She and Griff stood side by side behind the blowing tape, staring at the car. It sucked her in, like falling, and she dragged her eyes away, but it drew her back. The small group of traffic police watched too, as the black Renault swung towards the trailer. Everything was in relation to the hanging car, from the far horizon to the nearest figure, feet away. There were two thick troughs gouged through the green shoots in the soft earth of the field by the car, where it had come off the road, and more exposed earth where it had been dragged back. In the middle distance stood a factory, like a cardboard cut-out and on the other side of the car, past the tow truck and trailer, was another line of striped tape and more yellow signs, and she saw two men, who looked like workmen, also watching. They were smoking and talking. Nobody told them not to watch. She heard Blanchard’s footsteps as he hung up and came over to them.

‘OK, I’m sorry, I need to take you back,’ he said.

Griff didn’t turn or answer him, he was still staring at Alex’s car, hanging on the chains.

‘Excuse me? Did you hear? I have to take you back now,’ said Blanchard.

‘What was Alex doing here?’ she asked Griff.

He didn’t answer.

‘What happens now?’ she said.

‘They take the car,’ said Blanchard. ‘They examine it. Look, it’s time to go.’

Bea looked at Griff, who still hadn’t moved, staring at the crash site from behind his dark glasses.

‘Dad?’ she said. ‘He wants to take us back.’ When he didn’t answer, she turned to Blanchard. ‘Two minutes?’ she asked. ‘Is that OK?’

He was embarrassed by the situation. ‘OK,’ he said, sullen in his awkwardness.

She looked from the car to the gouges, and the jet-black skid marks. The static scene animated itself in her mind. She pictured sunrise, and Alex in his car in an early dawn, and the sudden impact as the blue JCB hit. The brakes, the tyres, the car hurled across the road. Blanchard walked back to his car and leaned against it, crossing his booted feet at the ankle. He took out his phone again and lit a cigarette. Sun and shadow moved across the flat land, dotted with houses and, in the distance, the dark green foothills of the Jura. She could hear the brief exchanges of the men, snatches on the breeze, as they loaded the crumpled Renault.

‘What was he doing, out here?’ she whispered to Griff again.

‘He must have been up to something,’ he said.

‘Up to what?’ She imagined Alex driving from the main road at night, and stopping there. ‘Why?’

There was a clunk. The Renault stopped in place above the trailer. Abruptly, Griff left her side and ducked under the tape. He strode towards the car.

‘Hey!’ shouted Blanchard. ‘Monsieur!’ He shoved his phone into his pocket and started to run after him.