Charlotte Elizabeth shook her head. ‘It’s a good question and let me assure you that Bruno would absolutely not feel any pain at all. I could explain the process, if you would like?’

Both of them nodded.

‘The first thing to do is perform tests to confirm the brainstem is dead, which we have done. Then the transplant team would want to harvest the organs as soon as possible, after testing they are in good condition. It’s a difficult job but they are really skilled at it. At the same time, the team would be starting to look for suitable recipients, who could be anywhere in Europe. Once they’ve been identified, whether within the UK or on the continent, teams would motorbike or fly in for the relevant parts and rush them to hospitals where the recipients would already be anaesthetized in anticipation of receiving the transplants.’ She paused for a moment. ‘It would be impossible to overstate just how grateful recipients – and their families – are.’

Grace looked at Cleo and saw the quiet encouragement in her eyes. Then he looked up at the coordinator. ‘If I – we – consented, would we ever find out the names – identities – of the people – who received Bruno’s organs?’

She nodded. ‘We can’t initially tell you any names – that depends on whether they or their families agree. But for sure you would be able to know just how many people – and where – were helped.’

Roy Grace nodded, trying to think clearly through his muzzy brain. ‘I’m sorry if I’m being forgetful, but can we go through the situation again as I understand it?’

‘We all understand how difficult this is for you. For anyone,’ Elizabeth said.

‘Thank you.’ His eyes were misting. ‘So, you need to keep Bruno on life support?’

‘That’s correct, yes,’ Dr Williams said. ‘We could maintain him on that for a short while.’

‘But the moment you took him off the support mechanisms, he would pass away fairly quickly?’

‘Correct, yes.’

‘So all of you agree that Bruno is brain dead?’ Cleo asked, partly resigned, partly disbelievingly, and partly just for it to sink in.

‘I’m afraid so,’ Williams said.

Grace sat in silence for some while, squeezing Cleo’s hand and feeling the pressure back. Thinking.

Sandy had vanished twelve years ago. He’d never even known she was pregnant. The last time he had seen her, she was lying in a High Dependency Unit in hospital in Munich, severely injured after being struck by a taxi, plumbed into a forest of life support and monitoring equipment.

Then she had died and left him with his challenging son, who, until that point, he had never known existed.

And now Bruno was lying, similarly, in England, after being struck by a car.

How had it come to this?

He looked up at Dr Williams, at Imelda Bray, at Charlotte Elizabeth. Like himself, he knew, these people were professionals who dealt with situations like this on a daily business. Just as he himself regularly talked to the loved ones of people who had been brutally murdered, for these three, this was just routine, however much they dressed it up with sympathy and understanding. They could have been door-to-door salespeople, he thought darkly for a moment, trying to flog him a vacuum cleaner or an insurance policy or double glazing. They were trying to sell him the idea of transplants. His son’s organs and other body parts.