‘But if you had said no, your son could have been on the back of someone else’s bike, couldn’t he.’

‘Yes, Mrs Campbell, he could. Death can be swift and random and there is little we can do about that. We’re not God.’

‘I’m very sorry about your son. A parent never ever gets over losing a child. We carry the loss on with us as part of our everyday lives, don’t we? Always there, but unseen.’

Blythe met her eyes briefly. How aptly she described the beginning of each and every day. They smiled at each other bleakly and then Blythe lifted his glass of beer. ‘To your future, Mrs Campbell.’

Fleur lifted her juice. ‘And to yours, Inspector Blythe.’

Blythe hesitated. ‘I heard this morning that your daughter’s body is ready for release. Sergeant Mohktar and I will accompany you to the mortuary when you are ready.’

Fleur closed her eyes. ‘Oh, thank God. We can take her home. I also want to get Nikki safely back to New Zealand. She is over the deadline for flying.’

‘You will accompany her to New Zealand?’

‘Of course, Inspector. Is my daughter’s body still in Kuala Lumpur?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would it be possible to choose a coffin here, in Malaysia, and take her on the flight with us?’

‘We will need to get clearance and the right forms, but of course…I am sure the authorities expect it…Will you bury her in New Zealand or England, Mrs Campbell?’

‘I need to talk to Nikki, but I have a feeling she will want to have her buried in New Zealand, somewhere close by. Twins, especially identical ones, are often symbiotic, Inspector Blythe. The strange bond between them can be alarming sometimes. In life, their need for each other is often greater than their need for anyone else. I am not at all sure this ends with the death of one of them.’

Inspector Blythe looked out of his depth. She smiled at his face. He was afraid of places she might take him and he certainly did not want to go.

‘You will be going home too, Inspector?’

‘Yes. I will go on working on the case from London…’ His mobile phone made them both jump. ‘Excuse me.’ He got up to go to the window.

‘I don’t care what rank he is,’ Fleur heard him say. ‘Or whether he is entitled to anonymity under the Northern Ireland terrorism act. Go through the appropriate channels. When I get back I want to interview everyone living who stayed in Port Dickson at that time…no exceptions. Is that understood?’

‘Sorry,’ he said to Fleur as he put the phone back in his pocket. ‘Now, I must go and find my sergeant.’

‘I can see them walking back now,’ Fleur said.

Blythe gathered up his papers and put them in his cardboard file. He stopped and mopped his brow. Fleur, watching, thought how hot and out of place he looked; an English bear of a man. He bore little resemblance to the young, eager military policeman whose life of solving crimes lay ahead of him in 1976.