‘Yes, you would.’

‘Not mine. The only guilt I’ve ever felt is for catching Etienne LeBrac’s eye in the cafeteria of St John’s College and ruining his life by association,’ she said. ‘I’m talking about yours.’

He stood to leave.

‘You feel guilty because you weren’t on that beach to save him.’

Her words gutted him.

‘Your ex-wife feels guilty because she thinks she’s not going to love her new child as much as she loved your son. And your daughter feels guilty that she’s not dead and her brother is. So who’s the better detective here?’

‘Shut up.’ He spat the words out before he could stop himself. It got a reaction from those around them. A guard was walking towards them. LeBrac waved the man away.

‘It’s why I can’t hand over the letter from Violette, Chief Inspector Ortley,’ she said, unfazed by the fury he directed at her. ‘Because she didn’t write about a bomb going off outside Calais. She wrote about the people she met and the secrets they shared with her. Are you prepared for whoever you’re working for to know that Bee didn’t compete in track meets for two years because she was cutting herself and wouldn’t be able to hide the scars? Or that the reason she couldn’t be angry with her mother for having an affair with her school principal was because it seemed to make your ex-wife happy, when everyone else was so broken?’

‘Are you finished?’ he asked.

‘No, not just yet, Chief Inspector Ortley,’ she said. ‘You’re drunk. I can smell it from where I’m sitting, like I always can when you visit. And you’re slurring your words. It makes me sick to the stomach. But the thing is, you’re the best of a bad bunch. So whatever you believe gets you through the day has to stop. Because you’ve got it wrong. I have absolutely no idea where my daughter is, and there are people out there attacking kids with lead pipes. Kids who look like Violette and Eddie. And every time I see your face in this place I think you’re here to tell me my daughter’s dead.’

The wailing got worse and Noor LeBrac stood and walked towards the pregnant girl, pushing through the guards. Wordlessly, she held out a hand and the girl allowed herself to be led away.

Bish should have been angry to see Rachel sitting on the front step of his flat when he got home, but concern for her overrode it.

‘You’ll get piles,’ he said, putting the key in the lock.

‘I’m pregnant at forty-six, Bish. Piles are the least of my health issues.’

He held out a hand and she took it, groaning as she got to her feet.

‘Are you hiding the spare key from me?’ she asked.

‘Bee’s got it.’

‘You know, a welcome mat would work a treat out here,’ she told him.

‘Yet welcoming people into my home is the last thing I want to do.’