‘You say the family, as if they are not your family. Why is that?’

‘I’m trying to be dispassionate,’ she said, looking for the French ‘impartial’ but her mind wouldn’t behave, just normal thinking was like trying to talk over a crowd.

‘I can’t discuss details with you,’ he said.

‘Do you know who did it?’

She knew it was a stupid question. She felt him staring at her.

‘Do you?’ she said again. Her throat felt narrow, like being choked.

‘Are you all right?’ he said.

‘Who did it?’ Her lungs had gone. She couldn’t move to get the air in.

‘Sit down,’ said Capitaine Vincent.

He helped her to the chair behind the desk. She leaned forward, sick to her stomach. She shut her eyes but saw Alex, dead. She smelled blood. She saw the crumpled car.

‘Calm down,’ he said. ‘Calm down.’

She thought there was nothing more upsetting than being told to calm down. She nodded. She bit her lip and breathed through her nose. She forced herself better, and sat up. His hand had briefly touched her shoulder. Now he stood back, separate and respectful.

‘OK?’ he said.

‘Yes, I’m sorry.’

‘No, it’s OK. It’s normal.’

He looked down at the guestbook, lying on the desk. ‘Is this the hotel register?’

She nodded, wiping tears she hadn’t known were there. Vincent spun it round and opened it and flicked through the pages, shaking his head slowly. Bea, leaning back, recovering, began to feel embarrassed. She could see Alex’s disguised writing, upside down, and the different names in different colours. She began to blush.

‘No passport details,’ said Vincent.

‘It’s not really a register,’ she said.

‘The register is on the computer?’

‘I don’t know the password,’ said Bea. ‘Dan might know.’

‘We can take it?’

‘Yes, of course.’

Capitaine Vincent studied the pages silently. Bea stared at the floor, feeling idiotic. The Prices of Hull! said Alex’s voice loudly and she wanted to smile, her mood soaring, reckless. Vincent closed the book with a snap.

‘So there were no visitors since March?’

‘There were hardly any visitors,’ she said. ‘Ever.’

‘Why not?’

‘The hotel needs work.’

He frowned. ‘So who are all these people?’ He waved his hand over the visitors’ book, wafting lemon aftershave.

‘We made them up.’

‘Why?’ said Vincent.

‘I don’t know,’ said Bea. ‘It was a joke.’

‘A joke?’

‘Yes. A prank.’ She used ‘blague’ first, then ‘farce’, which seemed more appropriate.

‘A practical joke?’ he said.

‘Yes, that’s better, a practical joke,’ she said.

‘To trick who?’ asked Vincent.

‘It wasn’t a trick,’ she said. ‘We weren’t trying to fool anybody.’

He looked at her in silence.

‘Did your brother have his catering hygiene certificates in order?’ asked Vincent.

Bea laughed. It just burst out. She wasn’t normal. She needed to control herself.

‘Is that funny?’

‘No. I’m sorry.’