‘The Home Secretary is making the decisions there, not the guards,’ Grazier said. ‘Push LeBrac. If anyone knows where her daughter’s heading, she does.’

At Holloway late that afternoon, Bish was forced to wait. Officer Gray wasn’t happy. Why wasn’t the general visits hall being used for LeBrac? Why did a police inspector from the MET think he could just walk in any time he chose? Bish watched Allison from the Visitors’ Centre hold up a faxed document.

‘Because this says so.’

Grazier was thorough, if nothing else. But that didn’t stop Officer Gray taking his time sending out his staff to locate LeBrac.

‘It’s been forty-five minutes,’ Bish said, after listening to Gray give priority to the repair of the foyer’s vending machine and to taking a phone interview from a journalist about the authenticity of Orange is the New Black.

‘So you think LeBrac’s just waiting in her cell for you to pop by and say hello?’ Gray said.

‘No, but I think she’s waiting to learn if her kid’s dead or not, so it would be in your best interest to find out if she’s hanged herself yet.’

It was another fifteen minutes before he was taken to the same interview room as before. A nurse sat outside. She stood when she saw Bish and Gray approach.

‘Do we need to prepare for anything?’ she asked.

A sedative, in case LeBrac’s daughter was dead? Restraints? A priest or an imam? Did any of those things work in the case of tragedy?

Bish shook his head.

He watched Noor LeBrac through the one-way mirror, and it was as if she knew the exact moment he was there. Could have sworn she was staring him right in the eye. When he entered the room she stumbled to her feet, the question all over her face. She was breathing raggedly but deeply, as if she believed that more air would save her from the despair of hearing her child was dead.

‘It’s not her,’ he said immediately, because he knew it was all she wanted to hear. Her legs buckled and Bish’s hand snaked out to grab her. He sat her back down on the chair and gently pushed her head between her legs, then waited in silence as she regained her breath.

‘Where could she be, Noor?’ he asked firmly.

She didn’t respond. When she had recovered she sat up. ‘Did you see my brother?’

He nodded and she said, ‘Tell me what you know.’

Would sharing information with Noor LeBrac invite her trust and lead to some revelation about Violette in return? Could it be that easy? He told her that a pressure-cooker bomb had been placed in a backpack in the overheard compartment, killing three kids and two adults. There were two amputees and one victim who’d lost an eye. And there were others, like his daughter, who walked away without a scratch.

The fragile woman from moments before was gone. One unimpressed look said it all. No, Bish. It wasn’t going to be that easy.