I identified myself, said I’d waived the right to have a solicitor present, and that I’d known Lillian Truscott for a little over two years. I said that we didn’t live together but spent a lot of time in each other’s company. I said that we’d taken a couple of short holidays together-to Byron Bay and North Queensland-and that I’d last seen her three nights before when she’d stayed at my place. I said that I’d spent time in my Newtown office in the afternoon of the previous day, had then driven home and from there walked to the Toxteth Hotel where I’d had a few drinks and played pool with my regular pool partner, Daphne Rowley. I went home, heated up some leftovers, watched television, read a book and went to bed.

Williams was watching me and listening intently. He was confident that the equipment was working. I kept my head up and didn’t fidget.

I said, ‘This morning I read the paper, did the crossword, drank coffee and then Constable Farrow called me. Following that, I met DS Williams at the Glebe mortuary.’

I sipped some water and stopped talking.

‘That’s it?’

‘That’s my statement. Oh, the pistol’s at home under lock and key. You can come by and collect it.’

‘I will, but first I’d like to ask you some questions.’

‘Ask. I’ll consider whether to answer.’

‘You’ve said when you last saw Ms Truscott. When did you last contact her?’

‘The night before last. We spoke on the phone.’

‘Planning to meet when?’

‘No plan, we played it by ear.’

‘It seems a very loose relationship.’

‘Think what you like.’

‘Ms Truscott was a journalist. Do you know what she was working on?’

‘Financial stories.’

‘Specifically?’

‘I don’t know. You’ll have to check her computer, if it’s still there.’

‘Do you have any reason to think it’s not?’

My patience was running out. ‘Use your head.’