‘I feel like if I start needing to know everything, I’ll go mad.’ She looked around the room. ‘I don’t want to be distracted from him. He’s what’s important.’

He wanted to take her hand, or hug her, but it would have been like disturbing her.

‘But I need to know something,’ she said.

Downstairs, the telephone rang.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Dan.

It stopped ringing downstairs, but then her mobile started. It buzzed and sang in the pocket of her skirt. She put down the book and took out the phone. A French number.

‘Mrs Adamson?’ A man’s voice, with a strong French accent.

‘No. Yes. I’m Beatrice Durrant,’ said Bea. ‘Beatrice Adamson. Alex’s sister.’

‘This is Capitaine Christophe Vincent. The Gendarmerie Nationale. Do you speak French?’

‘Yes, I do. The police,’ she mouthed to Dan.

‘I’m sorry for your loss. I’m on my way to see you, with my colleague.’

‘Now?’

‘Yes, I’m on my way.’

The first thing Dan said when she had put down the phone was, ‘Call Griff.’ She did.

‘You should have Roche with you,’ said Griff, from London.

‘The lawyer? Why?’ said Bea.

‘It’s his job to liaise.’

‘But there’s no time, they’re coming now.’

12

12

The unmarked car pulled into the drive and two men got out. They looked up at the hotel, and approached the door just as Bea opened it, with Dan next to her.

‘Madame Durrant?’ said the first man, holding out his hand. ‘Capitaine Christophe Vincent.’

He was about thirty-five, wearing ironed jeans and a cotton shirt with small checks in red and white, and carrying a brown leather jacket that looked brand new. He was tanned, tidy and small-chinned.

‘This is my colleague, Detective Perrin.’

Perrin, subordinate, nodded.

‘Come in,’ said Bea.

She introduced Dan and they came inside. The air was tinged with the lemony smell of Capitaine Vincent’s aftershave.

‘French is OK?’ said Vincent, in English.

‘Yes, fine,’ said Bea. ‘I speak French, but my husband doesn’t.’

‘French then.’

‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘Do you know how it happened? My parents are in London, but they can come back.’

Capitaine Vincent didn’t answer her. It was strange that he didn’t. She had an expectation of what the visit would be like and already this was different. The two policemen looked around at the hall and stairs. Bea and Dan waited, both acutely aware how unlike a hotel Paligny was.

‘May I see your brother’s room?’ asked Vincent.

‘Excuse me?’

‘What does he want?’ asked Dan.

‘To see Alex’s room,’ said Bea.

‘Why?’