It was more than two hours to the Hôpital Centre Fleyriat, which was on the outskirts of Bourg-en-Bresse. Bea and Dan sat in silence and the journey was timeless, just being taken to the next thing, like space travel. Sitting in the back of a French police car was no more strange than anything else. It was as if her brain was deep-frozen. Dan held her hand, and their hands did not change position all the way.

The Centre Fleyriat was surrounded by vast, brand-new-looking car parks in a featureless landscape. The police car and the Porsche parked side by side, with an expanse of tarmac around them. They walked all together in a group to the front entrance, and went inside. There was almost nobody in sight, anywhere in the clean, empty spaces of stone and glass. A woman approached them. She was in her fifties, and had a chignon, an identification badge and highly polished shoes.

‘Hélène Guerin,’ she said. They all shook hands. ‘I am here to help you.’ She led them down a corridor and into an immaculate lift. She pressed the button for the basement with a precise movement. ‘This must be very hard for you,’ she said in French, looking up at the numbers as they illuminated. ‘You and your family have my sympathy.’

Her shoes were patent leather. It seemed odd to meet the family of someone who had died wearing beige patent leather high heels. Bea supposed she hadn’t known, getting dressed, what would happen at work. Neither Blanchard nor she looked any of them directly in the eye. They were set apart by crisis.

‘After you,’ said Hélène Guerin when the lift doors opened. They followed her along a corridor. Griff and Liv were ushered away through an electronic door, and disappeared.

Bea and Dan waited in the low-ceilinged corridor on bright blue plastic chairs, bolted to the floor. Hélène Guerin came back through the electronic doors and sat next to them. She offered them water. When she checked her phone, she did it turned slightly away, out of respect.

‘It’s all right,’ said Bea, ‘we don’t mind. You must be very busy.’

They sat in silence, still holding hands, with the sound of the circulation of the building beating like life support around them.

‘Are you sure you don’t want a coffee?’ said Dan.

‘No thanks,’ said Bea.

When Griff and Liv came back they were transformed. Liv was smaller, and weakened. It was as if her insides had been removed and altered, even her clothes didn’t sit the same way on her body. At her side, Griff had never looked so powerful, like a man in battle. Liv put both hands over her face. Stumbling, she went towards the desk, where a man was on the phone, but Griff took her arm, and led her away.

‘I can’t stand it,’ she said. ‘I want to die.’ Her face caved in like melted wax.

Compassion rose in Bea, warm as blood, nauseating.