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it.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because . . . because we’re not . . . he’s just not that into me any more.’ The American accent was an attempted joke but the bitterness of the words cancelled it out.
    ‘Oh,’ said Anni. ‘Right.’
    Suzanne looked at her once more. ‘These things happen.’ Her voice reedy, unconvincing.
    ‘But he still has a key.’
    ‘Yeah.’ Suzanne frowned, as if the thought had just entered her head. ‘Not because he still wanted to see me. Just . . .’ She shrugged. ‘. . . because . . .’
    ‘Never gave it back.’ Anni took his details. ‘So you got a new boyfriend?’
    Suzanne shook her head. Picked up the mug once more, toying with it, swirling the dregs round and round, staring.
    Anni sensed there was something more. ‘Have you had trouble like this before, Suzanne? With men?’
    She answered without taking her eyes off the mug. ‘I . . . no. Never. Nothing like this.’
    ‘Nothing at all? No intruders? Stalkers?’
    The last word hit a nerve. Suzanne said nothing.
    ‘Suzanne?’
    ‘No.’ She shook her head with a finality that told Anni she wouldn’t be getting anything further from that line of questioning.
    ‘This photo . . .’ Anni gestured to it, sitting alongside her in a clear plastic evidence bag.
    Suzanne braced herself once more, as if she was expecting a physical assault.
    ‘Are you sure it was taken last night?’
    She nodded. ‘Yes.’
    ‘There’s no chance it might have been older?’
    She shook her head.
    ‘You sure?’
    ‘I’m sure.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because . . .’ Suzanne began turning the coffee mug once more. Cold, brown liquid spilled over the sides, splashed out on to the floor. She didn’t notice.
    ‘Suzanne?’ Anni reached out a hand. She placed it over Suzanne’s, stopping her agitated movements. Suzanne looked up at her. Anni held the eye contact. ‘Why are you so sure it was taken last night?’
    ‘I . . . it was. I had . . . in the bathroom last night, I . . . did my . . . my bikini line.’ She swallowed the words in embarrassment. ‘With a razor. I . . . cut myself. It’s . . . on the photo. You can, you can see the, the cut . . .’
    Anni looked at the photo. It clearly showed Suzanne asleep with her T-shirt pulled up to her breasts, exposing her body. Her legs were open. She leaned in closer, squinting. The cut was clearly visible.
    She looked back to Suzanne. The mug fell to the floor, the remaining liquid spilling out. Suzanne looked at it as if not understanding what it was. Then her head dropped, her shoulders moved rhythmically back and forwards.
    Anni had no option but to let her cry.
    Eventually, Suzanne found her voice. ‘I’m not - not lying . . .’
    ‘I didn’t -’
    ‘I’m not making it up.’
    ‘I didn’t say you were.’
    Suzanne looked up, an angry fire fighting through the tears. ‘I wasn’t then and I’m not now. Right?’
    ‘You weren’t doing what then?’
    Suzanne looked away, regained composure. ‘Nothing.’
    ‘What did you mean, Suzanne? Was it something to do with your ex-boyfriend Mark?’
    She wiped her face with the sleeve of her dressing gown. Sat back, exhausted. ‘I can’t talk any more . . .’
    Anni knew that was all she would be getting. For now. She leaned forward once more. ‘Suzanne, I’d like you to come with me.’
    Suzanne sat back, fear and distrust on her face. ‘Where? Why?’
    ‘To the station.’ Anni’s voice was all calmness and reason once more. ‘I’d like you to be seen by a doctor.’
    Anni nodded. ‘It’ll be sensitively handled. It won’t hurt. And I’d also like your consent to a blood test on top of that.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘To see if you’ve got anything in your system that could have made you feel bad this morning. Other than a glass of red wine and chocolate, of course.’ She smiled. Suzanne didn’t return it.
    ‘OK?’
    Suzanne nodded, her face slack, empty, like she was still in a dream. She stood up, her body moving like a