Her voice, clear and penetrating with remnants of her native Mancunian vowels, silenced the murmurs almost immediately. She’d done a couple of these talks before, but never to so many people. The trick was to stay distant while looking sympathetic, to be thoughtful, but not to think too much. And to remember this was a performance.

‘I’m Detective Superintendent Gabriel, from Scotland Yard’s counter terrorism unit, and I am heading up the investigation into what’s happened here today.’ She paused, more for effect than anything.

‘Please, let me start by saying I’m truly sorry for your losses and what you’ve all gone through. I can’t begin to understand how you must be feeling. I appreciate this will be tough, but my colleagues will need to ask you questions about what happened here. We’ll try to keep it as brief as possible.’

She paused again. Stay on autopilot, she told herself. Stay professional.

‘What happened today was an act of evil. We know who has committed this crime and we are doing everything in our powers to find him and bring him to justice. It’s looking like this was racially motivated and we’re treating this as a potential terrorist attack.’

She paused to let them absorb what she was saying. The silence was dense and uncomfortable. ‘I’m afraid I won’t have time to speak to each of you in person, but each family here will be given their own family liaison officer. They’ll be your point of contact with us and they’ll help keep you informed with what’s happening over the next few days and in the next few months. They’re here to help you – please use them and speak to them about anything linked to what has happened here.

‘I’ll pass you over to the victim liaison team in a moment, who’ll explain what we’d like to do next. But first, do any of you have any questions?’

A teenage girl with pretty brown eyes raised her left hand. She was sat with another girl of a similar age.

‘Please,’ said Gabriel.

The girl hesitated. ‘I just wanted to know something about when we go home from here, when we go back to our families…’ she said in a numbed voice.

‘Yes?’

‘Will we be safe?’ Again, the silence. Gabriel waited for a few seconds.

‘What is your name?’

‘Zahra.’ Gabriel sensed the girl had been about to add ‘Miss’ but had stopped herself in time. ‘My mother and brother…’ She couldn’t finish.

Gabriel studied the girl. Her coat was neatly folded on the table and she was dressed in a pink and black patterned jumper. Her large eyes were rimmed with red. She wore an elegant grey and silver hijab. How old was she? Fifteen? Sixteen?

Gabriel’s heart felt like it had been stifled. There was something about this girl. For a second, the invisible shield she’d erected before her, the shield that let her stay detached and distant, a shield created not from cynicism but from Gabriel’s fear of unleashing everything she’d tried to bury, finally fell.