‘Bee, I need you to tell me the truth. The French equivalent to MI5 is in charge of this investigation now and I don’t want them on your doorstep. Do you know where Violette and Eddie are?’

‘She’s a scummy terrorist’s spawn and I hope she rots in hell. That’s all you need to know.’

Bish thought it best not to ask the question that was hovering. Was she in a relationship with Violette? Was his daughter secretly in love with Noor LeBrac’s daughter?

Saffron insisted he stay the night. Bee made a brief appearance at dinner for her sake, Bish presumed. Bee never extended her surliness to his mother. When Bish’s phone rang after the meal and Elliot’s name showed on the screen he was tempted to ignore it, and then he remembered that Grazier and whoever he worked for had a tape of a conversation between Violette and her grandmother. Had there been mention of Bee? He took the call.

‘Is there a reason you don’t answer your phone?’ Elliot asked.

‘Yes. I rarely want to speak to you.’

‘Grazier thinks the kids on the bus know more than they’re letting on,’ Elliot said.

‘Why would he think that?’

‘Because one of Grazier’s contacts is a journalist who was at the campground, and he overheard a girl talking about the night before the bombing. Said she saw something. When Grazier tried to set up an interview with the family he was told to go away.’

‘Who is she?’

‘The girl from Chichester.’

‘Greta,’ Bish said.

‘Can you look into it, seeing you’re on first-name terms with these kids?’

‘I’m not,’ Bish said. ‘It’s common courtesy to know their names. Referring to her as the girl from Chichester doesn’t exactly invite a relationship with the girl from Chichester’s parents.’

‘Then can you have a chat with Greta and find out if she saw or heard something the night before the bombing.’

Bish wanted something in return. He tried to sound casual about it. ‘By the way, did Grazier get that conversation translated? Between Violette and her grandmother?’

‘He did, and we’re trying to work out how to deal with it. We don’t want some of this stuff getting out.’

‘What stuff?’ Bish hadn’t meant his question to sound so much like a demand. He could feel Elliot hesitating.

‘Just talk to the kids and parents, Ortley. That’s what Grazier wants you to do.’

He joined his mother to watch the news. A teenage girl in Marseille had been threatened by a group of thugs wearing balaclavas outside a gymnasium. It was only through the intervention of a passer-by that she escaped without being hurt. She claimed that her assailants had mistaken her for Violette Zidane. Not that the girl looked anything like Violette, but she clearly didn’t have to.

‘How did Lucy Gilies put it?’ Saffron asked with bitterness. ‘The same sort of foreign. And then all you need is a social vigilante on Twitter who wants their hundred and forty characters of fame claiming to have seen her in the neighbourhood.’