‘You came all the way across the world and didn’t tell your uncle, who lives not even half an hour’s drive from here. Why?’

‘That’s my business.’

Post sat back down and took over the questioning. ‘Tell us where you were last night, Violette.’

‘Don’t answer that, Violette,’ Bish said.

‘Do you want us to ask Eddie, Violette?’ Post said, ignoring Bish. ‘We can interview him again. Take him away. Or maybe head down to La Forge Salle de Boxe on Rue Delacroix. Haven’t had the pleasure of meeting your Uncle Jimmy. But was always impressed with the skill he had with the ball.’

Violette’s hand clenched. ‘I was with Charlie Crombie,’ she finally answered. ‘He’ll vouch for me.’

Braithwaite gave a small laugh. ‘Charlie’s got a new interest, Violette. Some of the other students have seen him snogging the girl from Worthing. She’s all pale and pretty. The type of girl he can bring home to the Reverend Crombie.’

‘I don’t think our Charlie likes dirty little girls like you, Violette,’ Post added.

Bish had had enough. He stood up. ‘This interview is over,’ he told the men. ‘Let’s go, Violette.’

‘Charlie knows all about your family, Violette,’ Post said. ‘He knows you ended up in a prison cell with them that day. Did you know that your family were heard laughing in that cell? Do you want to know what the headlines were the next day, Violette? “The Sarraf family share a joke while Brackenham buries its dead.”’

Bish held out a hand to her, but she seemed fixed in her seat, staring at Post.

They heard the heavy footsteps first and then the angry French voices. Attal burst into the room with two of his officers. A fiery exchange took place in French between Attal’s men and the British Intelligence duo. Bish imagined it centred on who was going to take Violette away for questioning. That’s when he noticed her tears. Remembered them from another time, thirteen years ago.

‘She stays here until proper legal representation arrives,’ he said.

Braithwaite looked at him. ‘You’re not in charge here.’

‘Why don’t we ask the Home Secretary who’s in charge here?’ Bish removed his phone from his pocket and pressed Elliot’s number. ‘She might want to have a word with the Foreign Minister. Isn’t that who you answer to?’

He put the phone on speaker, praying that Elliot wasn’t still the delusional bastard he had been at school. Finally he had everyone’s attention. Post reached over for Bish’s passport, which remained on the table.

‘Strange name for a Brit,’ he said, showing Braithwaite. ‘We’ll be seeing you again, Bashir Ortley.’ He threw the passport down before casually walking out.

Bish hung up. Saffron was at the door, concern in her expression.

Attal rattled off something, fast and furious.

‘He wants her for interviewing,’ Saffron translated.

‘Tell him the anglais want to take their children home,’ Bish said. ‘Starting now. And when someone arrives for Violette, he can ask her whatever he wants.’