‘It’s not! Two men are searching Alex’s room. Who is accused of what?’

‘May I come in?’ he said.

She let him into the hall and followed in the wake of his lemon-smelling aftershave.

‘I’m sorry it looks this way,’ he said.

The rage she felt was dull, like boredom, it had no edge of nerves.

‘“Looks”? Can I say, this whole –’ she gestured ‘– thing, it’s just –’ the only word she could think of was merde. ‘It’s just shit,’ she said, in English. ‘It’s just total fucking shit.’

She smelled scorched coffee from the pot she’d left on the cooker.

‘Something burning?’ said Vincent.

‘Hold on.’

She went into the kitchen. It was bubbling around the seam, and the smell mixed with melting rubber.

‘Fucking shit,’ said Bea. ‘Shit.’ She switched off the gas and took hold of the black handle with a tea towel, and poured the thick, burnt coffee into the cups.

‘Can I help you?’ asked Vincent, in the doorway behind her.

‘No,’ said Bea. She stopped fumbling with the slippery coffee cups, and the stupid plates, and turned to face him. Her pain welled up. ‘He said murder,’ she said. ‘That one upstairs.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why didn’t anyone tell us? No one’s said anything.’

He didn’t answer. She thought she would begin to scream, but instead, she just shook her head, picked up the tray, and went past him. He held the fire door open for her. She took the coffee and biscuits upstairs, and Vincent followed. At Alex’s door he leaned past her shoulder, and knocked.

‘Al-lô?’ he said cheerfully.

Lecuyer opened the door, and took the tray, smiling. ‘Thanks a lot!’

‘Excuse me,’ said Vincent and went inside.

They closed the door on her. She heard them talking. She had the impression Vincent was reprimanding them, but she couldn’t be sure. She wouldn’t listen at a closed door. She went downstairs again and checked her phone. There were no texts from Dan. Vincent came out of Alex’s room and down the stairs.

‘It’s kind of you, to make them coffee,’ he said. ‘They’re working very hard.’

‘I don’t care about them. I’m just being civilised,’ said Bea.

‘I understand,’ he said.

She opened the desk drawer and took out Alex’s notebook with the blue cloth cover and handed it to him.

‘What’s this?’ he said, taking it.

‘You’re investigating a murder,’ she said.

Above them, they could hear things being moved in Alex’s room.

‘Alex made notes in there,’ she said. ‘People’s names, and numbers. It might help.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And what about the farmers, the Orderbrechts?’

He had a knack of appearing deaf. He opened the notebook and looked down at Alex’s handwriting.

‘Do you know who they are?’ she said. ‘Or are you just looking at the family?’

He looked up. ‘Which family?’

‘Mine.’