Luc took a photo of his mother and long-dead father from his pocket and held it in front of Jenson’s face. His head drooped. Luc took him by the chin and held the photo in front of him once more. He knew what he was doing was wrong. Bruce Jenson wasn’t going to respond to anything he did. Sixty seconds after he left the room, his father’s boss of thirty-five years ago wouldn’t even remember that another human being had been in there with him.

Still, he couldn’t stop. The rape his mother had suffered had echoed through the years, the trauma so bad that she’d deserted Luc when he’d been falsely accused of the same offence. Jenson and Western had never had to pay for what they’d done.

Luc had done his best not to pursue them, telling himself the past was best left, knowing he would lose his temper – perhaps fatally – if he ever did come into contact with either man. But he’d just spent a week in Paris with his mother, and being back in France had brought back all the horrors of his own arrest and the loss of his career with Interpol.

He’d had to walk away from everything he held dear when an obsessed colleague had told the worst lie you could tell about a man, and yet his mother’s rapist was at liberty. Hard as he’d tried not to hunt down the two men who’d once run one of Edinburgh’s most successful furniture companies, he’d realised the battle was already lost. So here he was – using his police credentials to get inside a nursing home, where Bruce Jenson would die sooner or later – still wanting answers. Still craving vengeance.

‘Do you recognise them? Is there any part of you still in there? You wrecked her life, and then you wrecked mine. And the worst of it …’ Luc spat the words out, a sob coming from deep inside his throat as he tried to keep going. ‘The worst of it is that one of you bastards might just be my fucking father.’

Bruce Jenson’s mouth lifted at the corners. It was a coincidence, Luc told himself. Nothing more than an involuntary twitch. But hadn’t his eyes lifted a little higher at the same time, doing their best to meet Luc’s even if they hadn’t quite made it?

‘My father worked for you for years. He looked up to you, trusted you. You sent him out to pick up a broken-down truck during the Christmas party and together you raped my mother. Her name was Véronique Callanach, and if you smile this time, I swear I’ll choke the fucking life out of you.’