‘Yes, I …’ Joe says. The clicking of Matt’s pen. The ticking of the clock. He reaches for his water and sips it, the ice cubes bobbing against his lips.

Either Matt knows, or everybody is a suspect, Joe is thinking, as he looks at Matt’s even features. Large eyes. A high forehead. Hair swept back like a Gillette advert. But he can’t know. Wouldn’t he arrest them if he did?

Sweat prickles under the neckline of Joe’s top. He narrows his eyes as they meet Matt’s. ‘Last night?’ he says, stalling.

‘Yes – what did you … do?’

‘The usual, you know, holiday stuff,’ Joe says. God, why can’t he think? Barbecue. They said a barbecue. But all Joe is thinking about is how he is choking. How he can’t seem to find any air. What time did the barbecue start? He can’t remember, and Matt will ask him. His mind is empty.

Matt lets a little laugh out of the side of his mouth. It’s contemptuous. ‘Can you be a little more specific?’ he says.

‘I was with my family.’

‘… yes.’

Joe can’t breathe for just a second. His throat seems to catch as he tries. Is there enough air in this room? His eyes dart to the closed window, the door that has a blue jacket hanging from it. He takes a stifled breath, moves his t-shirt’s neck away from his skin. Will’s dead eyes. His curled grey hands. The smell of the earth. Frannie, Frannie, Frannie. His littlest sister, who bought him a stone statue of his old cat Peanut that sits on his back-garden patio. Who buys the exact wine he likes for their Friday-night drinks, who sends him a photo of the bottle on the checkout in Sainsbury’s when she shops on Thursdays.

‘We do not have all day …’ Matt says.

Joe’s jaw twitches. ‘Amazingly enough, neither do I,’ he says tensely. Anxiety so easily converts to anger for him.

‘Why don’t you want to answer the question?’

‘I do,’ Joe says tightly. ‘I had a barbecue with my sisters. Pretty late.’ He surreptitiously tries to wipe the sweat off his upper lip with his finger. His stubble scratches against his skin. What if Matt knows everything about the document William had on him? Is waiting for Joe to say?

‘A barbecue,’ Matt says. ‘No wife? Girlfriend?’

‘She wanted an early night.’

‘Where did you have this barbecue?’

‘A little way from the villa.’

‘I see. Nice food? Wine?’

‘Yeah, all that.’

‘See anyone else?’

‘No. We had a salad-type meal, around five, with my sister’s baby, Paul. Then –’

‘Is this Catherine or Francesca?’

Joe freezes. So he knows his siblings.

‘Frannie,’ Joe says. And now it’s his turn to blush. There it is. He has spoken the name of the killer.

‘I am looking forward to interviewing her. So – your barbecue was after your dinner, yes? A second meal?’ That neutral expression again as he unpicks Joe’s lies as easily as pulling at a loose thread. Oh, you think you’re so fucking clever …