‘L’inspecteur en chef?’Attal asked with more than a hint of hostility.

Before Bish could introduce himself, Attal cut him off. ‘Not need d’inspecteur en chef anglais.’

Bish shook his head. Pointed back to the hall. ‘My fille. Sabina.’

‘Passport?’ the man demanded.

Bish bristled, but retrieved his passport from his pocket and handed it to Attal, who studied it.

‘Bashir Ortley.’

Bish wasn’t interested in explaining his family history right now.

The capitaine pointed back to the bombsite. ‘Vous connaissez les noms?’

Bish shook his head, confused. He had a very basic understanding of French. Didn’t know what the man was asking, and contemplated a search for Saffron to translate.

‘Les morts?’

Dead. Did Bish know who the dead were? He was about to shake his head again, but remembered the list in his pocket. He handed it to Attal, pointing to the names beside ‘Unaccountable’ and then showing him the roughly sketched seating plan.

The capitaine studied the page and pointed to two names, their age, their gender. Bish had to congratulate the scribe, whoever it was, for going into such detail. Attal was making a match. Two males. One aged in his thirties, the other fifteen. A student named Michael Stanley and a teacher named Julius McEwan. Bish’s heart sank. With their names came the thought of family, friends, schoolmates, colleagues, teammates, neighbours . . .

Bish saw Attal stiffen as he scanned further down the list.

‘Merde.’

That word Bish did understand, and he knew exactly what Attal was referring to. Couldn’t agree more. Bee’s tour of Normandy had included the granddaughter of Louis Sarraf, the man responsible for killing twenty-three people, and himself, in the Brackenham bombing over thirteen years ago. Violette LeBrac Zidane’s mother, Noor LeBrac, confessed to making the bomb and was now serving a life sentence.

‘Où est-elle?’ Attal pointed to the name. Repeated the question.

Bish shrugged. A universal gesture. He had no idea where she was, but as a copper he understood what Attal was thinking. Violette Zidane could have been the intended target of this morning’s carnage. The girl needed to be found sooner rather than later. Bish and Attal struggled through their language barrier for a couple minutes more until they both gave up. The only fact Bish was able to comprehend was that the body at the steps of the other bus belonged to a Spanish girl.

Bish went in search of Gorman or Lucy Gilies, hoping they could reveal the whereabouts of Violette Zidane. He knew that one of them would have to identify the bodies of Michael Stanley and Julius McEwan, and that once the embassy staff arrived the families of the dead could be notified. He hoped this would all happen before those families came looking for their loved ones. Among the parents who had already turned up, one couple had been sent to the Boulogne hospital where their injured son had been taken. Still, better that than Attal’s temporary headquarters on site and waiting for the right person to tell them the devastating truth.