know: who killed Jason, who killed Francine Breary, why Tim Breary doesnt belong in prison, why hes ended up there and seems to want to stay." Waterhouse sighs. For a few seconds, he sounds and looks human. "If we give her your letter, we run the risk of her a.s.sociating you with us. If she does that, sh.e.l.l tell you no more and no less than shes telling us."

"Lies, f.u.c.k all, and more lies," Charlie chips in.

"If she thinks youre nothing to do with us, if you can convince her that youll keep her secrets . . ."

"It wont work," I say. "Laurens stupid, but shes not that stupid. She knows Id do or say anything to get Tim out of prison."

"Wrong," says Waterhouse. "She knows youd do anything for Tim, and she knows he wants to stay where he is. You could try to persuade her that if thats what he wants, then you want it too. Then she might feel safe telling you the truth."

Tears p.r.i.c.k my eyes. "How do you know thats what he wants?" I whisper. "How could anyone want to take the blame for a murder they didnt commit? I dont care what Tim wants! If he wants to be in prison when hes done nothing wrong then hes insane!"

I dont want to love a man whos that crazy. I want to invent a better version, one that doesnt do any of the infuriating, baffling things the real Tim does.

He lied to me when he said that Id invented him. He was banking on appealing to my vanity, and it worked. The truth is that I failed to invent the Tim I wanted-the ideal Tim-though I tried for years.

Cant stop trying now. Gaby Struthers didnt get where she is today by giving up.

"I can persuade Tim to tell you the truth," I say. "I know I can." Take me to see him.

"Going back to Lauren," says Waterhouse. "Ive read the notes DC Gibbs made after speaking to you on Friday. You told him something Lauren said to you, her outburst at Dsseldorf Airport. Im going to read it back to you. Tell me if its correct, as you remember it. 'Little Miss Stuck-Up b.i.t.c.h, you are! So much better than me. Course you are! I bet youd never let an innocent man go to jail for murder."

"Word perfect," I confirm.

"You a.s.sumed-like I did at first, and like Gibbs did-that Lauren was criticizing herself for being unethical: she was letting a man be framed for a crime he didnt commit, and she felt guilty about it. You took her outburst as a flare-up of guilt that she couldnt keep down."

"Not quite," I say. "There was some guilt, definitely, but it slipped out by accident. Her intention was to accuse me of ivory-tower cluelessness."

"Explain," Waterhouse orders. Half man, half Dalek.

"She was implying that I couldnt possibly understand how hard things are for her. I might think shes unethical for letting Tim go to prison, I might think Id never do something so immoral, but Ive got a nerve congratulating myself on my superiority when I dont know what shes up against. A case of 'Dont throw stones until youve lived in my gla.s.s house."

"Interesting," says Charlie.

"Heres another interpretation," says Waterhouse. "'You think youre better than me, but thats c.r.a.p. Youd a.s.sume it was always wrong to let an innocent man go to jail for murder, whereas I understand that its right for Tim to do this. You never would because youre too conventional, too black-and-white. Not ethically sophisticated or nuanced."

I laugh. "Ethically sophisticated? Youve met Lauren Cookson, right?"

"She used the word 'let. 'Let an innocent man go to jail for murder. True, she could have meant stand by and allow it to happen. Or she could have meant grant his wish."

"That would explain a lot," Charlie says. From her face, its clear she hasnt heard this theory of Waterhouses before. More worrying, its equally clear that shes happy to buy into it on the basis of no proof whatsoever. "Kerry and Dan Jose, Tims best friends-theyre also granting his wish by letting him stay in prison. Their lies are keeping him there; their lies and his."

"How can it be good for Tim to go to prison for his wifes murder when he didnt do it?" Waterhouse asks me. "Whys that what he wants? Any reason you can think of, Gaby, however unlikely it seems, I want to hear it."

I nod, numb inside, trying to ignore the voice in my head thats telling me things I dont want to hear.

He wants to be in prison because he needs a way of avoiding you, now that Francines dead.

No. Cant be. I know Tim loves me. I know it.