Lapointe yelped as Bannerman grabbed his lapels and banged him up against the window. The reporter’s face was very close to his. Lapointe could smell his hatred. ‘It’s a long way down. You’re going to make a hell of a mess on the pavement.’ The glass bowed as Bannerman pushed him harder against it.

‘No!’ Lapointe screamed. ‘I’ll tell you. Anything you want to know!’

‘You tried to have me killed last night.’

‘Yes, yes. It was Jansen. He phoned me last night, after you had been to the house. He said we had to get rid of you and I should attend to it. He was going to the Bahamas until things cooled off.’ He broke into French and Bannerman slapped his face.

‘English! Speak in English! Did the old woman know?’

‘No.’

‘She told me her son tells her everything.’

‘She . . . she’s an old fool. He only told her what he wanted her to know. There are lots of things she knows nothing about.’ But he knew that was only half the truth.

‘Who killed Gryffe and Slater?’

‘I don’t know.’ Bannerman pushed harder and the glass creaked. ‘Jesus, God, I don’t know! I swear. We knew nothing about it until we heard it on the news. My God, please believe me.’

‘I don’t!’ Bannerman felt his frustration coiling up inside him. His raised voice seemed to fill the room. He pushed again and the glass cracked from top to bottom. He was within a fraction of an inch of killing this man.

‘I swear!’ Lapointe screamed in terror and was then reduced to a pitiful hysterical sobbing. Bannerman eased off and let him go, and the man slumped to his knees. Bannerman’s voice cracked as he spoke and he felt tears welling in his eyes. He thought about the child lying bleeding on the concourse at the airport, her hand slipping into his in the car. He needed someone to take all that out on. A target for his hate and anger and bitterness. But not even Lapointe could provide that.

‘What about the gunman in Flanders?’

Lapointe’s head came up slowly, tears coursing down his face. It was plain that he had no idea what Bannerman was talking about. ‘I’m sorry,’ he sobbed. ‘Please, I’m so sorry.’

The door opened and Bannerman looked round to see the weary figure of du Maurier standing in the doorway.

‘Madame Jansen said you might be here,’ he said. He looked at Lapointe. ‘What has he told you?’

‘That Jansen got him to arrange to have me killed last night.’

‘And what else?’

‘Nothing!’

The Inspector moved across the room and helped Lapointe to his feet. He turned back to Bannerman. ‘Do you still believe that Jansen was responsible for what happened at the Rue de Pavie?’

There was a long silence. Then Bannerman sighed. ‘No,’ he said reluctantly. ‘I don’t.’