‘You have all the hallmarks of someone with a dissociative identity disorder,’ Gessen said, keeping his voice steady. No need to antagonise Vidor any more than necessary. If he stomped out of the room in a rage, it might take weeks to reel him back to a place where he would listen to reason. ‘Quite rare, but it’s definitely legitimate. It’s unfortunate that a few notorious cases have been misrepresented by the media. The condition typically arises after trauma as a protective mechanism. Childhood trauma in most cases.’

Vidor’s face, cast in shadow, could have been carved from stone. ‘I experienced no trauma as a child.’

‘You lost your father at the age of six. I would call that a trauma.’

Vidor’s chin jerked up, and the blood drained from his face.

He must be wondering how this fact had come to light, Gessen mused, having fought so hard to hide the truth of his father’s betrayal.

‘Many children lose a parent at a young age,’ Vidor said smoothly, as if nothing were amiss. ‘Are you telling me that all of them grow up to have a split personality?’

‘Of course not. But on the face of it, it’s a perfectly logical defence mechanism. The traumatised ego…’

Vidor held up his hands. ‘Spare me your jargon. Where’s your proof?’

Proof he had, fortunately, in the form of a video of Vidor narrating memories that belonged to the boy named Malik. But a stalling tactic might be a better way forward. Cornering Vidor felt akin to stalking a fox. Best to hunker down in the tall grass and let the quarry come to him. Later, if all else failed, he would show Vidor the video of himself as Malik describing his memories in French. But not today. If it was a true case of dissociative identity, it would come as a shock. But if Vidor was fully conscious of his deception, he would prevaricate and bluster. Or claim, for instance, that he was just having a bit of fun. If Gessen’s tactic backfired, it could set Vidor’s recovery back by months.