Instead he removed the image of Ahmed Khateb from his notebook. ‘Can you look at this photo again? Khateb lived in North London in 2002. Could he be a threat to Violette?’

She stared at the photo. Shook her head. ‘I don’t know this man.’

There seemed nothing else to say, but he didn’t want to leave.

‘How did the kids seem to you?’ he asked.

‘They’re tired. I told her . . . to take Eddie home where he belongs. But she’s a bit of a mess, my Violette is. Deep down she needs to feel convinced that Etienne didn’t desert her on that rock. That’s what happens when they stick you in a cupboard, lock you up. You start to believe all the lies and you don’t know what the truth is anymore. You don’t know who you are.’

‘I can only help Violette if I know where she is,’ he said. ‘If she’s working out how to get to Malham Cove, where could she be staying now? Would she be with Lelouche?’

‘She wouldn’t tell me where she was staying. But it wasn’t with Bilal.’ Noor took Bish’s pen and wrote down an address in his notebook. ‘He has a restaurant in Shepherd’s Bush. If Khateb was living in these parts in 2002, Bilal may have known him. He might also be able to tell you where Violette is, but I’m presuming she’s long gone from him.’

He walked to the door but her voice stopped him. ‘When Eddie was sitting before me, Etienne’s spirit was dancing there between us. I felt it. Here.’ She pressed a fist to her chest. ‘Make peace with your ex-wife’s life, Chief Inspector. Because her son will have some of your boy’s essence and it could bring you joy. How could it not?’

Officer Lorna Vasquez was at the desk when Bish asked for his belongings. ‘Looking forward to getting back to the mailroom?’ he asked. He couldn’t imagine her finding satisfaction working alongside Gray and Farrington.

She retrieved a form for him to sign. ‘Strange place to be, the mailroom,’ she said. ‘All that private business between people. All the lies and the promises. The hate mail. All the marriage proposals.’

He signed and she handed him his phone. ‘But every month a letter arrives from Violette. Boy, can that kid write a letter. The kind any mother would want to receive. About the farm, the sunshine, the dog, the horse, the grandmother and grandfather, the crying, the hope. I know every lad she’s ever had a crush on, every kid who’s called her names. I know every confession she’s made to her mother, and every promise. Nothing delusional about that kid. I tell you what, Chief Inspector Ortley, if a girl like that looks you in the eye and hopes you won’t recognise who she is, you give her everything she wants. Because she deserves it.’

Gray chose that moment to appear. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked, picking up the mood between them.