‘Did it hurt?’ Katherine sniffled.

Sofia didn’t answer, which effectively answered the question. It would have been agonising.

‘Hours?’ Audrey said again, and I realised this time she was addressing Crawford. And she wasn’t asking for clarification, she was asking for an explanation. ‘The doctor here has kindly explained the science. So now you can tell me, copper, how my son took hours to die in a room that you were guarding.’

Crawford cleared his throat. ‘Ma’am, with respect’—this was a bad start; my mother never took well to either formalities or excuses—‘the rubber seal on the door makes the room pretty soundproof.’

I made to suggest the storm had been very loud, but I’d learned my lesson from the last time I’d supported a police officer, and zipped it.

‘But, honestly, I didn’t hear anything because . . .’ Crawford trailed off.

‘Out with it.’

‘I wasn’t there.’

The room suddenly felt very quiet but intensely charged, teetering on the edge of exploding. It could have gone two ways: a lengthy silence or Audrey getting up and ripping Crawford’s head clean off. In the end, it was neither, but Audrey was the first to speak. She couldn’t summon more than a deep whisper.

‘You put my boy in a locked room and then left him there all by himself?’

Marcelo patted her between the shoulder blades, firm but tender.

‘Ma—’ Crawford made to call her ‘ma’am’ again, this time with an American lilt (marm), but caught himself. He looked flustered. He started again, settled on calling her Mrs Cunningham, hyphen absent, and said, ‘The room wasn’t even locked.’

Those of us whose attention had been dwindling, namely Andy, or were about to pass out, namely me and Sofia, who was swaying on the spot with exhaustion, snapped their eyes back to Crawford.

‘Juliette had checked the forecast and mentioned to me that she was thinking of taking some people down the mountain when there was a gap in the weather, before it got worse. So we made the decision that, seeing as he’d cooperated so far, we would move Michael into one of the guestrooms. When we went to tell him this – this was after you spoke to him, Ernest, but before I followed you to the shed – he was asleep. Curled up on the bench, with his back to the door. He had pillows and things – he looked comfortable, so we didn’t want to wake him. Juliette was there. She can back me up, right?’

‘He’s right. I was there.’