I took a notebook and a pen from my pocket. I opened it and wrote “Inquest” at the top of a blank page. I underlined the word, then turned the underlining into a box surrounding it. Then I turned the box into a three-dimensional box and shaded the top with crosshatching. Meanwhile a police officer had come forward to the little desk and chair at the front of the room and swore, on a tatty copy of the New Testament, to tell the truth. He was an unremarkable young PC, with reddish-brown hair combed flat against his head, but I studied him with fascination and dread. He was the man who had found my husband.

He consulted his notebook and, in a strange monotone, like an unprepared and untalented actor, he gave a halting account of how he had driven to Porton Way in response to a call from a member of the public who had reported seeing a fire.

Dr. Sams asked if the officer could describe Porton Way.

He looked puzzled. “There’s not much to say, really,” he said. “There used to be factories and warehouses there, but it’s mainly derelict now. They’re starting to redevelop it, though. There are going to be new houses and office blocks.”

“Is the road busy at that time of night?” asked Dr. Sams. “With commuters and suchlike?”

“No,” said the officer. “It’s not a through route. There are a few construction people during the day but not at that time. Sometimes kids steal cars and drive them around there, but we didn’t see anyone else.”

“Tell us what you found.”

“The fire had died down by the time we got there but we could see the smoke. The car had slipped down the embankment and turned over. We scrambled down and we quickly saw that there were people in it but they were clearly dead.”

“Clearly?”

The officer pulled a face. “We didn’t even see there were two of them at first.”

“And what did you do?”

“My partner called the fire brigade and an ambulance. I walked around just checking. I couldn’t really get close. It was still hot.”

He was talking as if he had come across a bonfire that had got out of control. Dr. Sams was writing notes on a pad of paper. When he had finished he put the end of the pen into his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully. “Did you form an impression of what had happened?”

“It was obvious,” the officer said. “The car lost control, came off the road, rolled down the embankment, hit a concrete ridge, burst into flames.”

“No,” said Dr. Sams. “I meant more how it had happened, how the car lost control.”