‘No, we don’t think so. But we believe she could help us with an ongoing investigation. She’s not in any trouble, as far as we know.’

The woman nodded, seemed to consider her options. He watched as she took her time. He liked that in a person. Observe all, judge nothing. Who said that? He’d forgotten, but it had always struck him as a sound philosophy. Make no judgement, until you get to the point where you simply have to judge. The skill is knowing when you’ve got there.

He looked at her eyes. They were brown, almost black, and he wondered if she was already judging him, whether her measured, courteous manner was simply a means of hiding her prejudices. He’d been in and around universities enough as a detective to know that they were full of judgemental types, especially when it came to coppers.

‘Perhaps someone else will know who she is.’

‘Another department?’

‘Yeah, but which one? Which ones!’ She paused, thought about it. ‘You know, I have a better idea. Can I?’ she said, gesturing to the phone. ‘I’ll send it to myself, is that all right?’

No. Not really. The image was not his. He couldn’t really copy and disseminate it. On the other hand, this was a missing person case.

‘Legally, I mean…’ he began.

‘I understand. I will ask Brian to look at it, then delete it? Is that good enough?’

‘Brian?’

‘Brian Summers. He is the Chief Administrator for the Faculty. He’ll do what I ask him.’

I bet he bloody will, he managed not to say.

She took the phone, tapped the screen a few times, then reached for her own phone from her back pocket. With a telephone in each hand she made a call.

‘Brian? It’s Claudette. Ça va? Oui, oui, merci! A quick question. We have a photo and we have no idea which student it is. Could you take a look? Then delete the image, y’know, because of Data Protection?’

She listened for a moment. Joe imagined a fifty-something administrator at the other end of the line, running a hand through his thinning hair and dribbling at the thought of doing his favourite French lectrice a favour. The Data Protection Act would never have come into the equation.

‘OK, merci beaucoup, Brian!’ she said, handing Joe his phone and ending the call on hers. ‘So, what were you doing in Lyon?’

‘Interpol.’

‘Now that is interesting!’

‘It was mainly paperwork.’

He’d never been one for bubbly conversation, but he felt it more acutely now. Mainly paperwork? Just how thoroughly could he talk himself down?

She seemed to read his mind.

‘But bilingual paperwork, no?’

He nodded, wracking his brain for something witty to say, just to keep her talking.

Her phone rang before anything came to mind.