We have a little staring game, which I obviously win, as he draws a breath in and starts talking.

‘DH Biotech was formed by Didier Hoffman with the intention of finding a cure for MS. Over the years they did a lot of research and got several drugs into stage-three clinical trials. Unfortunately none of them passed. It’s a rigorous process and the fail rate is high across the board. It can take years to get a drug to market; the amount of testing that has to go into any drug is phenomenal, and costs considerable amounts of money. Each new compound you’re testing is a lottery, because it can fail at any stage during the process. Obviously the further through the process you are the more has been invested. Failure can therefore be very costly.’

A brief look at their accounts had shown they were a very profitable business, with the exception of one financial year where they posted a loss of several million euros. Which was presumably linked to the shit-storm Patrick Wust had mentioned.

‘And that’s what happened?’

Muller looks out of the window, though I can’t see what it is that’s suddenly caught his eye. On one of the shelves I spot a series of photos of him. One in particular strikes me. In it Muller stands wearing an expensively cut pinstripe suit, his hair blond and cut short. He’s shaking another man’s hand whilst accepting a small trophy. The other man is the old mayor, Sven Nuis. Both of them have politicians’ smiles plastered all over their faces.

‘I don’t know. If you’d done your homework, then you’d know I left the board a year or so before that.’

‘You left one year after.’

Yeah, I have done my homework. A silence settles into the room. I’m comfortable with it, but I think Muller’s less so. Because by lying to me he’s opened up a crack which is now impossible to close.

‘Well, what does it matter? And once again you seem to be floundering, just like you did when you were in charge of investigating my Lucie’s death. I’ve half a mind to throw you out right now.’

I shift in my seat and wait for him to see the reality of the situation: he’s in a wheelchair and I’ve got a large dog. Throwing me out is not on the menu today. I notice he’s gripping the arms of his wheelchair with scalloped knuckles.

‘I’m just trying to get to the truth, sometimes that takes me on tangents. But sometimes those tangents are what get the case solved.’

‘What are you trying to say?’ he finally asks.

‘The details of your daughter’s death were kept out of the press, only a handful of people knew them, aside from the killer himself.’

‘So?’