‘That’s our question,’ I said. ‘The police have a copy of this, by the way.’ I patted the dossier. ‘They’re very interested in the information we’ve given them.’

‘They can look into it as much as they want,’ Zac said. ‘It’ll take them about five minutes to confirm I was in prison. These things are well documented.’

Two haymakers in a row, and he hadn’t even flinched.

I said, ‘Shall we move on to the next question?’

‘Please, go right ahead, Chris.’

‘Why did you lie about working at Natural Opulence?’

Was he bored? He looked it.

He shook his head. ‘Again, not true.’

‘The logistics manager for Natural Opulence is –’

‘Olivia Jung.’

‘Olivia Jung,’ I said. ‘Not Zac Batista.’

He stubbed out his cigarette, got another, lit it, looked at Sarah, at me. ‘I believe I might have mentioned this, but I was sacked from the company in November, Chris. Olivia is my replacement.’

‘They’ve never even heard of you there. I phoned them.’

‘Who did you speak to?’

‘A young woman on reception.’

‘That was probably Clare. She started just after I left.’

‘Zac, none of this adds up,’ Sarah said. ‘Can you not see that?’

‘I’m just answering your questions,’ he said. ‘If I knew –’

I leant forwards. ‘Why are you posting someone else’s pictures on Instagram and claiming they’re yours?’

‘What?’

I started flicking through the dossier, trying to find the … ‘Just so you know, when we’re finished here, I’m sending all of this information to our mutual friends – Josh, Mel, Jacqui …’

‘It’s just Instagram,’ he said. ‘It’s phenomenology.’

What was …?

‘What’s that?’ Sarah said.

‘Oh, I forgot, you’re a medical practitioner not a philosopher.’

‘All your Facebook posts,’ I said.

He laughed. ‘Chris, this is quite the paranoid fantasy. You think the police give a shit about my Facebook account?’

Sophie. Oliver. The weight of evidence.

I played my wild card, the big bluff, had no choice. ‘Why did you lie about your mum dying in a hotel fire?’

Bang, take that – a winning blow. He looked at the ground, nodded reluctantly, looked up. Shit. Was he crying? ‘That’s also not true, Chris.’ He got his fingers under his lenses, rubbed his eyes.

I looked at Sarah, she looked at me. Was Zac’s mother one of the sixteen unnamed victims? Had I fucked this up?

‘Her death’s on the public record,’ he said, voice wavering. ‘I can show you that. And for what it’s worth, which is clearly nothing, that’s deeply offensive for you to bring up.’

Sarah leant in. ‘Oh, Zac …’

No, Sarah, back off, tears were good – I could work with those. ‘More offensive than pretending your mum’s been flambéed?’

‘Chris,’ Sarah said. ‘Look, Zac, some of the things we’re telling you are –’

‘Have you touched my kids?’ I asked.

Boom.