‘Bullivant? The man’s a one-off. He’s a very effective copper. “Driven” doesn’t do the man justice. He’s been in and out of the Major Crimes set-up for most of his career but just now he’s attached down here.’

‘Age?’

‘Early fifties, and that’s the point really. He’ll be retiring early next year and I know he wants to go out with a bang. This job fell into his lap. He’ll never keep it out of Major Crimes, not the way it’s going, but I’ll bet he’ll bloody try.’

‘Major Crimes? You’re serious?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘So, you have found her?’

‘No, and that’s significant, believe me. We’ve put a lot of resources into the sea search. You can never be absolutely sure, but the odds are huge.’

‘Against what?’

‘That she ever went swimming.’

‘You think he’s lying?’

‘Yes.’

‘So, you think she’s still alive?’

‘No. Given the background, what we know from the GP, from McFaul himself, we accept she’s probably dead. What we need just now is a body. And some kind of steer to what might have happened.’ He bends to the pad again and reaches for his pen. ‘We always start with a timeline. Helps no end. We have multiple sightings of her last Saturday, some of them walking with you. McFaul reported her missing on Monday night. That leaves Sunday and most of Monday. Exactly where were you over those two days?’

‘I went back to London,’ I say at once.

‘You can prove that?’

‘Of course. Talk to my son. His name’s Malo. He was there in the flat when I got home. On Monday, there’s someone else you might talk to. Sylvester Penny. I took him and Malo to supper. Mezze. Holland Park Avenue. You want the number?’

I fetch out my phone, and give him the name of the owner, too. Brett writes all this down, then glances up.

‘So, when did you last see Ms Beaucarne?’

‘Christianne?’ I’m thinking hard. ‘It would have been Sunday, before I left for London, we would have said goodbye. Wrong. I’m wrong. McFaul said she was in bed, asleep. Rough night, I think, or maybe flu. I left it at that.’

‘So, the last time you saw her …?’

‘Saturday. We spent most of the day together, ended up in a pub called The Feathers. After that I walked her home. That’s when I really began to notice.’

‘Notice?’

‘The little things. The way her balance was starting to go. The way she didn’t trust herself with a glass or a cup. Just a hint of slurring when she talked. At the time you put it down to a million things, especially when you’ve been in the pub, but now …’ I frown, angry at not drawing the right conclusions earlier.