‘Yes, it mentions “acute toxicity”, but the primary cause of death is not recorded.’

She repeated the words blunt instrument trauma.

‘Yes. To the head and neck. I’m so sorry.’

Griff let go of her hand. He shielded his face. ‘We didn’t see any injuries, when we – saw him.’

‘It was the back of the head,’ said Roche. ‘Back of head, side of neck. Back and side.’

He separated a piece of paper, a blurred inked diagram of a human body, marked, but Griff didn’t move. Bea reached forward and took it from him. The body diagram looked like a crude Vitruvian Man, the same pose, duplicated, front and back. There were shaded sections. The back of the skull, shaded. The right side, shaded. The back of the neck, blocked out. She watched her hand give the paper back to Roche, then reach for her water glass. She felt her mouth on the rim, then water. Her hand put the glass down. She saw that her father couldn’t speak. He needed her to do it.

‘That’s what killed him?’ she asked.

‘It doesn’t say, specifically.’ Roche took another piece of paper.

‘Do they know how long it took?’ she asked. ‘To die.’

‘The report is incomplete.’

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Does it say how much pain he would have been in?’

‘No.’

‘Does it say how long it took?’

‘No.’

‘Was he drugged, and then beaten?’

‘There are no conclusions, I’m afraid.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’m looking into it.’

‘What killed him?’

She thought she heard Griff make a noise. He might only have flinched.

‘I can’t say,’ said Roche.

‘What else?’ she said. ‘What about the CCTV images?’

Roche laid out the papers; Arun took notes, in pen, on a yellow pad. Most of the documents were in the folder; technical French, full of acronyms. For so much paper it was precious little information, like a planning notification, spattered with killing. There were a number of people’s DNA in Alex’s car. He had been to several places. There was a report of his being seen in the town of Oyonnax. His credit card receipt from a bar, Chez Janine.

‘They asked us about that bar,’ said Bea.

There were no conclusions, no shape, only disjointed moments in the progress of many lives.

‘There must be something else,’ she said.

‘There is an absence of some of the evidence that one might expect to see.’

‘Why?’

Griff’s phone rang, on the sofa next to him. He picked up.

‘Yes, I’ll be there in a minute.’ He put the phone down. ‘My wife.’

Roche handed Bea a piece of paper. ‘I took the liberty of synopsising the basic timeline Vincent’s team are working with, in my simple language. My own words. It may help.’

Bea took the page, and read it.

Saturday, 23:00 – AA left the Hotel Paligny.