Bea followed her father up the stairs and across the hall to his study. He had to haul the sliding door to open it.

‘That needs oiling,’ he said.

The room inside was dim. She saw Philip Roche, immediately, sitting on one of the leather sofas, then Arun, over by the bar – but not her mother.

‘Hello, Bea,’ said Arun.

‘What’s happened?’ she said.

Griff closed the door, and there was a hush in the panelled room.

‘Our access came through,’ he said. ‘Philip has the police file, from the judge.’

‘Oh,’ said Bea, her stomach dropping like she had fallen, suddenly, from a height.

‘Your mother’s getting ready for this – party,’ said Griff. ‘I don’t want her to know. I only tell her when she asks. She doesn’t ask.’

‘I understand,’ said Bea.

‘Sit down.’

She sat on the sofa opposite Roche, and Griff sat next to her.

Roche took a buff file from the briefcase at his side. He put it on the coffee table. ‘I think it’s fairly comprehensive,’ he said, ‘but there are frustrating omissions.’

Arun joined them. They were all around the table, with the pale file on the smoked glass. Bea looked at her father.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

He nodded. She felt her eyes drawn to the file. Trying to comprehend the enormity of her brother’s death, she didn’t want to know the details. She feared the smallness of horror, and of rage. Roche slipped the elastic from the corners of the file. Griff leaned forward, and took her hand. It was a surprise, but comforting.

‘We have to see it, Bea. We have to keep up.’

‘Do we?’

‘I do.’ He was still holding her hand. ‘All right. Let’s do this,’ he said.

‘The full autopsy isn’t here,’ said Roche, ‘or the pathologist’s report. That’s likely to take weeks.’

‘Weeks?’ asked Griff. ‘How can it take weeks?’

‘Because of very detailed lab work. But we have the pathologist’s preliminary findings, and some of the evidence Capitaine Vincent’s section de recherches have gathered, thus far. It’s very unusual to have access this early.’

‘Just get on with it,’ said Griff.

‘All right,’ said Roche, separating one paper from the sheaf in his hands. ‘So. The definitive cause of death is not stated.’

‘Why not?’ said Griff, gripping Bea’s hand.

‘I’m looking into it,’ said Arun. ‘Let’s deal with what we have. Prepare yourselves, I’m afraid it’s quite violent.’

A pulse beat in her ears and her mouth was dry. She looked at her father. He was focusing on getting from each second to the next, just like her.

‘There is evidence of significant blunt instrument trauma,’ said Roche.

Tears came to Bea’s eyes but she didn’t feel anything yet, she was dislocated.

‘We thought it was prescription drugs,’ she heard herself say.