The day before, a detective had asked him basic questions about his whereabouts. And they’d asked about drugs. Today he was interviewed by a tall, fair man with a long neck, who introduced himself as Dufour. From Bea’s description, Dan thought it was the same man who’d interviewed her. Dufour, and a smaller man called Luis, with hairy arms and chest, came over and greeted him. Greeted was the wrong word. It was more of a mime. See you later. Watch-tapping, thumb jerks. Then they left him on his own. At three o’clock, the interpreter arrived, the same one as the day before, a senior lecturer from the languages department at the University of Bourgogne. She was a skinny little German woman, with short grey hair which would have been pixyish in her youth, but now looked manly. They liked each other, she was out of place too. Her name was Karen Koch. It had been funny the day before, but it wasn’t funny now. When he saw her walking towards him, he felt so lonely it was like seeing his best friend. She was smiling, with pursed lips, inhibited by her role.

‘Hello again,’ she said, ‘what a surprise.’

‘Yeah. Hi.’

‘How are you today?’ Her English came easily and her accent was comforting, he associated it with rational Europe, and bureaucracy.

‘I’ve been better,’ said Dan. ‘My wife is at home, on her own, with two more of these guys,’ he said.

‘I wouldn’t worry about that,’ said Karen.

She was kind. He thought she might be gay. Not that the two were connected. He just thought she might be, because of the hair.

‘Thanks,’ he said.

They sat waiting together in silent, mismatched companionship. Dufour and Luis came back and all four went into the stairwell, and up the stairs. The two detectives were laughing as they talked, and Dan followed, with Karen Koch.

The second floor had an open-plan low-ceilinged office. It looked like it had been recently dedicated to Alex’s case; it wasn’t crowded, like downstairs, and the small group of plain-clothes officers seemed to all know one another. They joked around and went out for cigarettes in pairs, looking at Dan as they passed, not trying to hide their interest. It was strange not understanding the language, it sharpened his other senses. Without words, the mood in the air was physical, like prickling on the skin.