Weak, but better than nothing.

‘Do you know anything more about Violette LeBrac and her companion?’ the journalist persisted.

‘I’m just here as a father of one of the students on board the bus. I’m not privy to talk about the investigation.’

‘Not even about the fugitive suspects?’ another asked.

‘Well, I’d hardly call them fugitive suspects,’ Bish said. ‘They are persons of interest.’

He went to lead his mother away, but it was not going to be that easy.

‘What was Violette’s relationship with the other students?’

‘Does your daughter believe Violette’s a terrorist, Chief Inspector Ortley?’

‘Are you able to offer advice to the families of the dead, having experienced it yourself?’

He stiffened, clenched his fist. Advice on how to deal with your child’s death? The next question involving his family would result in his second assault charge for the month.

‘This is a difficult time for the families involved,’ Saffron said, taking his hand. ‘They’ve expressed their gratitude for all the well wishes, but they’ve also emphatically asked that you give them space. That’s the advice I’d give on how to deal with families who have lost so much.’

Bish’s hunch about Jocelyn Shahbazi had paid off. While scouring CCTV that afternoon, Elliot caught a glimpse of Violette and Eddie coming out of St John’s Wood Tube station, a couple of minutes’ walk from the Shahbazi home. It confirmed that the two hadn’t just arrived from France: the footage was four days old.

Jocelyn’s husband was the son of a Tehran-born banker. The story was that Ali Shahbazi saw Jocelyn Bayat at the wedding of his housekeeper’s son and went courting the very next day. He was considered the simpleton of his family, the one most likely to be tied to his father’s purse strings, but a few shrewd investments soon had him running his own show. Some said it had to do with an ambitious wife who had come from nothing, without whose consent Ali never made a decision. If true, her influence had made him wealthier now than his parents had ever been.

Jocelyn was wary when she saw Bish and Elliot at her front door. ‘My husband will be home any minute and I’d advise you to be gone by then.’

She went to shut the door, but Elliot was too fast and held it open with the flat of his hand. ‘If you don’t let us in, Mrs Shahbazi, we’ll come back with a search warrant.’

‘Really? Because if a police car so much as drives up to my gate I will call our lawyer. I will call The Guardian. I will call anyone interested in your practice of interrogating people based on their race.’

Bish removed Elliot’s hand from the door. ‘Mrs Shahbazi,’ he said, ‘my daughter was on that bus in Calais. Her name is Bee and she’s worried sick. What’s happened to Violette and the boy is affecting more people than you think. We’re not here to cause trouble.’