Karen smiled. Then Dufour spoke and she stopped smiling. ‘He says: answer the question.’

‘Which one?’

Dufour’s glassy eyes examined him, Luis’s pencil hovered over his pad. Dan knew what was being assumed, like the questions about drugs the day before; he had to let it roll off. He had to rise above. This guy had probably never been anywhere or seen anything like where Dan grew up. And there wasn’t any single word that could describe Dan’s first sixteen years, or anybody’s. Dufour was speaking, fast.

‘He says again: were you involved with gangs?’ said Karen.

‘No.’

‘Have you ever stolen anything?’

‘No.’

‘Do you have a police record?’

‘No, I don’t have a record. My mum was very strict.’

‘He says: where was your father?’

‘He didn’t live with us.’

‘Where did he live?’

‘In the country somewhere.’

‘What country?’

‘No, the countryside. Surrey or someplace.’

‘You didn’t see him?’

‘No.’

‘Were your parents married?’

‘None of his business. No, they weren’t.’

‘Was your mother a good mother?’

‘What is this?’

Dufour’s words banged out like a military drum. Did she hate your father? Did she hate white people? Do you hate white people?

‘You’re kidding, right?’

‘No,’ said Karen, ‘I’m sorry, he’s asking this.’

Dan looked at Dufour, resting his chin on his clasped hands, with his eyebrows raised, acting the big man, as the hairy one scribbled away in the corner.

‘This is all irrelevant,’ said Dan. ‘Can you tell him that?’

Karen nodded, and he could tell she agreed with him. She said something to Dufour. He answered her back, and they had a brief exchange.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘He was explaining to me that this manner of questioning the interested parties, they do this so they can really understand. It’s not an interrogation, only –’

Dufour stopped her, sharply. Chastened, she took a sip of water. Dufour spoke again. Very deliberately, Karen replaced her cup on the desk. Without looking at Dan, she translated.

‘He wants to know if you had a violent childhood. If your mother was violent, or if you witnessed violence. Domestic violence. Gang violence. Or at school. Violence in your life.’

‘My life? My whole life?’

Dufour shrugged.