In front of him are DI Currie and another detective, a man called DI Jack Henry. He’s wearing a really nice blue suit with a tight white shirt underneath. He has blond hair, like DI Currie, and is about the same age as her; they look strangely like a couple, as if they’ve just ordered pizzas in a branch of Zizzi’s and are trying to think of something to talk about.
‘So, Owen.’ DI Currie smiles at him, running a fingertip over her paperwork. ‘I’m really grateful to you for agreeing to come at such short notice and for being so cooperative. Thank you.’
Owen says, ‘That’s OK.’
‘We’ll try to keep this as short as possible. I’m sure you’ve got things you need to be getting on with. But we do, just for your information, have a warrant to keep you for questioning for twenty-four hours. So if there’s anyone you need to talk to, just let us know and we can contact them for you. OK?’
She smiles again.
Owen nods.
‘So,’ she begins, after setting the machine to record. ‘Owen. Let’s go back to the night of February the fourteenth, if you don’t mind. I know we’ve already spoken about this, but just for the sake of our recordings, so we have it on record. You went out that evening?’
‘Yes.’
‘And where did you go?’
‘I went to an Italian. On Shaftesbury Avenue.’
‘And who were you with?’
‘I was with a woman called Deanna Wurth. On a date.’
‘So, you had a drink?’
‘I had a few drinks.’
‘How many, would you say, roughly?’
‘We shared a bottle of champagne and then a bottle of red wine. And a cocktail. I’m not really a big drinker, so that was quite a lot for me.’
‘Gosh,’ says DI Currie. ‘I’d say that was quite a lot for anyone!’ She exchanges a look with DI Henry, who shakes his head and smiles.
‘So,’ she continues. ‘You weren’t sober when you got home?’
‘No. I was really quite drunk.’
‘And this was what time?’
‘Roughly eleven thirty. Maybe later.’
‘And what did you do when you got home? Could you talk us through that again please? How did you get home?’
‘I got the Tube to Finchley Road. Then I walked to my house, via Winterham Gardens.’
‘And then?’
‘I saw the person in the hoodie outside the house opposite. I went indoors. I went to bed.’
‘And just going back, if you don’t mind, to your walk from the Tube station that night?
Owen blanches slightly at the hazy memory of a woman, her fearful gaze on him, her finger over the emergency icon on her phone screen.
‘Did you perhaps see anyone when you were walking home?’
He shakes his head.
‘Yes or no, please, Mr Pick.’