‘We let people die all the time. Bullshit wars whenever the price of oil demands it. Tobacco. Processed sugar. Air pollution. Pandemics. Death is a measure of how we live. It’s part of the equation. It’s maths. That’s why I was chosen, don’t you see? Because I understand the significance of it.’

‘Not murder. We draw the line at…’

‘Sending young men and women to Iraq and Afghanistan is murder.’

‘I’m with you on…’

‘Stop trying to be the liberal male, you chump!’ she said, laughing, but on the verge of tears.

He relaxed, just a little, and tried his best to look crestfallen. He had her now, although he wasn’t sure how long she was going to last in this state.

Arrest her now? No. One last push. Get some details.

‘What kind of solution is yours? Killing Jason Beverage? How did that come about?’

She clasped her empty wine glass with both hands, until it seemed that it might shatter.

‘You know what’s trending on Twitter? One-sixty-six.’

He nodded.

‘When all the police stuff is over with, have I not saved the world from a modicum of future pain?’

‘Beverage was younger than my son. Little more than a kid.’

‘Rapist-cum-thief and drug dealer. He even managed to do all three together: drug ’em, rape ’em, rob ’em! What are the chances he would have reformed, become a model citizen? It’s maths, see?’

‘Tell me what happened with Jason.’

‘The whole thing was out of my control. It was as if I was watching. And I felt nothing. Ruthless, that’s the word: without sorrow, without compassion. I felt no sorrow for his death. Or the other one. Craig.’

‘I understand what you must have been through.’

‘No, no. Really you don’t. It’s the rightness of feeling no compassion that’s the strange thing. You can’t possibly know. It’s weird. It can’t be right. But it is. It is right.’

‘Chris, we know what happened to you.’

She shook her head, harder and harder, until she looked like a young girl desperate to convince you of her innocence.

‘You’re a good man. I could see that the moment we met. But a good man can’t understand this.’

He wondered how long he should wait before mentioning it. A double murderer, but he felt deeply ashamed for the pain he was about to cause her. Meanwhile, she looked around the dining room, watching as another couple wandered in and got settled at a table.

‘I read the report on your son’s death.’

She sat forward, rested her chin on her hands.

‘Did it make you cry?’

He nodded. He felt like crying now, for her, for everything.

But she wasn’t crying. Her eyes were wide open, unwavering, unhinged. He could see that now. Mad and desperate, yet defiant.