Everyone else dispersed to the bar, the restaurant or their rooms. Michael’s arrest had been quite the show for the other guests: there were a lot of greasy-forehead smudges on the front windows. Marcelo guided Audrey upstairs. He had her under his light arm, folded into the wing of his coat, and was talking in a soothing monotone. My mother is not old enough to find stairs an obstacle, but old enough to be good friends with the banister, so they moved slowly. I’d half expected Marcelo to chase after Crawford, raining verbal fire, but he’d given up that fight and instead bashed at his phone (battery: unknown). I imagined he was trying to get a bar of reception to call someone who could fire Crawford.

I waited until they reached the first-floor landing, which I decided was probably spacious enough to corner them into a conversation. It had been a long time since I’d spoken to my mother face-to-face, after all. She might know something.

As I made to follow them, someone rested their hand on my shoulder from behind. It wasn’t aggressive, but there was the slightest tug backwards. I turned to see Katherine wincing apologetically, in the way people do when their face is trying to tell you they’re sorry for what they’re saying. It’s the face Andy often makes behind his wife while she’s explaining why they’re leaving a party early.

‘Is now the best time?’ she asked, doing the Katherine thing of being concerned and responsible, but also just a tad condescending. Sure, she was a good dozen years younger than my mother, but she’d started to coo at Audrey. Katherine was by no means mocking or insincere about it, but it was clear: she thought my mother was getting on.

‘Oh,’ I said, nodding in solemn agreement, ‘I agree. Let’s wait for a few more corpses.’ Then I remembered I’d promised Andy I’d go easy. After all, she was only trying to help. I softened, explaining, ‘If I’m going to help Michael, I’m going to need to know as much as I can. I’ll have to talk to her eventually.’

Katherine seemed to begrudgingly accept my reasoning. ‘Just try not to get her worked up.’ There it was again, concern for Audrey’s frailty rather than her happiness. ‘That’s if she even talks to you, anyway, which she probably won’t.’

‘I have to try.’

‘So what’s your angle?’

‘Dunno. Grovelling?’ I shrugged. ‘She is my mother after all. I’ll just have to get through to her maternal side.’

Katherine laughed. It was hard to tell if it was cruel or empathetic, but she let go of my shoulder, not holding me back. ‘If that’s your whole plan, I hope you brought a ouija board.’